Friday, October 18, 2002
reuters reports that sean penn spent $56k to call the president an asshole. okay, he didn't say asshole, but he did buy a full page ad to say that he disagreed with blowing iraq to hell.
"bombing is answered by bombing, mutilation by mutilation, killing by killing.
"I beg you, help save America before yours is a legacy of shame and horror," Mr. Penn wrote, so says Reuters, but where is the full ad? where's the entire damning transcript?
if Chuck Heston had put out a similar ad back in the days of Clinton, a guy like Matt Drudge would have had that shit on his web page transcribed with a nice big picture of Moses next to it.
But since Drudge is nothing more than the towel boy at the right wing bath house, he wouldn't dare "publish" Penn's pleas.
why have a balanced blog?
and whiners complain that the media is liberal, and i say hogwash. i like saying hogwash. especially when its bullshit that i'd rather scream. so instead i resort to saying hogwash.
i say hogwash today because i go to the Instapundit and i don't see Penn's transcript. i go to Little Green Footballs and i see that some other actors have chipped in to decry the war cry, but i don't see their ad either, instead they get called "high profile idiots on the anti-American left", because apparently freedom of speech is anti-American when it comes from the left. i go to blogdex, nada. welch, layne, jarvis, no one has it.
i may as well be in russia. dissenter? kill him or ignore him, but at all costs, dont pick on king george.
what's a brother got to do to get his words read after he puts his money where his mouth is and gives the raspberry to the commander in chief?
i thought you people ran political blogs focused on this war on terror?
you cant seriously tell me that this isn't newsworthy.
its only newsworthy when you talk tough? or some wonk in congress? or if The Factor says it on his show? i've seen m-f'ing Bill O'Reilly being quoted and bits of his show being shown on tv this last month more times than i've seen the President and the Vice President combined. think about that. theres a sniper in DC, congress said it's cool to bomb, the prez even addressed the nation, still i see O'Reilly's mug on the screen almost as much as i see Regis's. now how is that a liberal media?
sean penn married madonna, people. he was in fast times at ridgemont high as a stoner surfer! he punches paparazzi. his new wife is a complete piece of ass. and now he does the right thing and where are the so-called reporters?
what more does a man have to do to get a little attention? shoot innocent people from a van?
all these so called war bloggers arent anything more than what the rest of the press is: followers.
if cnn ran the transcript, then everyone would link to it. but because the washington post or reuters doesn't want to give penn any more press than what he paid for, the news dies in the fish wrap of record.
pardon me, but it is news when a big time, a-list, real deal movie star puts out a full page ad and publicly calls bullshit on the president of the united states in a time of war.
and pardon me once again, friends, but now im going to have to call bullshit on you.
to get the medal of bs removed from your good names, either write down and put on your blog the damning words of mr. penn, or link to someone who has the entire transcript of the ad.
otherwise i will consider you nothing more than another towel boy like drudge.
# | |
i've been trying to break off things with ashley for years. why? because im insane.
strangely, ashley never lets me break up. no matter what i say.
the other day right before my softball game, i went over to her online diary to see if she wrote about me, and i saw that for the second day in a row she wrote about how much she loved her first boyfriend ever, who i think is an idiot. so i told her that its obvious that she needs to either finish things up with him, or pursue him or end things with him before she starts hanging out with someone else. but in the meantime, i told her, she needs to lose my phone number and return the keys to my mansions.
she thought i was kidding but i wasn't kidding. plus i had a softball game to go to so i hung up on her, something that i rarely do.
so we tied at softball. lame, i know. and when i got home i showered, went to bed, and was not disturbed by a tearful phonecall from orange county and i was grateful.
now, xfoo.org says that he wants me to tell the truth more in these entries, so here goes, bro.
theres good news and bad news for letting the hotties have keys to your crib. the good news is they can show up and make their selves comfy while you're saving the world and when you come home they can be lounging in the lazy boy in high heels and garterbelts.
the bad news is they can break into your home when you're least expecting it.
got home last night through the back door.
first thing i notice is a trail of little candies leading to the great hall. there the candies formed a heart. in the middle of the heart was a hand written sign that said:
tony, october is the month of tricks and treats, follow the path to find your reward
i was scared. what would i find? i saw that one trail of candies led to the front door and one led to the bedroom.
i followed the one to the front door and considered flying to the beach house.
instead i shut the drapes, turned off the lights and followed the treats up the spiral staircase to my bedroom.
i could smell candles. i was hoping i wouldn't find a blood soaked corpse and a dramatic farewell note.
i'm barely a reason to click over to while killing time on the web, im certainly not worth
opened the door and saw a blond girl with her back to me, laying in my bed with a pink plaid miniskirt, knee high f me boots, and a see thru black blouse.
made sure she was alive with a few curious pokes with my pointy finger, stirred the tearful princess, hugged, and reconciled.
my life couldn't be stranger, xfoo.com. i am not a handsome man. my little castle only has one spire. my moat's not heated and instead of a pet dragon all i attract in it are ducks and algae. in the summer it sorta reeks.
why do i end up with a special guest star in my home sniffling back her tears apologizing and saying she'll do anything that i want? it's not because of my mighty sword. its not because of my tangy cous cous. and it's definitely not because of my unlimited supply of simpsons memorabilia.
i think it happens because i avoid it.
what you resist persists, they tell me.
and lord knows i resist absolute good for some reason.
# | |
Thursday, October 17, 2002
around the horn
Saint Paul, a bob costas fan, writes today that he enjoyed my thrashing of the nbc commentator on his site fratersilertas. dont ask me what it means.
i do know what it means to make a quick $20, and bill over at whump.com is offerring me an intriguing wager. if the Angels sweep the Gyros, which is a done deal, in my opinion, he will pay pal my ass twenty bucks. if the Giants win even one game, i have to get Anna to guest blog for his blog. when anna heard about this bet she applied a new coat of clear polish to her nails and didnt even bother to blow them dry. now thats confidence.
if anyone else wants to lose their money, please let me know. last time i checked i did pretty well off that Laker/Nets fiasco.
moxie has a new url: http://moxie.nu/blog.php, update accordingly.
layne hasnt updated in eight days. asshole. :) now i dont think i will give him that air mail letter that was sent to his olde address after all.
Philip has been very patient while waiting for me to link his esquisite blog, The Invisible Hand. I don't know whats wrong with me. I had his link up before the war, but it isnt up there now. Have I done this to you? Were you once linked and are no longer? Please leave me a comment or email my ass. Gracias.
Robert Loch, the man who got me my anna k. traffic years ago, has a new site. Lots of videos. Very funny. Perhaps you too will agree. It's called Viral Planet.
wKen wrote me to tell me that he made a Not For Work Safe photo essay, that i think you should all check out. it's a few months old. but what can you do?
btw, i think someone needs to let the world keep in touch with the Cam Girls. Oish hasn't updated in a week. that makes me sad. mindy darkend her hair. i love her site(s). kthxbi is still funny as hell. which rhymes with Chelle, who constantly amazes me. and the twin goth sisters? they still hate me. they think i demean women. which is true. i think that they can do with their bodies what they want and live their lives as freely as they want. and if they want to pose in mags or infront of a cam and i look at it, suddenly thats me demeaning them. i'll live.
gus mueller writes today that he really liked my birthday wishes, especially the one where i say i'd like to make out with thirty six girls on my bday.
and finally, Jackson has a great site and blog full of pictures, and dont be suprised if you see a photo essay in there.
# | |
i have a hot date with a hot girl tonight. it makes me a little nervous because i really don't want to do it. shes got gorgeous eyes, juicy lips, dynamite body. booming system up top, in the back. boop, bop, bang. has a little latin flava to her with a perfect ass. white teeth. brains. fast car. a convertible. a good job. money. but shes the wrong astrological sign.
i know i know i know what youre going to say. youre going to call me gay. well, thats not very nice, because she has gay friends and they love her.
in my mind we've tried to make it work, and it didnt work. i dont remember the fights we would get in, but there were lots of them. way more than i had with ashley and im done dating her too. fights begat fights. happiness begat fights. maybe we were both too sensitive. im accepting some responsibility too, here. it take two to slam dance.
so she emailed me the other day and asked if i wanted to have drinks tonight and i said yes. how can you say no.
chris tricked me into a five year relationship with exactly that line a while back, but see, chris was the right sign for me.
sometimes i judge people like tom cruise and billy joel and rod stewart and mick jagger and i think how can those guys get rid of their terrific girlfriends and wives?
but living 108 years, going on 109, i have learned that not every hot chick who's tons of fun and sexy and smart and creative and all the good things matches up with losers like me.
so im terribly afraid that tonight will end up in either another fight, or a wild romp that will lead to confusion, or just confusion or just fighting or something.
i dont see how it can be good.
but i am usually wrong about affairs of the heart.
and i am constantly pleasantly suprised by humanity and twists of fate or the grace of God, whichever you prefer. especially when the happy ending can result in a warm smile from a hot girl.
this is the toughest trial in my trivial life today. that, and finding a blank tape for Survivor tonight.
# | |
simple question from me to you
what would you like to see in upcoming posts of the busblog?
# | |
is it true you haven't been wearing your vest in the field? these people knew the answers. i didn't say anything. they didn't say anything. coffee was poured. there was a knock at the door, a limp nervous knock. someone found a black magic marker, dug a used envelope out of the small waste basket and scribbled DO NOT FUCKING DISTURB, opened the door and when the young man who had been knocking began explaining what he wanted, the older man said hold this and handed him the envelope and said stand right there, and slammed the door.
la vista, we like your work, we like your work ethic but you're losing a step on pursuits, and you've become more reckless than we feel comfortable. the gray haired man said.
your vest, agent, is part of your uniform. we have invested in you and we like to protect our investments, another gray haired man said.
i respected both of these men. they were mans men. they fought in war. hand to hand. joined the agency before it was trendy. fought crime for the right reasons. did it all by the book. they were the conscious and the backbone of the renegade xbi. they didn't take shit from wildcard young agents like me. but i could see that they really did like me, so i wasn't afraid i would be fired, which was good because i had my eye on a dispatcher i had never noticed before.
we're going to re-assign you to chopper one. you're going to learn how to fly a black copter. you will be our eye in the sky. you will be an important part of our work.
it also meant i would have to turn over my gun.
most agents considered this demasculinzation. i didn't. chop lil sonny off and i'd feel demasculinized, but a gun? you can have it.
chopper one was the best flying vehicle in the agency. it was fast, stealth and completely silent. it was a marvel of engineering and tax dollars. the navy had originally designed it but scrapped it. the xbi tweaked it and made it theres.
we're counting on you to make this a smooth transition, they said.
i handed them my gun.
they handed me a bag of money and the keys to chopper one.
# | |
me and brittany murphy were sitting in a tree. k-i-s-s-i-n-g. she wishes. listening to the new nirvana song. their songs depress me, but that one depresses me for all new reasons.
the wind shoved the leaves around a little and brittany tapped my knee quickly and said happy things sweetie, teeth grinding, mild perspiration forming as a light coat on the surface of her skin.
talk about love. sweet love. love between two people on a starry night in the valley on the hood of a car in the parking lot of a super k after a softball game.
i said i love you brittany because you're not ashamed to give it up to papa roach.
her eyes were dilating.
she said, i love you because you turned me on to that las ketchup video.
across the street a white ford taurus backed out of a driveway. an american flag hung next to the mailbox of the yellow ranch style home. it was a pretty good neighborhood. hardly anyone was out.
real love though tony, lets talk about real love. not music. magic love. lovey dove love. the kind dreams are made of.
the kind that would get me to eat onions right now or listen to dave matthews?
without warning, the sprinklers kicked in atop the front lawn next door, startling the starlet.
a coyote howled of thirst in the canyon.
a neighbor slammed his bedroom window shut.
yes, she said, onion love. dmb love. lovey luv, she said into my ear softly and nibbled there like she had nibbled on an ear a few times in her day.
the wind blew some of the sprinkler water high into the tree where we were and we decided that we should climb back down and get into her car.
but the tree was fun. and now the limbs were slippery and the grass was wet.
lets stay in this tree forever she said and i said fine and we held hands and looked through the branches at the moon.
the whooshing had mellowed and the coyote had been silenced and everything was nice as the tree swayed gently in the night.
then a bedroom window became unlatched and it slid up and an accusing voice yelled, "and get the fuck out of my tree!"
startling the superfreaks.
and the window was slammed and we jumped into the wet grass and the flight seemed long and slow and wonderful.
even though it was fleeting
like love, true love, on such a winters day.
# | |
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
theres a sexy cheerleader who comes over to my house every now and then because she doesnt get mtv so last night we were watching FM Nation which is one of mtvs new shows and it was pretty horrible but we stayed glued cuz, well, there aint that much else on tv.
i'd like to hold hands with her but it never feels that comfortable. sometimes she puts her head on my shoulder or on my lap but that doesnt really do it either. sometimes it does but not all the time.
we'll order chinese or fix something on the george foreman grill or what have you and drink wine and maybe kiss goodnight which is what we did last night and she told me that i could have anything i wanted at any time. i told her she was drunk. she said no. that i was listening to the devil part of my brain too much, the part that i had told her about the part that says youre not good enough, that youre too this or not enough that.
i said i want to have a cheerleader girl who i will feel comfortable holding hands with.
she said no you dont.
i said of course i do, doesnt everyone.
shes got pretty good esp that i can pick up from time to time what have you and she just esped that for some reason i feel good about our relationship and so does whoever makes sure that these things happen. theres a reason for everything and theres a reason that certain things feel right and other things dont.
she said, who do you think of when you write your poems.
i told her i dont write poems any more.
she said, fine, who do you think of when you write on the internet.
i esped you.
she smiled and kissed me on the cheek.
it's not a game. it's totally cool. i have a landlady who's 91 who lives in the upstairs corner apartment and sees all the people who come in and out of my apartment and sometimes she will call me right when my night is done. sometimes she can see me walk someone out and skip back and sometimes she can see me not walk someone out but stand in the doorway. and sometimes she can see me walk someone out and not come back for a little while and then float back.
she'll say its none of her business but... then she'll ask me who i like the best. and i tell her i like the ones who treat me the best the best.
she says, you mean the ones who cook for you? i say no. she says, you mean the ones who kiss you, i say no.
91 and you dont know what being treated nicely means?
she says she hadnt been treated very nice for much of her life.
then she says that im the nicest person shes ever met and that makes me feel pretty crappy cuz im not all that nice to her other than taking her calls now and then.
cheerleader girl called me up today at the office. too many people called me here today.
she said i liked your blog today.
i said how come?
she said cuz when i looked at it i could see you. you were out there.
then she said if anyone ever treats you bad, walk away and dont ever let them back and that goes for me too.
and then she said something that made me laugh and then she was gone and i was alone at my desk that wont be mine in a few more days and i thought about what i was going to have for dinner.
# | |
Check Your Head
Grand Royal Records
So What'cha Want
Just plug me in just like I was eddie harris
You're eating crazy cheese like you'd think i'm from paris
You know I get fly you know I get high
You know that i'm gone and i'm a tell you all why
So tell me who are you dissing maybe i'm missing
The reason that i'm smiling or wilding so listen
In my head I just want to take 'em down
Imagination set loose and i'm gonna shake 'em down
Let it flow like a mud slide
When I get on I like to ride and glide
I've got depth of perception in my text y'all
I get props at my mention 'cause I vex y'all
So what'cha want
You're so funny with the money that you flaunt
Where'd you get your information from
You think that you can front when revelation comes
You can't front on that
Well they call me mike d. the ever loving man
I'm like spoonie g., i'm the metropolitician
You scream and you holler about my chevy impala
But the sweat is getting wet around the ring around your collar
But like a dream i'm flowing without no stopping
Sweeter than a cherry pie with ready whip topping
Goin' from mic to mic kickin' it wall to wall
I'll be calling out you people like a casting call
It's wack when you're jacked in the back of a ride
With your know with your flow when you're out getting by
Believe me what you see is what you get
And you see me coming off as you can bet
I think i'm losing my mind this time
This time i'm losing my mind
You can't front on that
But little do you know about something that I talk about
I'm tired of driving it's due time that I walk about
But in the meantime, i'm wise to the demise
I've got eyes in the back of my head so I realize
Well i'm dr. spock i'm here to rock y'all
I want you off the wall if you're playing this wall
So what'cha want
Y'all suckers write me checks and then they bounce
So I reach into my pocket for the fresh amount
See i'm the long leaner
Victor the cleaner
I'm the illest motherfucker from here to gardena
I'm as cool as a cucumber in a bowl of green jalapeno hot sauce
You've got the rhyme and reason but no cause
So if you're hot to trot you think you're slicker than grease
I've got news for you crews you'll be sucking like a leech
You can't front on that
So what'cha want
# | |
meesh is being amazingly sweet to me, i don't know why. i don't return her calls. i don't hang out with her when she goes to catalina or when she gets spanked on the strip. still she's nice and today on her blog of meeshness she makes a list and wonders what i would like for my birthday. so here's my list.
1. i want to make out with thirty six girls. why thirty six? because 109 seems unattainable.
2. i want one of the girls to be britney murphy right after she doses my madras.
3. i would like chocolate creme pie.
4. i would like george w. bush to admit that so far he's fucked up royally.
5. i would like kitty bukakke's book.
6. i would like all the children of the world to go to bed with food in their bellies.
7. i would like the cubs to offer their available managerial position to either dusty or lou.
8. i would like to kiss a girl with a tongue pierce.
9. i would like to feel a fake boob.
10. the foo fighters are playing at the wiltern. i wouldn't mind seeing them.
11. i would prefer to see tsar, my favorite band, but i think they're booked at the .
12. i would like the people who i sent my proposal to to at least tell me that it's an interesting idea.
13. i would like to get a job where i can blog professionally.
14. i would like everyone who reads my blog on my birthday to either say something nice in a specially designed post, or flow me $2.
15. i would like to teach the world to sing.
16. i would like to eat chicken and ribs with my best friend chris who i adore.
17. i would like to get the next day off of work.
18. i would like to get to see all of my friends who i love very much and get a baseball autographed by them.
19. i would like to see all the prisoners in the california corrections system for non-violent drug related crimes to be set free if they promise not to not hurt anyone ever again.
20. i would like no one to die of AIDS on my birthday.
21. i would like everyone to understand the words that are coming out of my mouth the way that i intend them to be heard.
22. i would like my mom to sing happy birthday on my answering machine like she does every year.
23. i would like britney murphy to sing happy birthday to me as she crawls around my hard wood floors.
24. i would like the entire Internet to link to my page and not for anna but because i rock so damn hard.
25. i would like flagrant to mail me an autographed self portrait suitable for framing.
26. i would like moxie to let me drive her porsche around the block, if you know what i mean.
27. i would like someone to buy me something off my wishlist. why? because if i was a cam girl you would.
28. i would like 36 cam girls to link me on their pages. why 36? because 109 is insane.
29. i would like for bill clinton to shake my hand and call me a stud.
30. i would like for al sharpton to not run for president.
31. i would like to have a fish taco in isla vista... off the flat belly of meesh.
32. i would like to drink so much i puke.
33. i would like to hold britney murphy's hair as she pukes.
34. i would like for Tsar to come out with a special EP where they cover that Smells Like Teen Spirit / Bootylicious mix of nirvana and destiny's child and list me as executive producer even though i didn't do shit.
35. i would like all the fly bitches to know my name.
36. i would like everyone who does not already own it, to order Tsar's cd on my birthday because they really do kick ass, and that would mean a lot more to me than world peace or 36 hummers or me getting a bamboo rice warmer.
and if i could only get one of these things, i would just like to have you, whoever you are, to just be a loyal reader and satisfied with my nonsensenesses.
# | |
i love winona ryder so much. ive loved her since "Beetlejuice." who doesn't love the dark sad goth girls who pout and write poetry and wait for death?
i don't care who she has gone to bed with, i don't care what rock bands she's ruined, i don't care how many yawner films she's made, i don't care if she stole the entire saks fifth avenue, but i am a little saddened that she shops there. i always thought she was a bit more hip.
but i do care that she seems to have the worst advisors around her.
first of all, what the fuck is happening that we are still mired in this court case? i have yet to see any film footage of her putting things into a bag and walking off.
but i do see a bag in her hand this morning as she is walking in the courtroom, and i know the jury isn't there, but if i was her lawyer i would tell winona that i never want to see a bag or purse or anything larger than my phone number in her hand until after the case is over.
are there no brothas on her defense team?
Black people know about going into a store and having all eyes on you as you shop. what you do is you keep your hands where everyone can see them, you carry a basket, you don't ever reach in your pockets unless you are about to pull out your wallet and you do not go anywhere with a huge bag unless you want people to assume that you're putting things in it.
ashley has her good and bad points and i love how affectionate she can be but she loves to hug me while we're grocery shopping and i have to keep reminding her that if i was suspicious of anyone it would be of two people hugging in the cereal aisle. couldn't be an easier way to slip something down the back of someone's loose trousers than during a warm embrace.
we all are hoping that winona is innocent. and right now i think most people think she didn't do it. but there is that shadow of a doubt that is looming right next to her and what she needs to do is lose that huge fucking bag and never be seen with one again until this case is dismissed.
she doesnt need a purse in court. if she wants to carry a little compact, put it in a blazer pocket right next to the lipstick. let the lawyers carry everything else in their briefcase even though they should be the ones accused of theft since they're obviously keeping this trial going so that they stay in the public eye and keep racking up billable hours.
so since you're paying them, honey, have them lug your shit around.
thank you very much, that will be twelve thousand dollars.
# | |
lenny kravitz has ruined a lot of things in his day. all the girlies want to be with him. not only is he handsome, but he plays that guitar so well, and he has those big arms, and dresses so great, and talks so cool.
but the one thing that he has brought to us is the afro wig.
so kind of him.
when my fro finally goes, just watch me bust with the kravitz wig and stand back cuz the ladies will bum rush and make a terrible scene.
i sorta wish old lenny was here right now, i would ask him not about fashion or wigs or guitar playing, but women.
i would ask him how could it be that one day you could make sweet love to a girl so intense and spectacular that the neighbors could very easily think that the girl is being murdered, and then the next day she gets on her computer and writes about some other guy, and then the day after that she writes about that other guy again, and not about you.
i would ask him if he thought that it meant what you thought it meant, that she should just spend the next little while with who she is obviously pre-occupied with.
i would ask him if he thought it might just be better if she fucked off.
i wonder how many times lenny could be dissed in such a way until he just stopped returning the girl's calls, changed the locks, and got on with living the life that he should be pursing: chasing girls who liked him the best.
im sure he would tell me that it doesn't matter how good you took care of a girl, or what you did to her physically, repeatedly, magically, or what sorts of things you bought her, or made for her, or even the things that you didn't do so that she would feel better about herself, that some girls are just completely clueless and need a gigantic smack across the face (figuratively, psychos) and maybe a year of complete silence.
or maybe ten years.
i bet lenny would write a bad song about it and sell it to a car company and then go have a drink with slash at the rainbow and play ms. pacman.
# | |
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
the Chicago Cubs didn't always play in Wrigley Field, the park used to be called Weeghman Park, named after the owner who bought the team in 1913 and moved them to clark and addison after the cubs played for 23 years at West Side Grounds. in 1920 the Wrigley chewing gum family bought the team and renamed the field Cubs Park.
in 1932 both Weeghman and cubs owner William Wrigley passed away. the park had been named Wrigley Field since '27 and the Cubs were a very competitive team in those days.
the only problem was that Babe Ruth was also playing in 1932 for the new york yankees. in '31 he hit a cool .373 with 46 homers, and in '32 he slipped a little, averaging only .341 with 41 homers and 120 ribbies. it would be his last monster season. in '33 he would barely hit .300, in '34 he dropped to .288 and in '35 he would be booted off the bombers unceremoniously after completely changing the face of baseball.
but despite all the records as a hitter, and all the amazing stats as a pitcher (23 wins in 1916 and 24 wins in 1917), the most impressive feat of all has to be his called home run in the fifth inning of the third game of the 1932 world series against the chicago cubs at wrigley field off Charlie Root.
wrigley field wasnt the generous hitters park that you'd think back then. in '32, their best slugger Johnny Moore only belted 13 homers which led the team. Root had only given up 10 homers the entire season.
a career 200 game winner, Root was wearing #12 on his back for one of the first times in his career. the Cubs in '32 were the last team to adopt numbers on their uniforms. some would say it was because of the influence of newly hired Bill Veeck who would eventually put ivy on the outfield walls.
in the first inning of the game 33 year old #12 found himself with two men on and big fat #3 up. #3 knocked one over waveland for a three run dinger..
in the fifth inning with the score tied at 4, the fans booed ruth so hard that even the cubs bench joined in and witnesses say that the ruckus made it hard for the bambino to be heard as he shouted to the home team's bench at the friendly confines.
some say he was informing the cubs that he was about to do something that barry bonds should do if he finally wants us to respect him.
some say babe ruth took two called strikes and then told the cubs that he was going to hit a home run to deep center field right there in the third game of the world series.
on the very next pitch babe ruth hit a homer in extremely deep center field right there in the third game of the world series.
some say Ruth hit the scoreboard in centerfield where he had just pointed, but it's not true, Veeck wouldnt create the famous scoreboard until five years later, in 1937.
but it is true that cubs fans spit on ruth and his wife the night before his famous called shot as they entered their hotel. which should be a lesson to all of us.
don't mess with a show off in front of his true love right before he has a good chance to show off.
too bad barry bonds isnt a show off when it matters.
too bad barry bonds doesnt have any respect for baseball history and what went down 70 years ago.
too bad barry bonds doesnt have what it takes to point to those ridiculous exploding mountains of turd in left center of Edison Field in anaheim.
too bad barry bonds would probably get anxious and pull it foul.
Root, nicknamed Chinski because he liked to throw at batters' heads, said that the Babe never pointed to center or he would have thrown the next pitch at Ruth's head. ruth said that root had turned around while he called the shot and never saw the dis in the making.
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when i was just a little kid growing up in the hood, i dreamed of finer places, the kinds i saw on television, where everyone had a front yard and a garage and a pretty white woman who'd have milk and snacks waiting for them after school.
little did i know that you all were deep frying twinkies at the fair, studying macroeconomics in learning labs, and teaching the kids about the power of individualism in the catholic schools. now i know how the west was won. finally ive seen the light.
ah, but i chide, for i didnt grow up in the projects in the south side but i was raised in a townhouse in the suburbs just like you. i let a strange man help me with my pinewood derby race car, i had my nanny make my science fair project, i clipped the coupon for a big wheel from the back of a cap'n crunch box and handed it to my mother and in four to six weeks it was mine and i could park it next to the stoop of any house in my neighborhood and never fear that it would get stolen.
the only place i had to lock my bike was at school, and thats because they made us do it there. they taught us that people stole. even though no one stole shit in my town.
back then it was much harder to be a theif. the kids played outside and knew each other. the parents didnt all work. the cops werent anything to be afraid of. and in the wintertime in certain cul de sacs the rain would come and then the cold and little ice ponds would appear overnight.
over by the big hill they even formed a little Hot House with an electric stove so the kids wouldnt get frostbitten so easilly and so the teenagers could find a warm place to practice their french kissing. i once got kissed in the hot house by a girl named dianne, and ten minutes later by her little sister heather. i ran home not knowing what had happened to me.
dont worry love, my nanny said, you've simply entered manhood. your life is ruined now.
those girls didnt like me. hardly any of them did. they just decided that they wanted to kiss boys that afternoon and there i was in the wrong place at the wrong time. just like in 98 when i joined the dot com. just like when i was nine and turned on the tv and saw the cubs.
parents cant protect you from everything, nor should they.
hot houses, hot boxes, hot blondes, theyre all tootsie pops of fun with a chewy center of cyanide and if it doesnt kill you it just makes you addicted for more.
a wonderful girl wrote me today with a serious question of what to do when at a bar and the boys smile but none of them come over and my answer is control your own destiny just like those sisters did. of course i liked them both but i was more interested in my tobaggon than i was in what i thought was an impossiblity of the two hottest and smartest sisters in school wanting to share some spit with me in my snowmobile suit.
get up like they do on tv and walk over to the shy boy in the corner and ask him if he has a light.
now this wont work in california where you cant smoke in bars, but i bet ya he'll pull out a lighter anyway. and if he doesnt ask him if he'll watch your table for you and when you return thank him with a shot of something.
i would fucking die if a hottie bought me a drink.
i think a gentlemen would have to be inclined to buy her one right back.
jello shot, what was your name again? ah yes, jello shot, victoria?
two jello shots, please.
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happy birthday molli!!!!
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i miss the mexicans on mission street who would celebrate for the 49ers and the Giants. Lord knows they were the only ones who wore the hats and jerseys on a regular basis, and bought the flags and ponchos.
The Deadheads had Steal Your Face tshirts with the Giants logos, i liked those.
The old ladies had the satin jackets and big buttons from the olden days. The geeks had the Croix De Candlestick pins in their hats.
But it was the Mexicans who would show up at Mission and 24th right by my favorite taqueria, El Farolita, and cheer to the traffic and wave and raise their fist. Those are your Giants fans, frisco, those are the ones who'll be watching the series in bars and in tiny apartments after work. Those will be the ones who will be depressed when the Angels sweep em. Those are the ones who i saw when i worked at the Stick. not you.
this whole idea of building new ballparks that look like old ballparks isn't to attract the middle class blue collar worker who buys their kids Giants bibs or Giants baby caps, it's to get the people in San Jose to drive up the 101 and load up on garlic fries, ten dollar chicken burritos, and plastic cups of chablis.
there was nothing wrong with candlestick in 97 when the Giants were in first place for most of the season, but there were only two sell outs that year. opening day and one day in september when the dodgers were in town and the gyros were about to clinch it.
rarely were the yuppies represented in the stands because it just wasnt hip to find yourself at the stick. there were no velvet ropes. there were no ethernet jacks for your palm pilot. there was no buzz on the streets.
but there was buzz on the streets. in the mission there was plenty of buzz. same buzz as always. it took a while to hit noe valley and the marina but they're always a little behind the times anyway unless its super new and kitschy and overpriced, like the new ball park that looks like an old one. one where the giants fans will get their hearts broken in in a few weeks.
the new ballpark is just as windy and cold and soon to be miserable as the stick, but its new and its pretty and it looks great on tv. just like little tears. and expensive jewels.
candlestick is still orange and green and brown and without much character unless you forget about the fact that ballparks are only backdrops. as gorgeous and heavenly as wrigley field is, it will be known, for me, as the place that Babe Ruth called his home run blast. and candlestick is where montana made all those memories and where steve young ran for my favorite touchdown of all. none of those guys cared about the wind or the fact that the wealthy couldn't be pampered in luxury boxes.
let the dogs leap from the yachts in mccovey cove and scrounge the Old Navy splash hits deposited by the likes of anderson, glaus, salmon and kennedy. the angels have tried to turn their park into disneyland too, but the fans always have the last laugh and the fans know they're in orange county so they all dress alike and they're all white and they bang their plastic bangers and they buy their monkeys and crack open fortune cookies from panda express that say you will always have this moment so dig it.
these are two teams that i don't like very much and two ball parks that can burn for all i care, but i do love the fans and these two teams have fans that have waited a while for this, but the best fans this october, im surprised to say, are those in anaheim, and im happy their team will win.
sorry, mission street mexicans, propagators of soul in a city at a crossroads. wave your flag as high in defeat as you would in victory, for you will lose, and the yuppies will have already switched to their niners colors before the first cork is popped in the anaheim locker room.
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ive gone a few years without a car and it doesn't bother me much, if at all. you'd think it would but it doesn't. your heart can take you places that a car could never.
if a pretty girl wants to go somewhere either she'll drive or close her eyes and go with me somewhere.
one particular girl isn't happy about driving an hour to see me any more and when she closes her eyes thinks of someone else.
its sorta like the traffic, how can you argue with it, its part of living. it's like raising your fist at gravity. everything changes baby that's a fact. and maybe everything that dies some day comes back. put your make up on, fix your hair up pretty, and meet me tonight in atwater village.
i fell asleep last night after cold pizza and beer watching monday night football. there was a little tap at the door. no one taps at my door. i don't even have a peep hole. good thing im not afraid to die.
opened the door and there she was. anna.
her hair seemed a little darker. she had a little french braid tucked behind her ear. glitter that she'd powder puffed on her neck and cheeks and arms. the cutest little sleeveless shirt that she found at a thrift store. shes not into bargains, but she knows that i like her that way. she had a cute little package with a bow around it. a real copy of Dreamweaver 4.
we got a fire started in the hearth. fall had come bringing guests: wind, leaves, frost.
she curled up in my lazy boy and wanted me to squish in there with her, ended up in my lap and we talked about fine art and the sound certain words make like ricochet.
the sake was warming on the stove as the christmas lights twinkled and the mechanics next door slammed the chain link fence closed after a long long night.
my life isn't perfect she told me and it's not what i want right now, but im glad you're here with me, right now.
and i knew what she meant.
and we went to bed without getting naked, but like sexy friends, the kind you read about.
okay i got naked in the morning, but im a perv.
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Monday, October 14, 2002
if theres one person who deserves the most valuable player award this year it's not barry bonds who hit .370, smacked 46 home runs, got on base 58% of the time, drove in over 100 rbis, walked nearly 200 times, and only struck out 47 times.
no, the mvp for the national league was the coach dusty baker, for having to put up with barry bonds, and for making it to the world series despite a remarkably underwhelming pitching staff, very little bench depth, and his best player getting walked half the time he stepped up to the plate.
dusty is a class act who should have been tommy lasorda's heir to the dodgers, but life isnt always fair and how are you going to fire tommy lasorda? fucker bleeds blue.
i say he's a magician. who's on this team other than bonds and kent? rich aurillia. but thats it. ortiz is good, but not that great. nen is a good closer, but how are you going to get a lead when bonds is getting walked? benito santiago? no, it's dusty.
only twice in the last ten years have the giants failed to place first or second. say what you want, it's not cause of barry bonds. it's cause dusty is a genius.
cuban fat man livan hernandez lost 16 games. he also threw three shutouts. how are you supposed to manage when you don't know which pitcher is going to show up?
dusty still hasn't figured out how to lower the cost of living in frisco, but he's doing pretty well with the baseball team.
too bad he's got to take his rickety little dream machine into the buzzsaw of goofy magic called the anaheim angels, who very well may sweep the giants if they don't watch it.
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i guess i shouldnt joke about the east coast sniper but thats what i do when im nervous, or happy, or i dont know what else to do: i joke.
and i understand that people are a little on edge out there by dc, where i was born, where i had some good times as a little kid, and ive seen people crouched over trying not to get sniped while pumping their gas or watering their lawns, or by just going on with their lives.
but to blame entertainment, or the media, or tv or the movies is really crazy. cain slew able. how many tvs did they have at adam and eve's house? i dont even think they had cable and cain murdered his brother in cold blood.
doesnt anyone read the Good Book any more?
one of the purposes of that story is to teach us that humans have had evil and murderous tendencies long before "The Sopranos" got on HBO or N.W.A busted with "Straight Outta Compton." if anything, that story teaches us that we dont even need one ounce of outside stimuli. all we need to be is alive.
i seriously doubt that the dc sniper has a den full of Jon Claude Van Damme movies, or is a huge fan of Peckinpah, or can't wait for the next John Woo film. i bet he's just an asshole with a rifle.
those are the worst kinds, of course, but they're out there, and sometimes they cross that line and cause a little mahem.
i understand where the person who put that sign next to those flowers is coming from, but it's not the answer.
i love Reservoir Dogs so much and if Quentin ever came to me and asked me to help him make his next movies more violent and funny and sordid and dark, i would drop everything and help because there are so few Good movies like Quentin's first three (i count True Romance even if he doesnt.) but that doesnt mean that you'll ever see me with a gun. not even as a joke.
the answer for preventing the snipers of the world is communication.
i think it was schleshinger who said that new york was the lonliest place in the world because of all the people.
maybe it wasnt, but it's so true. the smaller the town, the more people know each other. the bigger, the easier it is to just ignore people.
im not saying a hug would stop people from shooting each other, but a hug and someone to hang out with probably would.
maybe the government should couple up everyone with a BuddyBuddy.
if you get pulled over, the cop asks you, "where's your buddy?" and the cop calls him up and tells him that he's got a speeding ticket too.
ive got a great friend who used to joke about killing herself and i said, if you do, then i have to kill myself too. and it stopped her from being able to use that as an excuse.
of course it only works if you have a buddy who you like.
ive gotta catch a bus now. i'll fix the rest of the world after dinner.
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people write me the best emails. at first i would be upset whenever the comments were down, because it's nice to get feedback from the people you're writing to, especially if it's positive.
this one girl wrote and said she loved my blog and misses my web site and i told her that once the carpal chills i can get back to the site. and she asked if i would like to come to her house one day, she says she has this really soft white furry rug and we can get high and lay on it and listen to old school madonna and led zep and i said just lay there and she wrote back and said we don't have to just lay there. i told her that sometimes it's nice just to lay there.
she said we can just lay there.
then she didn't write until just now and she said that when she was in high school she and her friends would ditch sometimes and take off their shoes and walk around the city of angels barefooted which is safer than you'd think since no one really walks in la and i wrote back and i said i walk in la and she wrote back and said she knew and that's why she was writing because she would want to walk with me on the streets of la and find water fountains and stick her little toes in there and i said my feet are quite sensitive but it all sounds very nice.
then this dude wrote me and said he had a very nice apartment with a big overstuffed chair and would i like to have some beers and listen to danzig with him and i said i would like to have beers i would like to hear danzig, but i think i would rather do that with the barefooted girl who just wrote me. he told me he wasn't gay. i said it has nothing to do with that. he said sure it does. then he stopped writing,
then this other girl wrote me and said that she doesn't have any money to give me a birthday present from my wishlist and she doesn't have any money to pay pal my ass and she doesn't have a digital camera or she'd send me a topless picture of herself so all she can send me is an ecard and i wrote her back saying that that is perfect. i said i don't want any nudie digital pictures of anyone. but i told her to get back on the streets and get me my money! then she stopped writing abruptly and i didn't get an ecard yet from her, but it's early.
when i got back from the supply room there was another email from another reader of the busblog and she wanted to know if i had a girlfriend. i said no. she asked if i wanted a girlfriend. i said yes, please. she said, what's up with ashley? i said shes still a lot younger than me and she still hasn't dated any guys her age. she then said maybe you two are meant for each other. i said, no i don't think we're meant for each other. i said i cant imagine a vegetarian wanting eggs and bacon for breakfast and i love making breakfast on a nice sunday morning in my sombrero and kimono with a screwdriver waiting for me on the counter, and ashley isn't really that type of girl. and im so not the right guy for her. its almost a little bit sad.
she then called me a womanizer and i wrote back and said that if i was a womanizer i would have a lot more stories to tell all of you. but right away the email bounced back and it made me wonder how she could cancel her email account that quickly.
but i guess anythings possible these days.
who knew madonna would end up such a terrific and responsible English mum?
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hi, mr. spork man
good afternoon, tony balogna.
where are you going all dressed up like that, sharped dressed man?
oh, well, i just read sk smith's live journal and any gal who has not one but two sporks is definitely my kinda woman.
whoa, pallie, hold your horses. shes got a man.
what's her man gotta do with me?
come on, spork man, sara and dan have been sweet on each other since last century, bro.
then why is she putting out personal ads saying that she likes doing light housekeeping?
dude, i don't know either. i think it's fiction.
is that what dan was trying to say in that comment?
not sure, partner. i sorta got lost in those big words he throws around, but i think if it were over between those two she woulda gone through that bucket of chum in a heartbeat.
but im all dressed up!
and looking sharp too. but don't get bummed out. theres lots of women out there who are dying to get a knock at the door from a man in a top hat carrying a six foot spork.
normally i would say that you look ridiculous, but for some reason this look works for you.
gee, thanks, tony.
let me send you over to moxie's pad. now theres a girl who could use a little sporking.
what are you trying to say?
i'm saying she likes em well-dressed and rich, and just say that you're jewish and you'll be halfway home.
jewish? you cant spell spork without pork.
don't spell it, then.
hmmm, im not so sure about this.
whattya got to lose?
hang on to your dignity then, tuxedo man with huge plastic utensil.
nice monocle too.
came with the hat. nice movie review.
you're too kind.
seriously, no one writes movie reviews like you.
i know, they get caught up talking about the movie. who wants that?
not me, thats for sure.
people are telling me the beck record is good.
those people are crazy.
meesh liked "the secretary."
does the suprise you?
i want to finish my book tonight.
how much of it do you have to go?
how long are we gonna talk to each other like this?
till you tell me where you got your huge ass spork.
that's easy, from ebay. they have the little ones right now, but you can find big ones there too.
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those two girls called me up on sunday afternoon to see if i had something to do and of course i had something to do. i had to draft a fantasy nba basketball team, i had to watch football, and i had to try to finish reading my book. as if.
sara, who i love, has the best singles ad on her diaryland thing today. it confuses me though, because i thought she wasnt single. is there news i havent heard? does she have an arrangement with her hunky beau? is this just a "found" ad? how could it be? it's funny.
and wtf is up with her listening to the beatles? its like two thousand and three almost. can we get over the beatles already? i thought she was smart. last time i was over and she and dans pad in frisco they had the best cd collection. dan even bought this super rare teenage fanclub import cd that cost a ton. revolver shes listening to? put back on those whale sounds cd, woman and get back to the light housework.
i am glad she liked mr. deeds though. that movie rules.
angels are in the world series. so where the fuck is welch?
i hear layne is in dc trying to find that sniper. i got a letter for him that was sent via "air mail" from australia., i wen to his crib and knocked on the door and all i heard were two pitbulls scratching at the screen door. will someone tell him that i have a letter for him? whens his birthday anyhow? i think its right about now.
clifton gray is the mysterious amazon wishlist purchaser of the fabulous Quick Chop. feel free to join him in showering me with gifts, friends. tis the season.
kitty b.has a new button. why does that sound like it would make junior highschoolers giggle?
a. beam graced us with several sentences this weekend. lazy ass. i would accuse him of being the dc sniper, but that guy has moved his finger way more over the last week than a. beam has.
i want to see if kate sullivan can write every day. i know she can. i just want to see her do it. f the la weekley for taking your job away. i listened to alternative music yesterday and thought of her.
and finally, thanks to bro who flowed me the $6.66 via PayPal. maybe that number scared the angelic souls who peruse these pixels. if thats the case, heres a link where you can put in your own flowage. p.s. i think the single largest donation ive ever is $50. do i hear $51?
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this is my last week at this routine. everythings gonna be different next monday. my life is gonna be upside down. everything changes.
the guys upstairs have decided to give me one of the hardest jobs in the agency.
i wont have a television at my desk. i wont have two fifteen minute breaks to write to you.
we'll be through the looking glass, people.
true will be false, false will be true.
i had a spectacular weekend this weekend. i dont even know where to start. and still, somehow i want to change all of that too. anything like that ever happen to you?
then last night one of my friends called me and told me that he has an extra ticket to see bob dylan on wednesday at the wiltern, but thats my xbi softball night. decisions decisions. floor seats.
what do you do when your dreams come true?
resist them moans the wind.
give in tocks the clocks.
this week im thinking about not doing the easy stuff like sports and politics and current events but just do entertainment.
but i do want to write about the angels getting into the world series, so i might have to have an exception, especially if the giants win today.
f the giants.
had a hard time getting out of the house this morning. not because it's foggy and gray and sorta cold. but because i couldnt find my wallet. i can never find my wallet.
if someone wants to give me something cool for my birthday, find me a way that i can sos my wallet and keys so that they'll always find me.
it was in my robe.
cuz i bought pizza last night in honor of columbus day.
i have no focus today.
i dont even know what to say.
i hope everything goes your way.
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Sunday, October 13, 2002
nice job, mr. welch,
the angels are going to the world series
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the stars were out last night. did you see them? speeding through the heavens, spinning at dizzying rates. not saying a thing but sending us a message at one hundred and eighty six thousand miles per second. here i am. here i am. here i am. the opposite of an s-o-s. or is it?
they say the brightest stars shine strongest right before they die. same goes for flowers. same goes for lies.
what do you do when you get everything you want she asked me like i was qualified. what do i have? and she said me. twirling with velvet revolutions like a deadhead during space arms out with perfect body language blonde hair twinkling with the glitter of spilt moondust.
went to the grove to see adam sandlers punch drunk love but it was sold out so we saw igby goes down and were amazed.
best movie ive seen in a really long time she told me as we flew away to a better place, and i agreed.
jeff goldblum stole the show and i love it when people steal the show. claire danes looks like shes been fighting a hundred years war and i couldn't believe how well ryan phillipe has so many different ways to play an asshole.
black comedy they call a movie like that and its one of the only times where it's a positive thing to have black as an adjective i told her.
she said what about my black ferrari?
i said what about my free ferrari?
she said what about my first ferrari?
i said what about my spare ferrari?
we didn't fly to my bungalow or the beach house we just kept going higher and higher until we reached the place where prayers are sorted into the thanks and the wants.
thank you for this incredible girl.
thank you for this amazing life.
please let me pass chemistry.
if you get me out of this shit i promise i'll never do it again.
and the prayers kept coming in and the demons had to sort them and they wanted to send them to the wrong place but they couldn't and that pissed them off more and they suffered and we watched and there was popcorn and there was another culkin tearing up the screen.
what do you do when your dreams come true whispered a cherub on a smoke break exhaling a long stream of pleasant dreams.
savor it replied the blue sky.
remember it said the dead.
hanging upside down from heaven blowing bubbles that end up as dew
what do you say when they question your sincerity
tell em nothing in here is true.
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