That's a little harsh, but they had Game 2 of this ALDS in their hands. Wells was pitching well (aptly) and the offense had provided ample runs to support him. All it took was Graffanino's glove to not reach the ground and a hanging curveball (thrown immediately after a ... hanging curveball) and the game was over.
There are tomes written about how the Sox have been in this position before, how they know about adversity, etc. I don't refute those but I don't think this team has the same magic as in '04. They are not the tight-knit bunch of idiots who buckle down and get things done when it's needed. They don't have the desire to win.
I'm not giving up all hope. I am still going to watch the game and want the Sox to win (or listen to the game as I will unfortunately be en route to Boston with Mephistopholes and her friend in the car. We are going to my father-in-law's 60th birthday party, which should be a hoot. I'll be sure to turn WEEI up as loud as I can to drown out the catty conversation of who was wearing what on Laguna Beach last night. I can't wait.)
Anyway, it's not over till it's over but i'm prepared to wait till next year.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Boston Red Sox - 4 Time Wild Card Champions
I can't help but feel a bit disappointed. The Sox led the way in the AL East most of the season after taking the lead from the O's in July. Then they fall apart in the final weeks as the Damn Yankees surge. Still we battled back and tied the bastards in the last series. I was getting ready for a showdown at that Cess Pool in the Bronx the likes of which hadn't been seen since Bucky Fucking Dent in 1978 (which incidentally happened 4 months after my birth whilst my parents were moving to Southeastern CT from Syracuse, NY, forever cementing my fate as a Sox fan).
But no, the rules state that a one game playoff for the AL East crown would be redundant, as the sox and yankees both qualify for the playoffs after Cleveland tanked in Chicago. The game would basically determine who was champ and who was the wild card. I admit that is kind of pointless but then again, we've been second banana in the division to the Yankees 3 years in a row (even though we all know who came out on top last year.) Christ, the Jankees have won the division something obscene like 8 times in a row. That's just wrong and should never happen again. I thought we deserved the chance to put those suckers in their place (2nd) to signal the end of their money-grabbing dynasty. Alas, Bud Selig could not be reached for comment in the commissioner's office, despite my clamoring for his head. He was probably stroking Raffy's biceps while testifying before Congress that noone in MLB takes steroids anymore.
Anyway. The Sox did make it into the playoffs, something I was not positive about one week prior. Tonight, they open up against the Chicago White Sox in Comiskey Park. The Battle of the Soxes begins. The White Sox haven't won a world series (let alone a playoff series at all) since 1917, one year longer than the fabled 86-year drought of the BoSox. They don't tecnically have a Curse associated with them, unless you count the fact that the last time they were in the World Series in 1919, they lost on purpose creating the biggest scandal in baseball until ARod wins the 2005 MVP. 8 players, including Shoeless Joe Jackson, aka Ray Liotta, were dubbed The Black Sox and banned from playing professional baseball. If that doesn't start a freaking curse, then Babe Ruth is a slender shortshop and a doting husband.
In this best-of-five Division Series, the starting pitchers will determine everything. The team which has their starters go 6+ innings before turning it over to the bullpen will be the winners. Call me biased, but I have a feeling that Boston's bats will punch a huge hole through Chicago's league leading ERA.
But you don't have take my word for it. Matt Clement goes on the mound today against Jose (I used to suck as a Yankee) Contreras. Clement was amazing in the first half but went 3-4 since the All-Star break. Contreras on the other hand has been lights out, winning 12 of his last 14 games. All is not lost, however. Clement has been underacheiving and is due to have a fucking great outing. And this Boston lineup has seen a lot of Contreras from his days int he Bronx and have alway been able to hit him. That's why George got rid of him, in fact, he just never pitched well against the BoSox.
All in all, I know I will get no sleep over the next 3 weeks as Boston succesfully defends it's first World Series title since 1916.
Edit: I just remembered that today's game starts at 4pm today. That means in addition to wasting my time blogging all day, I can also waste my time watching the game via MLB.TV.
Edit: Or not. I just checked and I won't be able to watch it online during any nationally televised game. Which means all of them. Dang. Well, I'll be forced to follow the stats a few seconds after they happen. Wee.
But no, the rules state that a one game playoff for the AL East crown would be redundant, as the sox and yankees both qualify for the playoffs after Cleveland tanked in Chicago. The game would basically determine who was champ and who was the wild card. I admit that is kind of pointless but then again, we've been second banana in the division to the Yankees 3 years in a row (even though we all know who came out on top last year.) Christ, the Jankees have won the division something obscene like 8 times in a row. That's just wrong and should never happen again. I thought we deserved the chance to put those suckers in their place (2nd) to signal the end of their money-grabbing dynasty. Alas, Bud Selig could not be reached for comment in the commissioner's office, despite my clamoring for his head. He was probably stroking Raffy's biceps while testifying before Congress that noone in MLB takes steroids anymore.
Anyway. The Sox did make it into the playoffs, something I was not positive about one week prior. Tonight, they open up against the Chicago White Sox in Comiskey Park. The Battle of the Soxes begins. The White Sox haven't won a world series (let alone a playoff series at all) since 1917, one year longer than the fabled 86-year drought of the BoSox. They don't tecnically have a Curse associated with them, unless you count the fact that the last time they were in the World Series in 1919, they lost on purpose creating the biggest scandal in baseball until ARod wins the 2005 MVP. 8 players, including Shoeless Joe Jackson, aka Ray Liotta, were dubbed The Black Sox and banned from playing professional baseball. If that doesn't start a freaking curse, then Babe Ruth is a slender shortshop and a doting husband.
In this best-of-five Division Series, the starting pitchers will determine everything. The team which has their starters go 6+ innings before turning it over to the bullpen will be the winners. Call me biased, but I have a feeling that Boston's bats will punch a huge hole through Chicago's league leading ERA.
But you don't have take my word for it. Matt Clement goes on the mound today against Jose (I used to suck as a Yankee) Contreras. Clement was amazing in the first half but went 3-4 since the All-Star break. Contreras on the other hand has been lights out, winning 12 of his last 14 games. All is not lost, however. Clement has been underacheiving and is due to have a fucking great outing. And this Boston lineup has seen a lot of Contreras from his days int he Bronx and have alway been able to hit him. That's why George got rid of him, in fact, he just never pitched well against the BoSox.
All in all, I know I will get no sleep over the next 3 weeks as Boston succesfully defends it's first World Series title since 1916.
Edit: I just remembered that today's game starts at 4pm today. That means in addition to wasting my time blogging all day, I can also waste my time watching the game via MLB.TV.
Edit: Or not. I just checked and I won't be able to watch it online during any nationally televised game. Which means all of them. Dang. Well, I'll be forced to follow the stats a few seconds after they happen. Wee.
Linkage
I also updated the links section over there. I've mentioned a few of them before like the POD and Alien Loves Predator, but there a couple I didn't.
Some new blogs that I check:
- The Daily Photo Project. This guy is an artist who is doing something pretty interesting. For the last 7 years, he has taken a picture of himself everyday with a digital camera. He always has the same expression-less face yet he looks very different now than he did. Sometimes he has glasses on, sometimes his hair is long, sometimes he is not wearing a shirt. The project is staggering. He began the project when he was 22, I don't like to see how much he is aged in that time. It makes me think about my own mortality.
- NerdNYC.com. Just as it sounds, this site is all about dudes with like minds getting together and playing games. Nearly everything is represented here from tabletop strategy games like Axis and Allies (plus a bunch you've never heard of) to Dungeons and Dragons to World of Warcraft. This is where I found my recent group of gaming nerds, much to the chagrin of Mephistopholes and Savage. Next game is coming up in a week, I'll fill you in on what's happening with my fighter/cleric while we attack a castle of hobgoblins in a whole 'nother blog.
- The Escapist. I like this gaming mag. Instead of the standard preview, first-look, review articles, the writers here talk more about what it's like to be a gamer and actually play games. It's not about the next big thing, most often the articles are about the golden days of the 12-year-old fascination with electronic media. They are critics of the current gaming landscape without being pessimistic or pedantic. Maybe I'm biased because I've been writing for them recently but you should all check the shit out.
Some new blogs that I check:
- Popstar. She's the new kid on the blog but I like her lawyering talk. Expecially since she's hanging out in southeastern connecticut where I used to live.
- Singapore Sox Fan. This guys lives and works halfway around the world but he still follows every sox game as if he were on Landsowne Street. An inspiration for us all.
- The Baseball Collector. He has collected over 2000 baseballs from major league games over his whole career. The blog is entertaining for anyone who has a passion for the game, regardless of team loyalties. Over the years, he has picked some uncanny talents like being able to judge a foul tip from merely hearing it and coaxing a baseball from a player during batting practice.
Selling out
I didn't really expect to get in.
On a lark, I applied to the Google Ad Sense program. It will basically give me money everytime one of you clicks on the brand new adds I placed in the sidebar. I have two thoughts on this:
On a lark, I applied to the Google Ad Sense program. It will basically give me money everytime one of you clicks on the brand new adds I placed in the sidebar. I have two thoughts on this:
- I get money for doing absolutely nothing.
- It's kind of ugly
The former only works if people actually click on the ads, which means I will probably not get any money whatsoever while I've tried to alleviate the latter by making them unobtrusive and to complement the color scheme of the site. We'll see how it goes.
One thing that I'm actually kind of pysched about is the google search bar. I get to add functionality and get money for it each time people use it.
Jesus, this blog is turning into an Ad for the Ad-Sense program. I have sold out. I'm going to stop before I make myself choke ... on all of the pennies I will earn from this charade.
Friday, September 30, 2005
In other news...
FALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
or as they say in France, "Autumn"
So I guess I fucking love the fall. Last night it was downright cold in Brooklyn, despite what Rain Delay spouts out. And I couldn't be loving it more. I didn't realize how tired I was of sweating through 3 shirts on my way to work or getting assaulted by heat every time I ventured out of an air conditioned space. Don't get me wrong, I love the beach and summers and all kinds of great summery things. But nothing makes me hard quite like a stiff wind and being forced to wear jackets.
Speaking of which, I brought out my wool blazer for Casual Friday. It was like greating an old friend. I wish I had a picture here to illustrate what I love about that blazer. Alas, you'll have to make do with a photo-montage which I will now call "AUTUMNAL GRACE or What I Gleaned From a 15-minute Google Image Search While Being Bored at Work."
The road less taken . . . by assholes!
BITE IT, BABY!
Do you like my Mighty Oak?
These kids are having a great fricking time in an orchard which is exactly what I'm doing this weekend. I'm going up to good ol' hometown New England to partake of the autumness.
- I expect it to be perfectly clear-blue skies, shining sun, and just a touch of chill in the air.
- I'm going to Scott's Yankee Farmer.
- There will be McIntoshes, Golden Deliciouses, Empires, Cortlands and McCouns all picked by my hands.
- I will go on a Haunted Hayride!
- I WILL DRINK CIDER!
You are all my witnesses.
I fucking love the fall.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Alien Loves Predator
Possibly the funniest web-comic ever made. I just discovered this today while checking out MacHall. This guy is from New York so a lot of the jokes resonate with me but you have to admit there is something hilarious about using digital pictures of toys to suggest that Alien and Predator are roommates. They are up to 200 something comics and I just started reading them from the beginning until I got to this one. My cubicle-mates think I am retarded to be laughing at something like this, maybe you will too, but I had to share.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Another article
Next Generation has updated their look and I think it is much better than it was. They also posted the last of the articles I wrote a while ago but I forgot to link it. It's right here.
I am writing a few articles for The Escapist, which is a kind of alternative E-zine on video games. Even though it's on the web, it is designed as if it were a slick magazine with pages and well-placed photos and graphics. I discovered it when Tycho linked to it from PA and have since fallen in love. This month, I wrote and submitted a piece about Alpha Centauri which should come out in the oct. 4th isue. I'll link to it when it comes out.
And in basketball news, not to jinx it or anything, but Ill Wind is 3-0 this fall season. We won last night on a buzzer-beater 3-point shot from WInston. If only the Red Sox had swept the doubleheader yesterday in Fenway, it would have been a perfect day for me. Alas, they are still tied atop the AL East and Wild Card with those damn yankees. Sad face!
I am writing a few articles for The Escapist, which is a kind of alternative E-zine on video games. Even though it's on the web, it is designed as if it were a slick magazine with pages and well-placed photos and graphics. I discovered it when Tycho linked to it from PA and have since fallen in love. This month, I wrote and submitted a piece about Alpha Centauri which should come out in the oct. 4th isue. I'll link to it when it comes out.
And in basketball news, not to jinx it or anything, but Ill Wind is 3-0 this fall season. We won last night on a buzzer-beater 3-point shot from WInston. If only the Red Sox had swept the doubleheader yesterday in Fenway, it would have been a perfect day for me. Alas, they are still tied atop the AL East and Wild Card with those damn yankees. Sad face!
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Ok
So I haven't had anything to say lately. I have been without inspiration for blog-type things. I can't say why. I was going to write about doing standup comedy last Friday but I think I got too nervous. I've also been thinking about my play a lot lately. I recently worked very heavily on revising the Creation Play from a version that is almost 1.5 years old. Which isn't that long considering I began writing the play, in its first iteration, in January of 2002. Just for shits and giggles, I am going to post that first scene here. This may not be the best place to do so, nor can I guarantee that this scene is even that entertaining. Fuck it. Do with it what you will:
Lights come up. The stage is completely bare. No adornment whatsoever.
We wait for thirty seconds. Maybe more. Nothing. No noise. No action. Nothing.
Suddenly, two men stumble on stage.
Manny- Hey, shit, where’s the bathroom?
Evan- It’s so bright in here.
Manny- I thought you said this was the bathroom.
Evan- It is, isn’t it?
Manny- Do you see a toilet anywhere?
Evan- I can’t see anything. It’s so fucking bright.
Manny- Don’t open them so wide. Yeah, I don’t think this is a bathroom. It’s too big.
Evan- There are big bathrooms. I was in this guy’s apartment in Fort Greene and his bathroom was bigger than his whole apartment. Of course he had to share it with the whole building.
Manny- But this is Manhattan. There aren’t big bathrooms. Unless you’re in midtown.
Evan- Maybe this is midtown.
Manny- I don’t think so.
Evan- It sure is quiet in here.
Manny- Yeah. Can you see any better?
Evan- A little bit.
Manny- Do you see that red sign that says exit over there?
Manny points to the back of the house.
Evan- Yeah.
Manny- Maybe there’s a bathroom over there.
Evan- It says “Exit.” Not bathroom.
Manny- Yeah, but there’s always a bathroom near the exit.
Evan- Right. Let’s go.
The pair start to walk towards the audience and almost into the house before Manny stops and holds back Evan.
Manny- Wait.
Evan- What is it?
Manny- Do you see all these people?
Evan- What people? Oh my God.
Manny- Why are they all looking at us?
Evan checks his fly.
Evan- I don’t know.
Manny- (to audience)Hello. I’m Manny. This is Evan.
Evan- Who the fuck are you?
Manny- Quiet, Man. (to audience) Where are we?
Evan- Speak up!
Manny- I don’t think they can talk.
Evan- What, they’re mutes?
Manny- Maybe.
Evan- What are the chances of a roomful of people being all mutes? Every single one? Look at this guy. I know he can talk.
Manny- Maybe they’re all choosing not to speak.
Evan- Oooooh. But why the fuck would they do that? I mean, we asked them a question.
Manny- Think, man. Where is the only place where a bunch of people are quiet?
Evan- The library.
Manny- No.
Evan- Funerals.
Manny- No.
Evan- Uh. Well, it’s got to be bloody boring.
Manny- No, Jesus. Look. There are forty-two people sitting in chairs looking at us.
Evan- Yeah. We established that.
Manny- And we are standing on an open space. A stage, if you will.
Evan- I got it!
Manny- Good.
Evan- It’s an experiment! And they’re all doctors and we’re the test subjects and we’re supposed to run around like we’re in a maze or something.
Manny- Right. That’s it. I knew you would figure it out.
Evan- So what do we do now?
Manny- I don’t know. Do you know any tricks or anything?
Evan- Tricks? You mean like skateboarding or something like that?
Manny- Yeah, but we don’t have skateboard.
Evan- I know, I could breakdance.
Manny- You know how to breakdance?
Evan- I saw these guys on the subway. This little kid, he couldn’t be older than six or seven, he was dancing for money.
Manny- Really?
Evan- Yeah, his older brother had a little boombox that was playing a beat and he just started dancing and clapping.
Manny- And you can do that?
Evan- Sure. It didn’t look that hard. But I need you to give me a beat.
Manny- A beat? I can’t give you a beat.
Evan- Why not? You’ve seen people do it.
Manny- But I’m white, Evan. I don’t have a beat.
Evan- Just try it. Here I’ll start it for you.
Evan starts a beatbox.
Evan- Now you join in.
Manny- All right.
They both start beatboxing. Manny does the low and Evan takes care of the high.
Evan- Ok keep it up.
Evan attempts to break dance. He kicks his leg around. Spins on his back. Does the Worm, then
Evan- Ow.
Manny- Wow. That was amazing.
Evan- Except I think I tore my sack.
Manny- How did you learn that?
Evan- Well, it hurts pretty bad.
Manny- No, to breakdance.
Evan- I used to watch dudes all over the place. This was the first time I tried it myself. I guess I didn’t learn that good though, my balls are killing me.
Manny- That’ll show those doctors that we’re not to be toyed with.
Evan- Yeah. Fuck you, you lab-coat wearing motherfuckers!
Manny- We’re not just little lab rats anymore.
Evan- Yeah!
The pair high-five and give a “Whoot!”
Manny- Ha! I bet they’re shitting all over they’re clipboards. Assholes.
Evan- Manny, I have to piss even more than I did before. I think the Worm squeezed my bladder.
Manny- I know, me too. Let’s get out of here.
Evan- Follow the exit sign?
Manny- Damn right. This place is dead anyway, man.
Evan- Do you think the doctors will just let us go?
Writer- What are you two doing?
Manny and Evan share a look. It sounded like that voice came from the house.
Manny- What?
Writer- I can’t take it anymore. You guys are ruining everything.
An attractive woman enters from the house. She is carrying a script.
Writer- Do you realize how long it took me to write this script? Three years. I painstakingly crafted every line. Every word, Every syllable, so that it would be just right. Just perfect. Just what I wanted to convey. And you two fuckers decide to just throw the whole thing out the window.
Evan- Are you a doctor?
Manny- Where’s her coat, man?
Writer- Are you retarded? Doctors! That’s the most horrible ad lib I’ve ever heard.
Evan- We’re not retarded. You are.
Manny- Maybe we are retarded. Maybe that’s why the doctors are experimenting on us.
Writer- There are no doctors!
Evan- Then who are those people?
Writer- That is the audience. Those poor people actually paid to watch you ass-pirates prance around the stage.
Manny- The audience? So this is a circus?
Writer- No, you morons. This is a theater. You are actors. I am the writer of this play. Not the play that is going on but this one.
She brandishes the script.
Writer- This masterpiece. The one that I crafted with the precision of a Swiss clock-maker, or an Austrian jewel-smith.
Manny- Austrian?
Writer- Yes, Austrian. I think that lends a bit of mystique to the metaphor, don’t you?
Evan- No.
Writer- Well, who asked you? (before Evan can reply) The point is that every page of this play has been pored over and discussed and researched for years. Years. Do you realize the magnitude of this, my life’s work?
Manny- I guess.
Writer- You guess. Is that the sum total of your confession? You don’t care enough about what you have done to me, to the product of my toils, to art itself to properly address your crimes?
Manny- Look, lady. We don’t know what you’re talking about. Evan and I just stumbled on to this stage, we don’t even know where we are.
Writer- Is that so? Have you contracted amnesia then? Have we come so low that we must revert to a soap-opera plot device?
Evan- We don’t have amnesia, you bitch. We just don’t know where we are or how we got here. We’re not stupid.
Writer- Oh, I see. My mistake. And here I was thinking this whole time that you were stupid. Hmm.
Manny- You can drop the sarcasm. All right? Now who are you?
Writer- I told you. I wrote this play.
Manny- What play?
Writer- This play. The play that’s going on right now.
Manny- So this is a play. I’ve always wondered what a play was like.
Evan- You’ve never been to a play, dude?
Manny- Well, yeah. I’ve been to a play, I’ve just never been in a play before.
Evan- Yeah, me neither now that you think about it.
Writer- Boy, I could sit here forever and just listen to you guys talk but can we get back to the script?
Evan- The script?
Manny- Wow. We have a script.
Evan- Here let me see that.
Manny- Hey, what’s it called?
Evan- “A Play to Remember.” What kind of shit title is that?
Writer- It’s a working title. This is just a workshop people.
Evan- Oh.
Manny- Well, what’s it say?
Evan turns the page.
Evan- (Reading)“Two men in their twenties stumble on stage. Manny is dressed casually in khakis and a button-down while Evan is wearing jeans and a tee-shirt.” Hey, that’s us.
Manny- Weird. (to the Writer) How did you know what we’d be wearing?
Writer- Shut up. Go on.
Evan- “Manny- Hey, Shit, where’s the bathroom? Evan- It’s so bright in here.”
Manny- Isn’t that what I said already?
Writer- Yes. You guys were on for a while. Then you came up with that shit about doctors experimenting on you. I mean, we just did a run-through last night.
Evan- We did?
Writer- And you had the lines down flat. What the fuck happened?
Evan- There’s nothing in here about doctors?
Writer- No. You two are supposed to have a insightful conversation about the meaning of theater. What it means in our society.
Manny- That doesn’t sound like us.
Evan- (skipping a few more pages)Here, man, get this: “Evan- Modern theater has become so commercialized. All anyone cares about is how to make the almighty dollar.” I don’t even know what that means.
Manny- Right.
Evan- And here, this is what you say: “Manny- I know. And the only way to do that is to have musical based on a movie or something. Can you imagine what that will lead to? Apocalypse, Wow! Based on Coppola’s screenplay.” Then you are supposed to laugh.
Manny- Nope. I wouldn’t say anything like that.
Writer- Look. I don’t care what you think you might say. I created you and I want you to go on with the script, kapische?
Evan- You Italian?
Writer- Shut up. Now, take it from the top of page two. I’m serious.
Evan- Page two. Page two. All right dude, it’s your line.
Manny- (looks over his shoulder)“I was just in Times Square the other day.”
Evan- “What were you doing there?”
Manny- “I hadn’t been sickened by capitalism in a while. No, seriously, I had to get my cell phone fixed.”
Writer- Good. Great. Do you think if I leave you guys you can handle it on your own?
Evan- I don’t know
Manny- (quickly)Yeah, sure, no problem. We’ll just read it.
Evan- Dude—
(Manny kicks Evan’s shin.)
Manny- We’re okay. Thanks for setting us straight.
Writer- Ok. I’ll let you goes go. Is it okay if I go back here? (pointing to backstage) I’ll won’t get in anybody’s way? Don’t worry, boys, everything will be great once you get through this. Break a leg!
(She exits backstage.)
Evan- You break a leg, you bitch.
Writer- (offstage)I heard that!
Manny- Would you shut up? Let’s just say a few more these lines and then get outa here. I still gotta piss like a racehorse.
Evan- You and me both. Okay. Let’s go from your line about your cellphone.
Manny- I already said that.
Evan- Yeah but my next line is about that one, I need you to lead in again.
Manny- All right, all right. “I hadn’t been sickened by capitalism in a while. No, seriously, I had to get my cellphone fixed.”
Evan- “Aren’t those the same thing?” Cellphones and capitalism? Get it? This stuff is pretty funny.
Manny- Right. Uhh. “Right. Anyway, all those blinking lights and Disney shows. Is that what Shakespeare had in mind?”
Evan- “Yeah, I read somewhere that he always wanted to turn Andronicus into a musical.”
Manny- “Can you imagine?” Wait, and then we’re supposed to start singing?
(music starts playing)
Manny- Wait, wait. Hold on.
And that's where I stopped. From that little scene I wrote a whole play. Things are very different but the skeleton of what I wanted it to be abut were there. It's pretty neat, actually to read this and then look at what it's been expanded to. I'm calling it Creation Play and I hope to produce it this winter. Which will make it about a 4 year journey from this scene to its completed form.
Lights come up. The stage is completely bare. No adornment whatsoever.
We wait for thirty seconds. Maybe more. Nothing. No noise. No action. Nothing.
Suddenly, two men stumble on stage.
Manny- Hey, shit, where’s the bathroom?
Evan- It’s so bright in here.
Manny- I thought you said this was the bathroom.
Evan- It is, isn’t it?
Manny- Do you see a toilet anywhere?
Evan- I can’t see anything. It’s so fucking bright.
Manny- Don’t open them so wide. Yeah, I don’t think this is a bathroom. It’s too big.
Evan- There are big bathrooms. I was in this guy’s apartment in Fort Greene and his bathroom was bigger than his whole apartment. Of course he had to share it with the whole building.
Manny- But this is Manhattan. There aren’t big bathrooms. Unless you’re in midtown.
Evan- Maybe this is midtown.
Manny- I don’t think so.
Evan- It sure is quiet in here.
Manny- Yeah. Can you see any better?
Evan- A little bit.
Manny- Do you see that red sign that says exit over there?
Manny points to the back of the house.
Evan- Yeah.
Manny- Maybe there’s a bathroom over there.
Evan- It says “Exit.” Not bathroom.
Manny- Yeah, but there’s always a bathroom near the exit.
Evan- Right. Let’s go.
The pair start to walk towards the audience and almost into the house before Manny stops and holds back Evan.
Manny- Wait.
Evan- What is it?
Manny- Do you see all these people?
Evan- What people? Oh my God.
Manny- Why are they all looking at us?
Evan checks his fly.
Evan- I don’t know.
Manny- (to audience)Hello. I’m Manny. This is Evan.
Evan- Who the fuck are you?
Manny- Quiet, Man. (to audience) Where are we?
Evan- Speak up!
Manny- I don’t think they can talk.
Evan- What, they’re mutes?
Manny- Maybe.
Evan- What are the chances of a roomful of people being all mutes? Every single one? Look at this guy. I know he can talk.
Manny- Maybe they’re all choosing not to speak.
Evan- Oooooh. But why the fuck would they do that? I mean, we asked them a question.
Manny- Think, man. Where is the only place where a bunch of people are quiet?
Evan- The library.
Manny- No.
Evan- Funerals.
Manny- No.
Evan- Uh. Well, it’s got to be bloody boring.
Manny- No, Jesus. Look. There are forty-two people sitting in chairs looking at us.
Evan- Yeah. We established that.
Manny- And we are standing on an open space. A stage, if you will.
Evan- I got it!
Manny- Good.
Evan- It’s an experiment! And they’re all doctors and we’re the test subjects and we’re supposed to run around like we’re in a maze or something.
Manny- Right. That’s it. I knew you would figure it out.
Evan- So what do we do now?
Manny- I don’t know. Do you know any tricks or anything?
Evan- Tricks? You mean like skateboarding or something like that?
Manny- Yeah, but we don’t have skateboard.
Evan- I know, I could breakdance.
Manny- You know how to breakdance?
Evan- I saw these guys on the subway. This little kid, he couldn’t be older than six or seven, he was dancing for money.
Manny- Really?
Evan- Yeah, his older brother had a little boombox that was playing a beat and he just started dancing and clapping.
Manny- And you can do that?
Evan- Sure. It didn’t look that hard. But I need you to give me a beat.
Manny- A beat? I can’t give you a beat.
Evan- Why not? You’ve seen people do it.
Manny- But I’m white, Evan. I don’t have a beat.
Evan- Just try it. Here I’ll start it for you.
Evan starts a beatbox.
Evan- Now you join in.
Manny- All right.
They both start beatboxing. Manny does the low and Evan takes care of the high.
Evan- Ok keep it up.
Evan attempts to break dance. He kicks his leg around. Spins on his back. Does the Worm, then
Evan- Ow.
Manny- Wow. That was amazing.
Evan- Except I think I tore my sack.
Manny- How did you learn that?
Evan- Well, it hurts pretty bad.
Manny- No, to breakdance.
Evan- I used to watch dudes all over the place. This was the first time I tried it myself. I guess I didn’t learn that good though, my balls are killing me.
Manny- That’ll show those doctors that we’re not to be toyed with.
Evan- Yeah. Fuck you, you lab-coat wearing motherfuckers!
Manny- We’re not just little lab rats anymore.
Evan- Yeah!
The pair high-five and give a “Whoot!”
Manny- Ha! I bet they’re shitting all over they’re clipboards. Assholes.
Evan- Manny, I have to piss even more than I did before. I think the Worm squeezed my bladder.
Manny- I know, me too. Let’s get out of here.
Evan- Follow the exit sign?
Manny- Damn right. This place is dead anyway, man.
Evan- Do you think the doctors will just let us go?
Writer- What are you two doing?
Manny and Evan share a look. It sounded like that voice came from the house.
Manny- What?
Writer- I can’t take it anymore. You guys are ruining everything.
An attractive woman enters from the house. She is carrying a script.
Writer- Do you realize how long it took me to write this script? Three years. I painstakingly crafted every line. Every word, Every syllable, so that it would be just right. Just perfect. Just what I wanted to convey. And you two fuckers decide to just throw the whole thing out the window.
Evan- Are you a doctor?
Manny- Where’s her coat, man?
Writer- Are you retarded? Doctors! That’s the most horrible ad lib I’ve ever heard.
Evan- We’re not retarded. You are.
Manny- Maybe we are retarded. Maybe that’s why the doctors are experimenting on us.
Writer- There are no doctors!
Evan- Then who are those people?
Writer- That is the audience. Those poor people actually paid to watch you ass-pirates prance around the stage.
Manny- The audience? So this is a circus?
Writer- No, you morons. This is a theater. You are actors. I am the writer of this play. Not the play that is going on but this one.
She brandishes the script.
Writer- This masterpiece. The one that I crafted with the precision of a Swiss clock-maker, or an Austrian jewel-smith.
Manny- Austrian?
Writer- Yes, Austrian. I think that lends a bit of mystique to the metaphor, don’t you?
Evan- No.
Writer- Well, who asked you? (before Evan can reply) The point is that every page of this play has been pored over and discussed and researched for years. Years. Do you realize the magnitude of this, my life’s work?
Manny- I guess.
Writer- You guess. Is that the sum total of your confession? You don’t care enough about what you have done to me, to the product of my toils, to art itself to properly address your crimes?
Manny- Look, lady. We don’t know what you’re talking about. Evan and I just stumbled on to this stage, we don’t even know where we are.
Writer- Is that so? Have you contracted amnesia then? Have we come so low that we must revert to a soap-opera plot device?
Evan- We don’t have amnesia, you bitch. We just don’t know where we are or how we got here. We’re not stupid.
Writer- Oh, I see. My mistake. And here I was thinking this whole time that you were stupid. Hmm.
Manny- You can drop the sarcasm. All right? Now who are you?
Writer- I told you. I wrote this play.
Manny- What play?
Writer- This play. The play that’s going on right now.
Manny- So this is a play. I’ve always wondered what a play was like.
Evan- You’ve never been to a play, dude?
Manny- Well, yeah. I’ve been to a play, I’ve just never been in a play before.
Evan- Yeah, me neither now that you think about it.
Writer- Boy, I could sit here forever and just listen to you guys talk but can we get back to the script?
Evan- The script?
Manny- Wow. We have a script.
Evan- Here let me see that.
Manny- Hey, what’s it called?
Evan- “A Play to Remember.” What kind of shit title is that?
Writer- It’s a working title. This is just a workshop people.
Evan- Oh.
Manny- Well, what’s it say?
Evan turns the page.
Evan- (Reading)“Two men in their twenties stumble on stage. Manny is dressed casually in khakis and a button-down while Evan is wearing jeans and a tee-shirt.” Hey, that’s us.
Manny- Weird. (to the Writer) How did you know what we’d be wearing?
Writer- Shut up. Go on.
Evan- “Manny- Hey, Shit, where’s the bathroom? Evan- It’s so bright in here.”
Manny- Isn’t that what I said already?
Writer- Yes. You guys were on for a while. Then you came up with that shit about doctors experimenting on you. I mean, we just did a run-through last night.
Evan- We did?
Writer- And you had the lines down flat. What the fuck happened?
Evan- There’s nothing in here about doctors?
Writer- No. You two are supposed to have a insightful conversation about the meaning of theater. What it means in our society.
Manny- That doesn’t sound like us.
Evan- (skipping a few more pages)Here, man, get this: “Evan- Modern theater has become so commercialized. All anyone cares about is how to make the almighty dollar.” I don’t even know what that means.
Manny- Right.
Evan- And here, this is what you say: “Manny- I know. And the only way to do that is to have musical based on a movie or something. Can you imagine what that will lead to? Apocalypse, Wow! Based on Coppola’s screenplay.” Then you are supposed to laugh.
Manny- Nope. I wouldn’t say anything like that.
Writer- Look. I don’t care what you think you might say. I created you and I want you to go on with the script, kapische?
Evan- You Italian?
Writer- Shut up. Now, take it from the top of page two. I’m serious.
Evan- Page two. Page two. All right dude, it’s your line.
Manny- (looks over his shoulder)“I was just in Times Square the other day.”
Evan- “What were you doing there?”
Manny- “I hadn’t been sickened by capitalism in a while. No, seriously, I had to get my cell phone fixed.”
Writer- Good. Great. Do you think if I leave you guys you can handle it on your own?
Evan- I don’t know
Manny- (quickly)Yeah, sure, no problem. We’ll just read it.
Evan- Dude—
(Manny kicks Evan’s shin.)
Manny- We’re okay. Thanks for setting us straight.
Writer- Ok. I’ll let you goes go. Is it okay if I go back here? (pointing to backstage) I’ll won’t get in anybody’s way? Don’t worry, boys, everything will be great once you get through this. Break a leg!
(She exits backstage.)
Evan- You break a leg, you bitch.
Writer- (offstage)I heard that!
Manny- Would you shut up? Let’s just say a few more these lines and then get outa here. I still gotta piss like a racehorse.
Evan- You and me both. Okay. Let’s go from your line about your cellphone.
Manny- I already said that.
Evan- Yeah but my next line is about that one, I need you to lead in again.
Manny- All right, all right. “I hadn’t been sickened by capitalism in a while. No, seriously, I had to get my cellphone fixed.”
Evan- “Aren’t those the same thing?” Cellphones and capitalism? Get it? This stuff is pretty funny.
Manny- Right. Uhh. “Right. Anyway, all those blinking lights and Disney shows. Is that what Shakespeare had in mind?”
Evan- “Yeah, I read somewhere that he always wanted to turn Andronicus into a musical.”
Manny- “Can you imagine?” Wait, and then we’re supposed to start singing?
(music starts playing)
Manny- Wait, wait. Hold on.
And that's where I stopped. From that little scene I wrote a whole play. Things are very different but the skeleton of what I wanted it to be abut were there. It's pretty neat, actually to read this and then look at what it's been expanded to. I'm calling it Creation Play and I hope to produce it this winter. Which will make it about a 4 year journey from this scene to its completed form.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
You know you are badass when...
You use too many elipticals in your titles.
No, I mean, when you use this:
Typing without seeing the goddamned letters. I dare you to get one. If they weren't 80 bucks, I'd get one myself. But who has that kind of dough to spare on a keyboard that will drive you insane faster than a Chinese hamburger.
No, I mean, when you use this:
Typing without seeing the goddamned letters. I dare you to get one. If they weren't 80 bucks, I'd get one myself. But who has that kind of dough to spare on a keyboard that will drive you insane faster than a Chinese hamburger.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
No, but really...
I've read my share of dork books, and the covers ALWAYS make them look a lot dorkier than they are.
But this one, jesus. There is not one iota of character or description or anything interesting at all. The only thing that's remotely of note, even if it is fucking tasteless, is that the book makes heavy allusions to September 11th. At the "climax" of the book (even though nothing is at stake) two volcanoes (unimaginatively called "twin fire mountains" by the low-tech peoples in the book) erupt and wreak havoc upon the enemies, who happen to be mindless insects, get this, hiding in caves.
After this blatant crap, the woman protagonist leaves the war, because she's seen too much. I will add the quote when I get home (I neglected to bring that reeking pile of fecundity to work today) but it's something like, "Something got messed up. We did things we weren't supposed to do." Kind of like the Iraq war, bitch?
Eddings wrote some decent shit in his day. The Belgariad wasn't bad and it's sequels had some merit. I always thought he was one of those guys who made changes to previous details in his books when he needed a plot point in the later ones. He was never consistent, except in his bad jokes and eye-rolling mention of body odor. But now, I'm convinced he is just senile (he is 74) and it was a bad idea to put his wife on the cover. Apparently, they've always kind of worked together on ideas and writing, but now she's on every book, and they've pretty much sucked since he started diluting his talent.
But this one, jesus. There is not one iota of character or description or anything interesting at all. The only thing that's remotely of note, even if it is fucking tasteless, is that the book makes heavy allusions to September 11th. At the "climax" of the book (even though nothing is at stake) two volcanoes (unimaginatively called "twin fire mountains" by the low-tech peoples in the book) erupt and wreak havoc upon the enemies, who happen to be mindless insects, get this, hiding in caves.
After this blatant crap, the woman protagonist leaves the war, because she's seen too much. I will add the quote when I get home (I neglected to bring that reeking pile of fecundity to work today) but it's something like, "Something got messed up. We did things we weren't supposed to do." Kind of like the Iraq war, bitch?
Eddings wrote some decent shit in his day. The Belgariad wasn't bad and it's sequels had some merit. I always thought he was one of those guys who made changes to previous details in his books when he needed a plot point in the later ones. He was never consistent, except in his bad jokes and eye-rolling mention of body odor. But now, I'm convinced he is just senile (he is 74) and it was a bad idea to put his wife on the cover. Apparently, they've always kind of worked together on ideas and writing, but now she's on every book, and they've pretty much sucked since he started diluting his talent.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Interesting side note
After sleeping fitfully through the last two hours of my "shift" (waking only to have a very jovial man deliver two Genie lifts at six thirty, giving him the key to a forklift so that he could carry them two blocks from his 28 foot truck which was parked on Water St. and "Could not even think of getting his truck up Wall St." [incidentally, i had a moment of panic after i gave him the key to the forklift, wondering if this was all some weird ruse to steal a forklift and I just watched speed away at 5 mph] [incidentally again, at 7:45am there were not one, but two 28 foot trucks full of scenery on Wall St. proving that the jovial fat man was in fact full of poop]), I awoke to Raemo bustling in at 7:30am. I made some sembalnce of awakitude, filled out paperwork so I could get paid for my 9.25 hours of non-work and got the hell out of the business district.
I arrived at my car only to see the dreaded orange envelopee under my windshield wiper. I don't get it. I stood and studied those parking signs like they were the SATs last night, assuring myself that I parking as legally as the law allows. And here I owe Mr. Bloomberg $115. There goes my extra money for the night.
But I'm going to fight this one. You can contest any ticket, even if it only means that you don't pay until 8 months later. I think I actually have a case with this one. Of course, I didn't have my digital camera with me to document my innocence, but let me try to clarify. I was parked in a space with a parking meter (which usually means your safe), the signs (plural) said no parking from 8am to 8pm MON. -> FRI. (this being a saturday, I didn't sweat it) and there were thre other vehicles parked on the same side of the street with no apparent ticket. Upon looking at the ticket further, I see that it says "Temporary Construction Posted" (whatever the fuck that means). I looked down the block and sure enough, behind some trees, was a 8" x 12" sign that said "no standing anytime, special construction notice." Wouldn't you have put that over by the real permanent signs? Wouldn't you put a bag or a sign on the parking meters so you didn't induce people to pay precious hard-earned quarters to park illegally? I was livid. I slammed my volvo door and broke some more interior plastic. Sorry, Sparky.
Oh, and I checked the time on the ticket. It was issued at 7:45am. It was 8:05am when I got to my car. Fuck you M. Charles, whereever you are!
I arrived at my car only to see the dreaded orange envelopee under my windshield wiper. I don't get it. I stood and studied those parking signs like they were the SATs last night, assuring myself that I parking as legally as the law allows. And here I owe Mr. Bloomberg $115. There goes my extra money for the night.
But I'm going to fight this one. You can contest any ticket, even if it only means that you don't pay until 8 months later. I think I actually have a case with this one. Of course, I didn't have my digital camera with me to document my innocence, but let me try to clarify. I was parked in a space with a parking meter (which usually means your safe), the signs (plural) said no parking from 8am to 8pm MON. -> FRI. (this being a saturday, I didn't sweat it) and there were thre other vehicles parked on the same side of the street with no apparent ticket. Upon looking at the ticket further, I see that it says "Temporary Construction Posted" (whatever the fuck that means). I looked down the block and sure enough, behind some trees, was a 8" x 12" sign that said "no standing anytime, special construction notice." Wouldn't you have put that over by the real permanent signs? Wouldn't you put a bag or a sign on the parking meters so you didn't induce people to pay precious hard-earned quarters to park illegally? I was livid. I slammed my volvo door and broke some more interior plastic. Sorry, Sparky.
Oh, and I checked the time on the ticket. It was issued at 7:45am. It was 8:05am when I got to my car. Fuck you M. Charles, whereever you are!
Missing the War
It's 3:13am and I'm trying to make some extra money. No, I'm not whoring myself around the streets of NYC, not exactly. I am sitting in an expensively decorated room adjacent to the ballroom at 55 Wall Street. Right now, in the huge room next to me, riggers are putting together 51 16'X4' panels of mirrored mylar ceiling, rigging them to a truss and flying them 28 feet in the air. It's all part of the Adidas Y3 fashion show which is taking place sometime next few days during Fashion Week. I'm told that the show, which will last no longer than 20 minutes, will cost approximately 1 million dollars.
I used to do this shit all the time. Well, not Fashion exactly. (Although I did drive a lighting designer around NYC for one fashion week. He had a brand new BMW which he actually let me drive through rush hour traffic, all the time telling me to drive faster and cut off taxis. One day, I had over 8 hours of spare time with the car and I drove around and around, eventually picking up some dudes trying to hail a cab and only charging them 10 bucks to take them to a bar on the West Side. But that's a whole different bucket of chicken.) I used to be a stage manager, you know, for theater. Actually, I was more often an assistant stage manager. My stage manager was a great lady by the name of, what should I call her? I'll call her Raemo. She'll love that.
Raemo called me on Monday and asked me to come in tonight ostensibly so she could get some sleep. I got here at 10:45pm. She didn't leave until 2am. We got to sit in the "production office" and shoot the shit for a few hours. Mostly, I was listening to random war stories about what had gone wrong that day at "The Tent" in Bryant Park. I missed stuff like this. Sitting around, jabbering about how people are idiots and how no matter how much you plan something always goes wrong. I missed hanging out with Raemo and makingher laugh.
Then thirty minutes pass and we're still talking about the same thing. Then an hour. Pretty soon, I remembered what I hate about production. Everyone wants to talk talk talk. If there's a problem, we need to everybody to give their opinion from the Production manager down to the measly rigger. There's way too much talking, way too much discussion without anyone making a decision. I would love to be the guy to step up, but hey, i'm just subbing tonight.
It's 5am now. Everyone has left the building except for Glen, the rigger who is in that huge room playing with motors and moving tons of weight with the push of a button. I had big plans for this blog but to be honest, I'm just fucking tired. I'm going to ctach some winks until Raemo comes to releive and give me my fucking 16 bucks an hour.
I used to do this shit all the time. Well, not Fashion exactly. (Although I did drive a lighting designer around NYC for one fashion week. He had a brand new BMW which he actually let me drive through rush hour traffic, all the time telling me to drive faster and cut off taxis. One day, I had over 8 hours of spare time with the car and I drove around and around, eventually picking up some dudes trying to hail a cab and only charging them 10 bucks to take them to a bar on the West Side. But that's a whole different bucket of chicken.) I used to be a stage manager, you know, for theater. Actually, I was more often an assistant stage manager. My stage manager was a great lady by the name of, what should I call her? I'll call her Raemo. She'll love that.
Raemo called me on Monday and asked me to come in tonight ostensibly so she could get some sleep. I got here at 10:45pm. She didn't leave until 2am. We got to sit in the "production office" and shoot the shit for a few hours. Mostly, I was listening to random war stories about what had gone wrong that day at "The Tent" in Bryant Park. I missed stuff like this. Sitting around, jabbering about how people are idiots and how no matter how much you plan something always goes wrong. I missed hanging out with Raemo and makingher laugh.
Then thirty minutes pass and we're still talking about the same thing. Then an hour. Pretty soon, I remembered what I hate about production. Everyone wants to talk talk talk. If there's a problem, we need to everybody to give their opinion from the Production manager down to the measly rigger. There's way too much talking, way too much discussion without anyone making a decision. I would love to be the guy to step up, but hey, i'm just subbing tonight.
It's 5am now. Everyone has left the building except for Glen, the rigger who is in that huge room playing with motors and moving tons of weight with the push of a button. I had big plans for this blog but to be honest, I'm just fucking tired. I'm going to ctach some winks until Raemo comes to releive and give me my fucking 16 bucks an hour.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Robin Williams
So apparently Rain Delay has become a blog crazyfool. He posts 2-3 times per day and suddenly my once or twice a week posting seems horribly inadequate, not unlike my penis. I shall attempt to post more but as I am on vacation next in hurricane-ridden Florida, I doubt I will have the wherewithal or the electricity needed to post on the Interweb. We shall see. This could all just be a passing thing.
Taking a slight inspiration from RD, I wanted to expound on the subject on sports. I like them. It seems in our culture that liking sports places one in the jock category, the meathead, 350 pound hick who loves to watch men tackle/bump/slide into other men. The artistic community (and by this i mean the fru fru wine and cheese snobs who love Kubrick but hate Bruckheimer) look down upon sport as mean, crude or just plain uninspiring. Whether this comes from a lack of athletic ability in themselves (imagining their frail buliemic bodies playing a pickup game of basketball makes me smile) or a supreme distaste for all things outside the intellectual realm, I think these poor bastards have got it all wrong.
To paraphrase Mr. Keating from Dead Poets Society, "Sport is a chance for other human beings to push us to excel." In every sport, you are locked in a struggle to be the best. The only thing that prevents you from that goal is that other humans are trying to do the same thing. Some say that it's not whether you win or lose, that the struggle is just as important. In that case, style and expression in a game mean just as much as the final result. Hmm, sounds a lot like art.
Take baseball for example. Baseball is a deceptively simple sport that has been likened to strategic games like chess or poker. There are moves that a manager can make which can be called brilliantly effective or devastatingly stupid, depending on the swing of a bat. One of the most common is the having left-handed pitchers throw to left-handed batters. But one must also consider that some left-handed batter do better against left-handed pitching, but only during night games. It gets complicated, there are some players and managers who pore over stat sheets and study trends and patterns in the opposing players. But then there are others who don't even know the basics of pitching and do incredibly well by just swinging the bat intuitively. In both extremes, the player is putting their personality on how they play the game.
Baseball has become a passion of mine in recent years as I've watched the Sox overcome 86 years of failure. This is a franchise which has so much history and character associated with its years in Boston. From their eternal struggle with the Yankees, to their self-destructive nature on the field, to their notorious fans, through it all, the Boston Red Sox have a certain style. These past few years, their character has been described as idiotic. They are baseball's crazy bunch of overacheivers. The long hair and the handshakes only point to how much they love the game, how much they love pitting themselves in the struggle of sports every night. The roster reads like a playbill, with characters like the Sad Clown (Manny Ramirez), Big Papi, Johnny D., the Texas Yokel (Millar), the quiet, skillful Mueller, Rock Star Arroyo, Big Mouth (Shillling), and Explosive Renteria.
How can you not be inspired by a team like that?
Taking a slight inspiration from RD, I wanted to expound on the subject on sports. I like them. It seems in our culture that liking sports places one in the jock category, the meathead, 350 pound hick who loves to watch men tackle/bump/slide into other men. The artistic community (and by this i mean the fru fru wine and cheese snobs who love Kubrick but hate Bruckheimer) look down upon sport as mean, crude or just plain uninspiring. Whether this comes from a lack of athletic ability in themselves (imagining their frail buliemic bodies playing a pickup game of basketball makes me smile) or a supreme distaste for all things outside the intellectual realm, I think these poor bastards have got it all wrong.
To paraphrase Mr. Keating from Dead Poets Society, "Sport is a chance for other human beings to push us to excel." In every sport, you are locked in a struggle to be the best. The only thing that prevents you from that goal is that other humans are trying to do the same thing. Some say that it's not whether you win or lose, that the struggle is just as important. In that case, style and expression in a game mean just as much as the final result. Hmm, sounds a lot like art.
Take baseball for example. Baseball is a deceptively simple sport that has been likened to strategic games like chess or poker. There are moves that a manager can make which can be called brilliantly effective or devastatingly stupid, depending on the swing of a bat. One of the most common is the having left-handed pitchers throw to left-handed batters. But one must also consider that some left-handed batter do better against left-handed pitching, but only during night games. It gets complicated, there are some players and managers who pore over stat sheets and study trends and patterns in the opposing players. But then there are others who don't even know the basics of pitching and do incredibly well by just swinging the bat intuitively. In both extremes, the player is putting their personality on how they play the game.
Baseball has become a passion of mine in recent years as I've watched the Sox overcome 86 years of failure. This is a franchise which has so much history and character associated with its years in Boston. From their eternal struggle with the Yankees, to their self-destructive nature on the field, to their notorious fans, through it all, the Boston Red Sox have a certain style. These past few years, their character has been described as idiotic. They are baseball's crazy bunch of overacheivers. The long hair and the handshakes only point to how much they love the game, how much they love pitting themselves in the struggle of sports every night. The roster reads like a playbill, with characters like the Sad Clown (Manny Ramirez), Big Papi, Johnny D., the Texas Yokel (Millar), the quiet, skillful Mueller, Rock Star Arroyo, Big Mouth (Shillling), and Explosive Renteria.
How can you not be inspired by a team like that?
Monday, August 22, 2005
Picture of the Day
I've been relying on the National Geographic Photo of the Day for my desktop backgrounds for years now. They are always great shots, usually simple enough to put behind the plethora of icons i like to keep on the desktop. (I know Savage hates my desktop, both the virtual and actual but he that's whole 'nother blog.) I mix the shots I get from NGPOTD (i love acronyms) with my own pics taken with my Cybershot. They stay up for a few months until I get bored of looking at the same open road, or the same shot of Mephistopholes rolling her eyes at me.
The pic above will stay on my work desktop for a while, I love the sense of travel and adventure it gives me while sitting in my lonely cubicle. I will prolly replace it with something like this:
Or maybe this:
Ok, maybe not that last one but you have to admit that Google's image search can be very misleading. That pic came up after I searched for "grotesque." Racist bastards.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
The Natural State
As I climb my way out of what I like to call My Six-Month Depression, I find that two of my closest friends are going through some serious issues and life changes. They are two very different people (understatement) but they seem to be expereiencing similar feelings of self-analysis and doubt. You know, general feeling like shit. It stems (and here I'm speaking about myself but i think it applies) from just getting old. From being 27 and wondering what there is to look forward to. There may be other issues on the surface (both of them are single while I am completely happy at all times with my marraige to Mephistopholes) but I think it boils down to the fact that we are not in high school anymore. Our failures and missteps are no longer learning experiences, to be used when we grow up, they're just failures.
I want to help. To tell both of them that it gets better. To keep on keeping on. But I realize my greeting card sentiments might not be what is needed. No one wants to hear that crap when they feel like crap. I didn't anyway. But the stupid thing is that it's true. It does get better.
Think about this way: what is the natural state for a human being to be in? Before we had all these complex emotions and careers and shit like that, we were animals looking for food. Humans didn't have time to be depressed or to feel bad about themselves because they would starve. Caveman Johnny didn't pine over lost chances or regrets, he just went out and got more food if a deer got away. The natural state is to be happy.
There has been a shift in our culture, where we exalt those who are depressed. Much of our music, art, tv, and film focuses on how "cool" it is to be depressed. I hate the movies that are just full of unhappy people who never make any struggle to change. It's not cool to self-medicate with legal or illegal drugs. There are definitely people who need medication, I'm not saying that people who take drugs are bad, but we don't need to ALL be on drugs. That is not the natural state.
Ok, I've gotten a little preachy. That's exactly what I wanted to avoid. Basically, all this can be summed up in something my Dad used to say to me when I was growing up. "Don't sweat the small stuff," he'd say when I skinned my knee or got in trouble at school. He amended it as I got older, "And it's all small stuff."
I want to help. To tell both of them that it gets better. To keep on keeping on. But I realize my greeting card sentiments might not be what is needed. No one wants to hear that crap when they feel like crap. I didn't anyway. But the stupid thing is that it's true. It does get better.
Think about this way: what is the natural state for a human being to be in? Before we had all these complex emotions and careers and shit like that, we were animals looking for food. Humans didn't have time to be depressed or to feel bad about themselves because they would starve. Caveman Johnny didn't pine over lost chances or regrets, he just went out and got more food if a deer got away. The natural state is to be happy.
There has been a shift in our culture, where we exalt those who are depressed. Much of our music, art, tv, and film focuses on how "cool" it is to be depressed. I hate the movies that are just full of unhappy people who never make any struggle to change. It's not cool to self-medicate with legal or illegal drugs. There are definitely people who need medication, I'm not saying that people who take drugs are bad, but we don't need to ALL be on drugs. That is not the natural state.
Ok, I've gotten a little preachy. That's exactly what I wanted to avoid. Basically, all this can be summed up in something my Dad used to say to me when I was growing up. "Don't sweat the small stuff," he'd say when I skinned my knee or got in trouble at school. He amended it as I got older, "And it's all small stuff."
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
This is all over the place
I've seen about 4 other sites link to this one article over the past couple of days so I thought I'd give it a read. The guy is pretty funny, and what he's talking about is certainly plausible. The article is called World of Warcraft World: 10 ways MMORPGS Will Change Your Life. David Wong basically predicts what's been touted in sci-fi since Snow Crash and Otherland, but uses real life examples. Worth the read.
He claims that all of the illustrations in the article were created by using the Nedroid software.
A quick jump to Nedroid.com brings me no further explanation. It is a page of text that is almost 75% links. The site has a tongue-firmly-in-cheek quality. For example, testing out the sample Nedroid algorithm at the top of the page a few times yields hilarious results.
Checking a few of the links proves what I had pretty much guessed all along. Here are a few of my favorites:
The Bacon, Scientifically
A Collection of Animals Barfing
Secret Shame
He claims that all of the illustrations in the article were created by using the Nedroid software.
"Each [pic] was rendered automatically by a remarkable piece of software calledIntriguing. Is it real or an elborate ruse?
Nedroid, which can scan any piece of text, "read" it for comprehension and,
incredibly, render artwork to match the context. Did you even know that was
possible before now? Truly, this morning's science fiction is this afternoon's
science not-fiction."
A quick jump to Nedroid.com brings me no further explanation. It is a page of text that is almost 75% links. The site has a tongue-firmly-in-cheek quality. For example, testing out the sample Nedroid algorithm at the top of the page a few times yields hilarious results.
Checking a few of the links proves what I had pretty much guessed all along. Here are a few of my favorites:
The Bacon, Scientifically
A Collection of Animals Barfing
Secret Shame
Monday, August 08, 2005
The Economist is on my side
Just to hammer the point home from a post I made a few weeks ago, I wanted to link this piece from the Economist that a coworker sent me on the viability of video games as a new art form.
My favorite point that the author makes: All we have to do is wait for the video game critics to die, then we gamers will finally be respected.
Edit: My boy from Next Generation has posted this little tidbit. It appears that the legal system is also on my side.
Edit again: That tidbit link should work now.
My favorite point that the author makes: All we have to do is wait for the video game critics to die, then we gamers will finally be respected.
Edit: My boy from Next Generation has posted this little tidbit. It appears that the legal system is also on my side.
Edit again: That tidbit link should work now.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Third post! In One Day! I must be hopped up on goofballs.
I just realized that my third article is up on Next Generation. It's a profile on the upcoming Fable: TLC. Here's the permalink. It made the front page again, that's 3 for 3 for me.
I don't think I told you guys about my modding article when it ran on July 12th. There's a lot in there that I didn't write. My article was about the whole concept of modding but the editor decided to run it after the whole GTA:SA thing broke. Basically, the first paragraph is mine while the next 3 about GTA were prolly written by the editor. It makes sense to run that shit higher on the page as news but it's a little weird to see your words changed. And I even got my first response from a fan... of Animal Crossing? I think that game is the definition of gay.
Anyway, I just turned in two more articles on Monday. I'll keep you bitches posted on when they get published.
I don't think I told you guys about my modding article when it ran on July 12th. There's a lot in there that I didn't write. My article was about the whole concept of modding but the editor decided to run it after the whole GTA:SA thing broke. Basically, the first paragraph is mine while the next 3 about GTA were prolly written by the editor. It makes sense to run that shit higher on the page as news but it's a little weird to see your words changed. And I even got my first response from a fan... of Animal Crossing? I think that game is the definition of gay.
Anyway, I just turned in two more articles on Monday. I'll keep you bitches posted on when they get published.
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