There's not enough snarkiness in the world that could properly do this justice-


The Bradys Invade The White House!


December 11, 2001

Television's favorite family has also become the First Family, at least according to FOX's newest TV movie!

Yes, the Brady Bunch -- the funkily-dressed Mike, Carol, Marcia, Jan, Cindy, Greg, Peter, Bobby and, of course, Alice -- are reuniting for an upcoming D.C.-themed FOX TV movie, "The Brady Bunch in the White House," which is currently in production.

GARY COLE and SHELLEY LONG from the 'Brady Bunch' movies star as parental units Mike and Carole. In the special, everyone's favorite head of the family, Mike Brady, has also become the head of state! And with Mike as the Prez, who else could be Vice President but Carol!"

Man, the cast of Friends sure is looking old these days.

And yep, on this beautiful, fabulous Halloween night, I stayed in and watched Friends.

I have no life.

I also have a cold.

Actually, I'm not really going out because I'm exhausted. Working is, like, so tiring. It's "do this" and "do that" and "don't do this" or "don't do that." I'm just not used to it, being unemployed for so long, and all. Now I rememeber why everyone bitches about having to work all the time.

Bored now......

Yep, it's Halloween again. And just like last year (which I could link to if I could find my damn archives), I'm so very Bah Humbug this year.

I used to love Halloween too. How could you not? Hell, I went to UCSB, where Halloween isn't just a holiday, it's a P-A-R-T-Y. At one point, it was the biggest Halloween party this side of the Mississippi, a Mardi-Gras like bachanalia involving up to 40,000 people. Halloween in 'SB featured one of my favorite UCSB moments- my friend's neighbors taking some guy up to her apartment for a little nookie and asking him on the way up "what was your name again?" Yeah, not that exciting, but I can't actually detail other stories without probably getting arrested by John Ashcroft. Let me just say that nothing quite rocks like dancing to "Rock Lobster" with tons of strobe lights and mushroom tea.

For some reason, these days, I just don't care. I wish I could blame it on new job stress, just like last year I blamed it on no job stress, but I'm starting to realize that there's more to it than that.

Damnit, I'm getting old.

And it sucks.

Let's rock!

Boys in bikinis
Girls in surfboards
Everybody's rockin'
Everybody's fruggin'

Twistin' round the fire
Havin' fun
Bakin' potatoes
Bakin' in the sun

Put on your noseguard
Put on the lifeguard
Pass the tanning butter

Here comes a stringray
There goes a manta ray
In walked a jelly fish
There goes a dogfish
Chased by a catfish
In flew a sea robin
Watch out for that pirahna
There goes a narwhal
Here comes a bikini whale!

That's it, sir
You're leaving
The crackle of pigskin
The dust and the screaming
The yuppies networking
The panic, the vomit
The panic, the vomit
God loves his children, God loves his children, yeah!

Oh My Gawd....

Timberlake burns one

Justin Timberlake admitted to FHM magazine that he has smoked dope. The 'N Sync-er says that when he and rapper Nelly finished recording their duo, "Girlfriend," for Justin's solo album, he took a few tokes off Nelly's blunt. "Why not? I can't do them when I'm singing, but after I'm done ..."

The mind is boggled. Does this mean that N'Sync's new album be their psychadelic one? Will it end with a nine minute aural collage featuring Joey Fantone saying the words "#9 #9 #9" over and over again? Will they decide to do a concept album?

But what about the kids?

See, I knew it- there is a conspiracy going on to make sure that the football viewing public is stuck watching the crappiest possible games. I knew it.

Okay, so I have The Interview today. A fairly big one. Now, the question, of course, is how to get out of current job to go on this interview.

Easy you say: doctor's appointment.

Unfortunately, I've already used that line since I've been there. For, well, an actual doctor's appointment (d'oh!). Gotta hate when that happens. I could make up another excuse to leave work early, but I also got out of work early last week because of the World Series game (ooops, sorry I brought that up). Yeah, my boss was the main instigator there, for reasons that are far too complex to bring up, but it's still leaving work early. So, if I had to leave work early today, I'd have to come up with a fairly clever excuse and hope that it doesn't look to bad that I've somehow gotten off early three times in my first three weeks of a job. That doesn't quite look that good.

What to do…what to do…..

All I can say is damn that hole in wall Mexican food place I ate at last night for giving me food poisoning. Wound up spending all night puking. I knew I shouldn't have ordered the fish taco.

Luckily, when I called to give this big huge, Academy Award performance detailing why I couldn't come in (I can sound pretty pathetic when I want to- trust me. Oh wait, you knew that already), I got voice-mail. Score! Love when that happens- get in, get out, nobody knows anything better and you don't have to elaborate or go into details. I always get paranoid when I call in sick, even when I am sick, because I'm always scared that they'll either guilt me into coming into work or give me such the fifth degree that they'll realize I'm lying. You know, like they'll ask me so many questions that I'll incriminate myself or they'll provide material witnesses who'll claim that I was last seen at a bar at a certain hour and they know I'm lying.

PS- in most cases, people would be pretty stoked to have the day off when they're not really sick. Get to stay home, surf the Web, watch TV, read, maybe work out or go for a walk. Not me. Been there, done that. I actually don't mind going into work these days, despite whatever qualms I have about the job. I've spent enough time having nothing to do all day but surf the Web, watch TV, and go for walks. It's so early to mid 2002.

Editor's Note- We apologize for the week or so long digression into nothing but baseball. It was not the intent of Management to become "The Best Damn Sports Blog". The depressed, cranky, angst-ridden Baseball fanatic has been temporarily reassigned to another place, a much happier place, where he will lick his wounds, hope that this doesn't become the Winter of Discontent for the Giants, and try to satisfy himself with the overwrought NFL and the overhyped, overamped, overrated NBA. We will now return you to the mindless musings of the depressed, cranky angst-ridden regular writer as he copes with the realization that his new job might just possibly suck. Oh yeah, only 100 more days til pitchers and catchers report.

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.

You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops.

Today, October (27), a Sunday of rain and broken branches and leaf-clogged drains and slick streets, it stopped, and summer was gone...

The Green Fields of the Mind
A. Bartlett Giamatti

"So please, be tolerant of those who describe a sporting moment as their best ever. We do not lack imagination, nor have we had sad and barren lives; it is just that real life is paler, duller and contains less potential for unexpected delirium."

Nick Hornby

Ackkkkkkkkk..........

So yeah, I still wound up getting interviewed live on the radio after the game.

The reporter was sitting next to HomeFine and I with either his girlfriend or his producer. Homey made some conversation with them, giving them some of his beer and I guess they were close enough to be impressed by running commentary of the game, not to mention firm understanding of the Momensity of It All, that he felt like I would be the one to turn to. So he asked me if I could be interviewed after the game.

I actually hate being involved in any sort of thing where I'd be asked a question by a reporter (not that it happens that often) only because it's nearly impossible to not come off looking like an idiot. No matter how intelligent you are, if a camera's stuck in your face and you have ten-fifteen seconds to say something, you're not gonna come up with "Eich ben en Berliner" or something like that. But, last night, I decided to take up that task. I was in a good mood, the Giants were winning, I was pretty buzzed, and it sounded kind of cool. How many other times do you get broadcast throughout the radio universe about something like baseball. I mean, it's not politics or anything, it's baseball.

But what to say? I actually sat there, for parts of the game, figuring out what I'd tell him. I mean, there's a lot of pressure on me. Here I was, being asked innings before the end of the game to sum up not only feelings, but those of every Giants fan across the world. That's a lot of people I have to speak for, and being the witty, clever, brilliant word-craftsman that I am, besides being a die-hard fan, I had to do a good job. The last thing I wanted to do was go up there and say something like "ummm, well, it, was like a great game, and ummm…..go Giants!" Finally, after much contemplation, I came up with something I thought would work. I'd say what I've been pretty much saying here- how it's hard to really say what I feel and that I'm not used to it and how cool it is that something that you get to see everywhere else through the years is actually happening here, with the Giants, and to me, a Giants fan. Not bad.

As we all know, I never had a chance to say it. As the game went from bad to ugly, I started thinking that I had to work on something else. I felt like all those sports-writers at the game, having to completely rewrite they're lead as that damn Monkey worked his mojo. And while all this bad stuff was going on, part of me was working on my really pithy thing to say, knowing I didn't really know to say. What do you say other than "ugh" and "I feel sick."

As the game ended and the crowd quietly just got up and left, the reporter showed up in front of me, mic in hand. My big moment. I said the only thing I could come up with, how it felt like it was like waking up Christmas Morning to find out that Christmas had been cancelled (this out of the mouth of a nice Jewish boy). He then asked me how I felt about Game 7. Now, I knew that I was supposed to say something like "I know we'll get them tomorrow, go Giants!" but I couldn't say it. I mean, how can you really say that when you're team blows a five run lead in the 7th inning? How does that happen? So I said what I really, felt, that tomorrow (today) was gonna be a long day.

Looking back on it, maybe I was a little to bleak. Maybe I should have said "we'll win it tomorrow, go Giants!" but I didn't. I wish I could say I was being ultra-clever and going with my usual rule that if I say one thing, the opposite always happens (trust me, it's true). But in all honesty, I have no idea what's gonna happen tonight.

Sports teaches you about the importance of faith, especially in baseball. You need to have it in order to get by (unless, of course, you're a Cubs fan or, come to think of it, a Warrios fan). You have to think that it'll all work out in the end and that someday, somehow, your side will win because other-wise, it's impossible to be a fan. I can't, however, say I have a lot of faith, in life and in sports. I also know that another thing sports teaches you that heartbreak is a natural part of life, that sometimes awful things happen for no reason and it doesn't all end for the best. Hell, I was (is?) a Browns fan. I've sat through Red-Right 88, the Drive, the Fumble and the Move to Baltimore. And as a Giants fan, I watched them have a 3-2 lead in '87 and not score a run in Games 6 & 7 to lose to the Cardinals. I watched them win 103 games in '93 and still not make the playoffs.

I am not big on faith.

Go Giants!

It's about ten at night. For the past five hours or so, I sat and stood in the freezing cold at Yerba Buena watching Game 6. As the fog rolled in, the orange lights that deck out the city now gave the night sky an orange hue. As Homefine and I polished off a little bit more than a six-pack, it just felt like it was going to be the night. Hell, if Shawon Dunston starts off the scoring with a two-run homer, how could it not be the night.

The crowd was huge and raucous. Real baseball fans- they knew when to cheer and when to stand they called the players by their baseball names (Rich Aurillia, for example, is not Rich Aurillia, but Richie) and knew their strategy. As the game wore on and more people came on by, the place, an entire downtown park, filled up. There was people watching from the balcony of the Metreon, people watching from inside the Metreon, and people stacked up top on the Mezzanine at the back end of the park. And everyone was into it. I couldn't hear a damn thing from the huge TV screen that was set up for us, but I didn't even care. It didn't matter. It was such a great feeling, such a great vibe. It was that feeling you so rarely feel that despite the fact everyone was strangers, they were all together, as one. Everyone was happy and everyone was talking to their neighbors, high-fiving them, talking baseball with them. It was a scene, man.

Bonds crushed a homer and then Lofton did his stuff. It was 5-0 and the Angels looked defeated. The crowd was singing and cheering and everyone stood. A father put hi little girl on top of his shoulders to watch the TV and when she held up a stuffed hamster, the crowd around her started chanting "Rally Hamster! Rally Hamster!" The middle aged African-American male in front of me, surrounded mainly be kids in their twenties, kept on turning back to me to give and anyone else around his color commentary. You could feel it in the air, that if the Giants won, the place was gonna rock. The crowd, all 15,000 of us, all jumping and standing and cheering, were gonna rampage like Vikings when it was all over. Just the thought of the celebration made excited. Maybe even more excited than the Giants winning. And just the thought that finally, one of my teams was gonna win it all was, well, just too much to even comprehend.

I should have known, damnit. I started saying "when we win" as opposed to "if we win." Somebody started selling "World Championship" t-shirts and a reporter from A.P. asked me if he could do an interview with me after the victory. Should have known. Should have listened to the guy in the Giants t-shirt, a guy ten years younger than me, tell his friend that "I've been a Giants fan too long to not know something's gonna go wrong."

And it did.

If the Giants win tomorrow, Game 6 means nothing. Just a hiccup, just some more added drama for all those people who think this Series is lame because the Yankees aren't in it. If they win, all will be alright. And if I go back to Yerba Buena, I'll get the celebration that I wanted tonight just one night later than I thought. But if they lose, oh, if they lose….

Everyone knows about what life is like as a Red Sox fan. If you know any of them, just go up to them and say the words "Game 6" and they'll immediately get a sickish look on their face. Hell, even the name Bill Buckner makes most Sox fans queasy. And now, if the Giants do lose, we'll have our Game 6. Twenty years from now, all of us Giants fans will hear those words, "Game 6" and immediately get that same sick feeling that they have tonight all over again.

Tomorrow's gonna be a long day…..

Was it me or was this afternoon the slowest afternoon in the history of time? Bush could have invaded Iraq, won, occupied it, realized that Saddam had gotten away and the only thing he's been storing up for the past eleven years was his collection of Playboy's and then bombed another country by the time this afternoon ended.

When I first started working, I thought that I'd be able to really handle job-stress. What is job-stress, after all, when you've spent the past year dealing with real-life stress. When you're paying your rent with credit cards and deciding that the best way to pay the bills is to not pay them, anything that happens at work is nothing- a trifle. Now that I'm working and dealing with job stress, I'm realizing that I'm probably taking that attitude just a little to far.

As I was working, I kept on thinking to myself, who cares? I got a job, I'm making money, I got my life back, I'm not moving to the Middle of Nowhere Pa, and the Giants are Oh-My-God one win away from winning the whole thing, so everything is just totally "what-ever". All this working stuff is just pretty much one big huge buzz kill.

Sit there thinkin'
In your room
You feel the pressure
You're goin' crazy too
The walls around you
Closin' in
You need a change

Claustophobic
Feelin' scared
You need somebody
But no one seems to care
A one way ticket
A change of pace
You've had enough
Can't take no more

Breaking the chains around you
Nobody else can bind you
Take a good look around you
Now you're breaking the chains

Am I totally lame cause as I was watching the game, I kept on thinking to myself "God damnit, why do I get the blow-out?" Not to mention a little jealous cause a friend was there and she's not really that big of a Giants fan (although she is, a bit) and was only there cause some guy on her softball team got her tickets probably in an attempt to impress her? Not that I wouldn't have done it too. Is it really All. About. Me?

I suck.

But, man oh man, did I did break out into a huge grin after the final out and that shot of Nen's goofy, "what? You guys were worried?" smile.

We're all tied up and it's a brand new series. Woohoo!

By the way, how did the cast of Firefly get tickets to the Series? Those little things aren't exactly easy to come by after all. Did they buy them on Ebay? Did one of them camp out the night before to get tickets for them and all the rest of the cast? Did they take a break during filming to spend an hour online and have their personal assistants make phone calls to procure them?

I forgot to mention that one of the few highlights of Tuesday night's game was when the Scorebard showed a picture of the Fox crew and everybody booed. Cracked my ass up. Some of it probably has to do with McCarver's ability to spend an entire game sounding like your hyper-critical mother, nit-picking every little thing with that nagging tone of voice that makes you want to move half-way cross the country to get away from it, but I'm guessing that most of it is because the universal truth that Fox just sucks.

Guess I know what I'm doing Saturday Night.

Well, that was ugly. It was Candlestick ugly- a wind-blow, fog laden loss featuring a crowd growing increasingly surlier and drunker as the night lurched on. At one point, somebody tore apart a stuffed monkey with his teeth and threw parts of it into the crowd, all to ecstatic cheers.

It may have been a World Series game, but a blow-out is still a blow out. And yes, it is a bummer when you get random, incredibly lucky tickets to go to your first World Series game featuring the team you live and die with and it's a completely forgettable, demoralizing loss. You go expecting something that people will talk about for years to come, the magic that only sports can provide, and the only thing memorable about the game, other than Bonds' two run home-run, was the shirtless fat guy who was shown with the words "Rally Belly" written on his, well, belly (duh).

And you know, I probably should have seen it coming considering the Giants usually lose when I see them. In fact, I'm pulling an oh-fer this year, including the only loss to the Cards. If I really want the Giants to win, I'll stay far away from Pac Bell for the next two games.

Was it worth it?

Hell yeah.

I've Got a Golden Ticket

I never thought my life could be anything but catastrophe
But suddenly I begin to see a bit of good luck for me
Cause I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden twinkle in my eye
I never had a chance to shine never a happy song to sing,
But suddenly half the world is mine what an amazing thing
Cause I've got a golden ticket.
It's ours Charlie!
I've got a golden sun up in the sky.

I never thought I'd see the day when I would face the world and say,
"Good morning. Look at the sun."
I never thought that I would be slap in the lap of luxury
Cause I have said it couldn't be done
But it can be done.

I never dreamed that I would climb over the moon in ecstasy,
But nevertheless it's there that I'm shortly about to be
Cause I've got a golden ticket
I've got a golden chance to make my way
And with the golden ticket it's a golden day.

Good morning! Look at the sun!
Cause I have said, "It couldn't be done"
But it can be done.

I never dreamed that I would climb over the moon in ecstasy,
But nevertheless it's there that I'm shortly about to be
Cause I've got a golden ticket.
Cause I've got a golden ticket.
I've got a golden chance to make my way
And with a golden ticket it's a golden day.

Upper Reserved for tonight's game, baby!
I am doing such a happy dance of joy right now, or would if I wasn't trying so hard to pretend that I only cared about being trained.

And I am, whatever you say I am
If I wasn't, then why would I say I am?
In the paper, the news everyday I am
Radio won't even play my jam
Cause I am, whatever you say I am
If I wasn't, then why would I say I am?
In the paper, the news everyday I am
I don't know it's just the way I am

So I'm taking the bus home from Safeway and who gets on the bus but an actual, real live Board of Supervisor. One of the crazy one's too- not one of the certifiable crazy one's, one of the saner crazy one's. So what did I do? I put my headphones and pretended to put music on really, really loudly. The last thing I wanted to do is be accosted by a politician, especially one who I voted against. He's a total yutz too. The guy I voted for was this sweet old man who actually came to my door and took the time to ask me about what I thought and asked me for his vote. This guy, the only times I actually saw him in my 'hood he was always being followed around by camera crews, as if he was the second coming of John Kennedy.

Luckily, he didn't go around the bus glad-handing. Good thing too, because I had already been accosted twice in the Safeway parking lot- once by some kid who gave me a lovely "thank you for not helping me" when I blew him off and then by some mother dragging her two kids around the parking lot who made me take my headphones off to talk to her (doesn't she know that the reason why I wear headphones all the time is so people like her don't bother me?). Come to think of it, what difference is there between a politician out begging for votes and Homeless people begging for spare change, other than the obvious fact that one has a home and the other doesn't? Maybe, I should have told him that, that I didn't want to talk to him because I had just been hassled twice in the Safeway Parking lot, and on my way there, I had to pass numerous junkies, drunks, crack-ho's, and crazies.

I did, however, turn my volume down and listened to him speak to some guy sitting next to him. The yutz spent most of the time trash-talking the Mayor and crowing over the fact that "his side" won in the 2000 elections. Which is another reason why whatever I'm gonna vote for, is mainly gonna be done to piss people like him off. There's cities in Thirld World Countries that are run better than San Francisco.

Still, I have to give the guy some credit for not only taking MUNI, but for getting off at 16th & Valencia and cruising around. I wonder what he was up to? A meeting at the Socialist Party down the street? A teach in about oppressed transgender people in Khazakistan? Or is he just out dive bar crawling like everyone else? Maybe he's just trying to get pick up some chick. Either way, color me impressed.

Stupid rally Monkey....

I so don't get the whole Pepsi Blue thing. Is this what the world is really craving, a soft drink made in a color that in no way whatsoever connotes anything worth drinking? Or anything natural for that matter? And do we really need blue Pepsi? Seriously. And it's not like there's a great track record of new and different soft-drinks working because most of them are complete and total flops. Anyone remember Crystal Pepsi? Or Clear Coke?

Yet a lot of people at Pepsi thought it was a brilliant idea. A great idea, even. Somehow, all these MBA grads from places like Harvard and Yale, all probably making upwards of around a million dollars, thought it was a brilliant idea. Then they spent millions more to test market the sucker and somehow thought that those test-market results prove that the world is desperately craving a blue soft-drink. And now they're even spending millions promoting it. Millions. Just think of all the money being thrown down the drain for blue fucking Pepsi. Think of all the things that million dollars could buy? Could do? Think about all the time and effort that went into the production of this thing. All those supposed brilliant minds came together, spent millions of dollars and came up with Pepsi Blue.

Yet lowly ole English Major, with absolutely no business experience and now concept of the Soft drink industry, making tons less than these supposed best minds of a generation, pretty much know flat out that Blue Pepsi is the stupidest idea I've heard in years.

Wanna bet that after the whole thing crashes and burns like Mariah Carey's acting career, something which should be in a year or so, that all of those people who came up with the idea are not gonna suffer for it? That they're still gonna keep their million dollar jobs with their million dollar houses and million dollar trophy wives? How do I get me one of those jobs?

I have a confession to make- I snuck into a movie. Actually, I paid for another movie, but snuck into something I didn't pay for. And it was so totally worth it.

See, a friend and I went to go see The Ring last night. When we got there, we discovered that the movie was "Sold Out." Not knowing what to do and having to make a decision real fast, we got tickets to see The Transporter. Now, I really wanted to see The Ring cause the previews looked kind of cool, got good reviews and Naomi Watts is in it, but I in no way wanted to see The Transporter. I've already seen that movie a hundred times.

So we got tickets to see The Transporter, but, egged on by the erstwhile HomeFine, we snuck in to go see The Ring. I, of course, felt kind of scared and nervous, not to mention guilty, but as I really wanted to see The Ring, I went along with it. Piece of cake. Further proof that if you act like you're doing what you're supposed to be doing, nothing will happen to you. They even had a bunch of guys standing outside the theater trying to make sure only people with tickets got in, but only one of them feebly asked for our tickets when we rushed by them and didn't do anything once we passed them. I kept on expecting them to give chase, but no chase was given. I also had this fear that just as the movie would start, the place would be full and I'd see two sad looking people walking into the theater, unable to find any seats because we took their seats. But none did. Guess it wasn't that sold out. It was plenty crowded, but there was still seats available. Not good one's, but there were still empty seats to be had. We had to sit in the second row, which I really, really hate, but did I mention how much I wanted to see The Ring?

And how was The Ring? Damn scary and pretty good. It had everything you could want out of a popcorn thriller- tripped out scenes, a few good scares, a lot of false leads, tension-filled dread laden suspense, Naomi Watts in her underwear, and great audience participation. During the movie's big scare, as everyone in the audience was either screaming or laughing out of fear, someone behind me yelled out "Awesome!" the way you would when you're on a really great Roller Coaster and you're both having a great time but scared witless. During another scene, I heard a girl turn to her boyfriend and tell him that it was the last time she was gonna let him pick the movie. You could really feel the tension and the fear in the audience, as if it was a group event more than a movie that you watch and process by yourself. Which would be considered a pretty good sign that a movie's pretty good.

Afterwards, as HomeFine and I were leaving, I saw this guy dissecting the movie to the two women he was with. He was a typical film snot- a skinnier, nerdier version of the Comic Store Book Guy on The Simpsons. He, of course, had seen the original version of the movie, the Japanese one, and was sitting there telling his rapt audience how much better the Japanese movie was and how bad this version was. The whole time he was ruminating, however, he was slunk down in his seat, his jacket pulled over him like a sheet, like he was in bed and hiding underneath the covers afraid to come out because he was scared shitless. Wanker.

Oh yeah, saw another preview for The Two Towers, one much longer than the first one I saw and one that actually includes shots of the Gollum. Two words- Fuck and yeah. Once again, you know a movie's in good shape when the audience cheers the second the preview starts with a shot of Aragorn.

Warning, this column contains yet more baseball talk. You have been warned.

Yep, tonight's Game 1 of the series and I'm happier than Steven getting bumped and grinded on the dance floor by Trashelle. I'm a huge Giants fan, the kind of fan who'll watch any Giants game when it's on if one's on. I don't care who they're playing, but at some point during the night, if there's nothing on, I'll flip it to the game. Even if there's something on that I want to watch, I'll usually flip to the game during the commercials. The next day, after the game, I voraciously read through the stories about the game and then cruise through the major sports sites to see if there's anything about them on those sites. So, as you can pretty well imagine, I know this team. I know the players in ways that most die-hard baseball fans know the players, as if they're everyday people in your life. And no, I don't meant that in a creepy sort of way, but just in that way that comes when you follow a team day-in and day-out and they become part of the background of your daily life.

What's cool about having them in the series is it's like when you're favorite cult band suddenly becomes huge and national. It's like seeing a band that you saw in some small club somewhere suddenly being screamed at on TRL Live!. All these years, I watched the Giants day, but watched other teams go through the playoffs. All the hype, all the blather, all the focus, all the attention, were on teams that I don't follow. Now, all of that is happening to my team, the Giants and it feels just great. Now I get to watch Dusty give press conferences before and after the game. I get to watch my team spray champagne all over themselves. I get the bunting and first pitch and all the pomp and circumnstances that goes on with a World Series game.

But what it makes it that much more gratifying is that the things that I know, and most Giants fans know, are all about to be displayed in front of the entire nation. That now everyone will see that this team for years has been a gritty, hard-nosed, never say die club. That Dusty may be the coolest guy on the face of the planet. That J.T. Snow turns plays first base with the grace of the best Wide Receivers or basketball stars.. That Rich Aurillia (and David Bell) are ball-players through and through (which is one of the highest forms of compliment you can give a baseball player because there is a difference between an athelete playing baseball and a ball player). And that Pac Bell Park might be the greatest place in the world (check out the Sports Guy's take on Pac Bell- that " It's a magical place. You just feel like something important should be happening there"). Not to mention what everyone who watches Giants games know- that Barry Bonds is the best show in sports right now and that to watch him play on a regular basis makes you realize just how truly special a player he is, critics be damned.

And all that will finally be shown to the world. Bring it on.

It's 1 in the morning and I can't sleep. I am pretty drunk and way tired, but sleeping ain't happening. And it isn't my fault. Some car alarm is going off a couple of blocks away and all I can hear is the constant "honk honk honk" of a car.

Is there a more annoying, useless thing in the world than a car alarm? Has a car alarm ever scared off a potential thief? Has it ever prevented anything? Has it ever alerted the owner that something has happened?

Damnit, I want to see numbers on this because I'm pretty sure that the only thing car alarms do is piss the hell out of people who are around the cars. How many times have you been somewhere and been driven crazy by some BMW with a hyperactive car alarm going off because somebody breathed too closely to it?

If it's the numbers I think it is, car alarms should be banned. Like right now. Either that, or it should be passed that if they go off for more than four minutes before taken care of, said alarm will activate a self-destruct signal so the car will then blow the fuck up. It may not be good for the person who owns said car, but I'm pretty sure right now everyone in my neighborhood wishes that damn car would blow up so they wouldn't have to hear it honking all night long.

Did have another cranky rant to post tonight, something about people on crowded buses sighing about how crowded the bus is, but not tonight. I'm too weepy about Will & Grace getting back together.

Sniff.....sniff.....

And what did I do tonight?

Let's just say it's been a blue Christmas.

You know, I used to like Amazon.com. I swear I did. But, right now, they can just kiss my grits.

My order, which was placed about two and a half weeks ago, didn't show up and it's past due. No problem, thinks I, I can just go to the Web site and get the tracking information. Which, in theory, is a way cool thing. Except for the fact the tracking function hasn't been working all week.

Okay, so I'll just call Amazon to see what's up. So I go to their Web site to find a number to call, but I can't find any Customer Support information. There is a "Help Section" but all that is is a FAQ. No phone number, nothing. The FAQ tells me to go the Tracking page, which is, of course, not working. I search and I search and I search, but can't find a phone number. After some digging, I find a a page that suggests that I track my package through the shipping company that delivered the order. So I go to their site and plugged in the tracking number Amazon gave me. Didn't work.

So now I go back to Amazon. I am gonna get me some customer support, damnit, if it's the last thing I do. I search and I search and I search and I can't find a damn phone number. I did find an e-mail address in which I could send my problem too, but like there actually gonna respond to that. I cannot believe that a major, huge company, especially one that's supposed to be the biggest thing since sliced bread, does not have a phone number for customer support. I even went to the corporate info page and can't find a number. Can't they even do what most other companies do and teach a bunch of Indians in Bombay English and have them man the phones? Unfucking believable.

Because I'm so clever, I go to Google and do a search. After a couple of searches, I finally find a phone number. No, not on an Amazon site, but on some message board in which a bunch of people were having the same problems I was having. Somebody on the board actually wrote Amazon to get a number, a number in which he posted on the board. Finally, a fucking phone number. So I call. Believe it or not, I actually got through without too much waiting on the hold. Which is what I'd expect since nobody knows the damn number.

Finally, some help. They tell me to call the Airborne carrier. Which I do. They had it, but gave it to the post office, which has been sitting on it for a week. Problem, however. I live in a city. A somewhat big one. There's tons of post offices my package could be at and I have no idea which one. So I call back the Airborne carrier and get that information. Sadly, it's past the time I could call the post office to find out where the fuck my CD's are.

Guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow.

So, let's get this straight. In two days, I have spent three hours online with Pacbell, half an hour with Earthlink in order to disconnect my dial-up, and an hour dealing with Amazon over two CD's that I ordered.

And you wonder why I'm still cranky.....

Wanna know what I did tonight?

D-S-L, baby, D-S-L!

Which means, of course, the usual three-hour phone call to SBC help in order to figure out how to install the "easy install" system. And how suprised am I that I spent my night on the phone with a few hapless tech guys on all night? There is no such thing as "easy install" when it comes to computers.

It would help if SBC actually had a number that was easy to get through on. It would also help if the Mac guy isn't the Install Guy and the Install Guy doesn't know anything about Mac's. It would also have helped if I didn't have mysterious "conductivity issues" with Digital Cable. Hmm, wonder if the fact that AT&T is fighting with SBC over DSL has anything to do with it blocking my connection?

And finally, it would also help if I actually read the instructions. Ooooops.

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by flakiness…….

Man, why are so many people in this city flakes? Why do people think it's okay to flake? Why can't people actually commit to something they say they're gonna do or at least take responsibility for not doing so? (editor’s note- at this point I am legally required by the Legal Department to state that not everyone has this problem and to state that there are plenty of upstanding responsible, non-flaky citizens).

And no, it's not like I'm perfect and that I've never had bouts of flakiness, but the older I get, the less I flake. It's that whole getting older and wiser thing. Not to mention the learning over and over again how much it sucks to be flaked on. It also means that I have a lot less patience for people who flake. I'm older now and my friends are older and I figure that by now, people have learned that doing things like not returning phone calls and e-mails, or answering questions, or meeting you when they say they'll meet you is kind of lame.

Let's take, for instance, Exhibit A of this kind of behavior. This happened over the weekend. I went to the Giants game on Saturday. Someday, maybe, I'll write about what a great time it was and how it was totally worth the $120 I spent to go even if it was the only game the Giants lost, but not now (gonna lay off the baseball stuff for awhile since I'm probably the one who cares). Before the game, I met up with friends to have a few drinks and we made plans to meet up after the game. Game ends, I'm all happy and tired and kind of sick from way too much garlic fries and go to the place where we're supposed to meet. I kind of want to just go home so I can get ready to go out that night with friends, but I said I'd meet them and I don't flake about things like this (see the whole it being lame thing). Besides, if something happened, it'd probably be a lot of fun because the people are a lot of fun. So I trudge on out to the meeting spot and wait. And wait. And wait some more. And for all that waiting, I got bupkus. Nothing. Nobody came. So, after standing around for fifteen or twenty minutes, vowing to myself the whole time that I'll never eat an entire thing of garlic fries by myself, I went home.

This is what is considered the classic flake- the not following through on something promised (flake, of course, comes from the Latin word "Flakimus," meaning "one whose head is stuck up their butt. For example, in the "Illiad" Odysseus tells Agamemnon that Achilles is a great warrior but that they’d all be able to get the hell out of Troy if it weren't for him being a huge Flakimus). Sometimes when this happens, you get an apology. Usually, however, you don't. In this case, I got the "dude, sometimes things just happen." Notice no actual use of the word "sorry" or any other sort of word that would convey the same thing. Well, you know what also happens? People spend fifteen to twenty minutes sitting around, wasting their time for no particular reason and feeling like sa total schlub because they got flaked on.

Having been a flaker, or more like an ex-flaker, I know exactly what happened. Either I was forgotten about, which is kind of lame, or I was thought of and then the decision was made to forget about me. Which is even lamer. The pisser of it all is that I know that when word is relayed that I was kind of pissed about the thing, I'm pretty sure the whole thing's gonna get a shrug of the shoulders and an "oh well." As if nothing wrong was done.

With flaking, it's almost expected. Hell, in a lot of ways, it's accepted. I've never quite figured out whether it's the whole Gen-X "whatever" thing, the listening to way too much "Free to Be You and Me" when we were kids thing, or the whole "hang loose" California thing, but whatever it is, it's the grease that every social wheel runs on. Or, more like, runs in spite of.

In most flake situations, it's usually like the person whose in the wrong isn't the flaker, but the flakee. The flakee, of course, is the one with the problem because they're upset at the flaker for flaking. I know because I've gotten pissed at people who flaked, which made them pissed at me because I was pissed off about them flaking, which made me pissed off that they got pissed off about me getting pissed off about them flaking. Because as we all know, the worst thing you can do to someone in this city is to make them actually take responsibility for something. Because the worst thing you can do to someone is actually hassle someone.

Sometimes I wonder how this society actually works anymore. On the other hand, can anyone say our society is really working anyways?

After just one day on the new job, I realized something that I had forgotten- I actually really hate the internet. No, not for surfing and playing on, but as a thing to work on. Why? Because nothing online really actually exists.

See, I used to do Print Production. That meant film. Film exists- you can touch it and feel it and bend it and sometimes even smell it. You can also ship it and fix things to it and accidentally fuck it up when you leave it on the floor and roll your chair over it. And yeah, film is becoming less and less rare and print is becoming more and more electronicish, but at some point, something physical is produced.

But not on the Web. Nothing is real, or at least real in a physical sense (and yes, I am getting way meta-physical and I realize that in the Star Trek universe things that exist "electronically" do exist but do I really want to show off what I geek I am?). Which is why it's usually so frickin' hard to understand what the hell a job is about or what a job does. Today, I spent half of the day hearing about "inventory." Now, according to the dictionary, inventory is "a detailed, itemized list, report, or record of things in one's possession, especially a periodic survey of all goods and materials in stock." In other words, the amount of actual things you have. On the Web, when you're only involved in things involving Web sites and there is no actual product or item, there is no inventory. But there is. After hearing about it all day, I'm still not sure about what the hell inventory is. All I know is it doesn't refer to a thing that exists per se.

My job is to do basically a certain amount of project coordinating. I like project coordinating. But I like coordinating things that actually there's kind of a common sense way of fixing them. It's a physical problem so you fix it in a physical way. If a blizzard knocks out FedEx, you find another way of shipping it or ask for more time. Or if the Fed/Ex package opens up on the way to the printer, you run out new film. If something goes wrong on the Web, I dunno. Could be a server issue or network conductivity issue or back-end user support issue and if so, yawn. Or it usually is coding problems. Coding problems are boring- a slash going the other way, a letter being capitalized when it shouldn't be, a space here where there shouldn't be one. In other words, it's like proof reading and I hate proof reading (which y'all are probably aware of because how many grammatical/spelling errors I make on a consistent basis). No frantic phone calls to try and find a way out of a solution.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that if I'm gonna be coordinating projects, I want those projects that I'm coordinating to involve something that actually exists. Coordinating non-existent things is pretty darn boring.

Warning, this blog entry contains nothing but baseball. I did have a lot of stuff to post today, but ……motherfucking Giants!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The usual angst and snarkiness will return tomorrow at it's regularly scheduled time.

Just as Lofton hit it into left, the first thought that went through my head is game over, we're going to the series. Second thought that went through my head, just as David Bell went into a slide, was how I could have gotten tickets to tonight's game but couldn't go. Motherfucker.

As Bell slides into home, I can hear cheering erupt from outside. And this is in the Mission- probably the most densely populated area of too-cool-hipsters this side of, well, anywhere. I mean, the only thing that could probably get cheering in the Mission would be if some obscure DJ randomly showed up at one of the bars. But there's cheering. And screaming. And cars are honking all over the place and I can hear people screaming "Giants!!!!" The second I can hear the fireworks go off on TV, I can hear them booming from outside. A friend calls within seconds to congratulate me. Wowzers.

I wonder what the tax-payers of the United States of America would think if they found out I spent my Unemployment money on buying World Series tix from scalpers? I have never been to a World Series game, ever. I WILL go to a World Series game if I have to blow what's left of my savings to do it. I have to. I owe it to all the people who live in Chicago to go to a World Series game.

You know, in all of my long life, no team that I have lived and died for- bled for- ever made it this far. I mean, I'm a Browns fan for Crissakes. I'm used to huge, crushing, stomache churning, misery inducing defeats. Yes, I was a big Giants fan back in '89, but not like this. For one thing, I didn't live in S.F. so I wasn't able to watch them day in and day out. And I hadn't quite been bonded with them by Heartbreak just yet (because that's what bonds you to a sports team more than wins, it's the broken heart). The 1993- 103 wins and no pennant- season, did that. And I was also college and too inebriated to care.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do now.

So, upon hearing that I got a new job, one of the first things I did was order a bunch of CD's from Amazon. As much as I hate to admit it, I love ordering stuff online because of the waiting- the constant running home after work to check your mail to see if your whatever-it-is- you-ordered came in so you can blissfully spend the night playing with whatever you just spent money on. It's like Christmas through the mail.

The only problem is when it's late. That means that everyday you're like "this is the day! This is it! Tonight I'm gonna do nothing but hang out in my home and listening to my new CD's!" and then you get home only to discover that it's not today, the stuff didn't come. No Christmas for you.

Where's my CD's damnit?

God, why do I love baseball? When it's like the past two games, it's nothing but Chinese Water Torture. I mean, it's great that the Giants won, but it was hell watching it.

Yep, it's fleet week here in the Bay Area which can only mean one thing- strip clubs on Broadway are gonna be overrun with drunken, rowdy sailors inches away from puking (and a few in the Castro too, but that's our little secret). It also means the Blue Angels. You know the Blue Angels, those blue navy fliers who go 'round the world doing all sorts of Top Gun like aerial stunts. The highlight of Fleet Week is that sometime during the weekend, the Blue Angels put on a show over the Bay. As far as backgrounds for an aerial show go, the Bay (with Alcatraz front and center and the Golden Gate Bridge to the right) doesn't suck. Beats the hell out of an airshow in say, Latvia or Utah. Thousands, maybe millions of people trek into SF to watch the shows. Parties are thrown, roofs are occupied, and picnics are thrown. It's a hoot.

This being SF, of course, none of this can go down without some sort of protestations from the usual quarters.

First there are the anti-noise people, the people who hate the thing because the planes are so damn noisy, especially on the Weekdays when they practice and fly all over down-town. They are pretty damn noisy, especially when you're not expecting them to show up and you're right in the middle of something and -VOOOOM. These people complain because, you know, noise is really bad and annoying and you live in the city because it's a place of peace and quiet (don't get me started about San Franciscans and noise, that's something for a whole other time).

The main complaints, though, are from the usual suspects. They hate the Blue Angels because it's a waste of taxpayers money that could go to creating a worker's paradise and the planes used by the Navy are built to do bad things and it's being done to promote the Navy and it's glorifying the military and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. I think the only way that people wouldn't protest here would be if, they say, rechristened themselves the "Justice Angels" and told everyone that what they were doing is really Performance Art. All the pilots, who are made up of every single minority and color possible- including a few Vegans, a gay and one transsexual- would then announce that what they're really trying to do is represent the soaring spirit of the Oppressed Masses who are caught underneath the power of their corporate oppressors. Not to mention to Free Mumia.

Me? What do I think? I've climbed up hills to watch them practice, gone to roofs to watch them perform and gone to parties in North Beach where we'd all sit around drinking for the air show. I think they're kewl.

Do people say kewl anymore? Did I just date myself. Hmmm……

So, I'm thinking there is something to the whole ugly uniform thing being the new black. Once again, as I was flipping through the channels, I caught Cristina Aguilera wearing one of those 1980's style White Sox hats- the red, white & blue one's that just said "Sox" on the front." Now, maybe there's a chance Cristina's a big Sox fan, but somehow I doubt that. Somehow, I doubt Cristina even knows who the White Sox are. Some I doubt that Cristina can't even put on her underwear without first getting by her handlers, fashion consultants, posse, and stylisst. That girl is scary.

Anyways, this story cracks me up. And Bill Simon thinks he's got problems-

Republican drops out of Montana Senate race, says ad makes him look like gay hairdresser

"Republican Mike Taylor dropped out of the U.S. Senate race against Democratic Sen. Max Baucus, saying he could not combat a Democratic Party ad that he said portrayed him as a gay hairdresser.

Taylor, who was trailing Baucus badly in the polls, said the commercial amounted to character assassination.

Choking back tears and with his wife Janna by his side, Taylor said Thursday, "I'm willing to suspend my campaign because my opponent's lies about me are hurting my wife, my family, my friends, my party and most of all, Montanans from all walks of life."

Taylor's surprise announcement comes less than a week after Democrats began airing a TV ad accusing Taylor of a scam involving student loan money when he ran a beauty school in Colorado during the 1990s.

The commercial includes videotape of Taylor, 20 years younger and wearing an open-front shirt and gold chains while he massages a man's face. The videotape was from Taylor's "Beauty Corner," a television segment he hosted on a Colorado news program during the 1980s.

"There's no question about it, what they're trying to imply," Taylor said. "They're trying to say that every barber and every cosmetologist, every manicurist or anybody in the beauty and hair fashion industry is homosexual."

The local paper, the Billings Gazette describes the candidate as looking like this- "The ad shows Taylor, then slender, sporting a full beard. He is wearing a tight-fitting, three piece suit, with a big-collared open shirt ala John Travolta in 'Saturday Night Fever.' Taylor's top two or three shirt buttons are unbuttoned, exposing some bare chest and a number of gold chains."

Oh man, I wonder what kind of music they played in the background for the ad? I wonder if they had some disco in the background or just went for the straight chunka-chunka porn guitar sound.

Has anyone seen my archives? Here archives, here! Where are you?

So according to my blog stat checker, someone from NBC.com found me after doing a search for, you guessed it, "Ashleigh Banfield." Could it be Ms. Banfield herself, checking to see what her adoring fans think of her? Did I get visited by the lovely and talented Ms. Banfield (hi Ashleigh!)? Or maybe it was her Personal Assistant (more likely) doing it for her? Maybe it was another NBC employee wondering too just what Ms. Banfield looks like sans clothes? Or maybe it was her boss at NBC trying to see whether or not Ms. Banfield still deserves an hour-long show, what with MSNBC being clobbered in the ratings. The weird thing was is that I was #172 on the search out of like 300, so somebody spent a long, long time searching. And I thought I needed a life.

I guess it's much better than the person who found me through a porn search engine and I somehow came up on a search of "pictures of pigs been fucked." I think I should be happy that porn sites have me indexed (yay?), but ick. Dude, that's just wrong.

Ahhhh, a massage. I am all about massages.

It's not just that it's the first time in a long time I can move without feeling my achy back, it's not just that I had about a year and a half worth of stress wringed out of my body, it's just that, yes, my flow is all balanced and my chi is unblocked and I feel so very centered. And yes, I do believe in all that Easter medicine crap, although I'd never really admit it out loud.

If there were some way to get a massage once a week, I'd do it. Hell, I think it would be perfect to figure out some way of getting a constant massage. It wouldn't just be to help my back, but damn, just to feel all toasty and happy all the time. And not that I'm one of those people who are like "if we all did yoga, there'd be world peace," but maybe there is something to that with massages. Think what would happen if Georgy Boy got massages. Not that he's never gotten one, because he probably has, either by Pino at the country club or by Muffy or Buffy back in his drinking partying days, but nothing like I did- all eastern like with New Age music and talking about rebalancing my imbalance. Maybe if he did, he'd be less cranky and less giddy at the thought of breakin' stuff.

This massage was a long one too- an hour and a half. It was so long, the masseuse ran out of things to do and went back and redid my legs, which was fine by me. She even had enough time to massage my ears so now I probably have the most relaxed set of earlobes in the San Francisco.

As for the massage itself, it wasn't my favorite style- I consider myself a shiatsu man. And yes, I do know what the difference is between various types of massages. The masseuse did do some deep tissuey type stuff, but she mainly did the kind of massage that's like giving big, huge Indian burns up and down the body, except with lots of oil so it didn't hurt as much as it used to back when you were a kid and the big kid on the block would do it to you for shits and giggles. It was much better, though, than the lady I usually get whose into pressure points and basically just puts her fingers on certain parts of the body, leaves them there, and then grimaces to make it look like she's doing something. Not that type of method doesn't work, but as she's grimacing away, like she's playing massage air guitar, I keep on wanting to say "hey, on the clock here."

Who does it can be pretty important. I have a friend who just got out of massage school and would probably have done it for free, but I've known him since Elementary School and, well, that'd just be a bit too weird. Also, I kind of like women to do it because, well, I'm a guy and, well, you know. Which leads to which woman you'd like to do you. Ummm, I mean massage you. One of the masseuses there I actually kind of knew because way back when I used to take her yoga classes and we kind of got to talking. Besides the fact that meant she knew me and thus the whole seeing me nude thing is now a little weird, I'd have that guilt thing going because I always went to her class but dropped out due to various reasons. I always feel bad when I do something like that (think Jerry and Babu). Then there was the young, looks 24 year old, who I could have signed up for but didn't because she was way too cute. I don't get massages for happy endings, but if she would have been my masseuse, I might have started thinking that way.

Either way, I feel goood.

PS- I wonder if masseuse's ever get sick of listening to New Age music all day? They work like four hour shifts and it's the same CD over and over and over again. The music is kind of nice and relaxing, but there's only so much of it you can take. I wonder if, when it's all done, they go out and like put on some AC/DC or Snoop Dog just to cleanse themselves of all the whale sounds and Native American flute blowing.

This is how I think-

I was planning on going to Saturday's Giants game (scalpers, baby, scalpers!), but now that the Giants have won the first two games, I'm not sure if I want to go. There's no way the Giants are gonna take the first three, let alone sweep, so I'm completely, totally sure that they're going to lose Saturday. Not only that, I'm pretty sure there's gonna be some sort of baseball-related, nasty-ass heartbreak going down at Pac Bell this weekend.

Unfortunately, I can't go on Sunday or Monday, so it's either suck it up and go just to watch the Giants lose or not go at all.

Did I say how much I love Richie?

My dream came true yesterday. No, not being hired to be a writer on the Daily Show or my dream date with pre-breast reduction Jennifer Connelly, but as I came home yesterday to check my mail, I found a big, huge fat check in there for $2500. Yes, $2500 just showed up like that in my mail box. And I didn't even have to put up with Ed McMahon to get it.

It's long and complicated (and not sordid at all), but it came from unemployment benefits I was apparently owed. I was so shocked to get it that once I saw it, I actually called the Unemployment people to ask them why they just gave me all that money. I mean, you just don't get checks for $2500 in the mail like that. A friend of mine even had to talk me into cashing it because I was so sure that in a few months, I'd get a call telling me that there was a big, huge mistake and the government would like to have their money back. But nope. As far as I know, it's legit. And, just like that, I made money for nothing. And considering it came from being unemployed, I really do mean nothing. Is there anything better than that? And here I was, feeling bad for slacking off on a Temp job because I had no work ethic.

What to do with the money is a whole other matter. I should put it in my savings so I'll have money in the bank for the next time I get laid off or if the new job doesn't work out, two things that are both in the realm of possibility (apparently, there's a high turnover rate with people in the position I accepted). I could also use the money to pay off my unbelievably high credit card bills. Or, I could buy this really sweet leather jacket that I was trying on yesterday. Or, I could get a hour and a half full-body massage instead of the plain ole hour long massage (which is gonna happen in a couple of hours and which will be the full hour and a half deep-tissue massage and yes, it's gonna feel gooooood). Not to mention buying scalper tix to Saturday's Giants game. Then there's the fact my printer's broke and my CD Walkman sucks and I do need some new clothes and Amoeba records might be having a sale this weekend and it would be kind of nice to have another bike. Or, oooh, a motor scooter. I'd so love to have a motor scooter. I love riding around on one of those things and I'd look so good driving one around with my new leather jacket……

Another thing I caught this morning was a bit of Dr. Phil. And no, I'm not into Oprah and don't plan on watching much of Dr. Phil, I was just lying in bed being lazy.

The particular topic of the day was body image, mainly that of a 17 year old who wants to go through all sorts of plastic surgery to improve herself. "I'm ugly and I have no boyfriend and my life sucks" the 17 year old said as she gave out a list of things she wanted work on- breast implants (duh), nose job, liposuction- you know, the usual. At one point, they showed a shot of her looking through Playboy as she tearfully said how her dream was to look like the girls in Playboy and maybe, hopefully, someday be a Centerfold.

Now while the girl wasn't h-o-t, she wasn't that bad- a bit of a two-face (looks good in one shot, looks bad in another) but probably more because of an unflattering haircut than anything else. She was also, definitely not overweight or fat in the slightest bit. In fact, as she was whining about her weight, the audience- made up of the usual dowdy over-weight middle-aged women who pray to all that is Oprah- laughed.

Her mother, who looked like a pretty sensible, intelligent and successful single mother (definitely not the trailer trash type usually seen on these shows) was, of course, upset and didn't know what to do. For all of her protestations to her daughter about how great she looked and blah, blah,blah, blah, blah, it went in one ear and out the other. So with nothing left to do, she turned to Dr. Phil.

I've heard a lot of stories like this (well, usually on TV or on Howard Stern), and as I listened to the poor 17 year old whine about how she'll never get a boyfriend because her nose is a bit too big and she's got a smidgen of cellulite on her butt and how the only that could save her was plastic surgery, I couldn't help think how glad I am that I don't have any kids.

I'm watching all these rap videos this morning and I'm noticing that after all these years, it's still down for rappers to wear sports jersey's. Brings a warm feeling to my heart knowing that some things still remain the same.

Something that I don't get, though, is what's up with the jersey that they wear? I saw about two in a row this morning, and in each one, they had their whole crew with them and they were all wearing different jerseys (and they were only wearing jerseys, nobody was wearing like a polo shirt or even a Fubu shirt). In one video, the main singer and his crew were wearing different jerseys in almost every scene.

Now, some of the jersey's I can understand. Like the classic Chicago Bulls #23 jersey. Or one for the St. Louis Rams (Nelly's from there) or the Raiders or whatever local college/professional team the rapper is giving a shout-out too. But at one point in the video, the rapper was busting out an old skool Milwaukee Brewers shirt- powder blue polyester with mustard yellow trim. First of all, so not a good jersey and second of all, the Brewers? Who the fuck cares about the Brewers? Maybe he's from Milwaukee, but he was wearing about five other different jersey's, all from different areas, so that can't be it. He and one of his dawgs were even shown shimmying around in a Padres uniform circa 1984- white shirt with brown, yellow and orange trim. I don't even think Padres fans look too fondly on those jerseys. I think one of their players even referred to the uniform as making them look like a big taco. Hell, I even saw a Puffy video(he of the SeanJohn fashion label and polo matches in the Hamptons) and he busted out an Astros "Rainbow" shirt from the 70's- the really garish one with the orange and yellow strips and the big black star, a uniform usually known as one of the worst uniforms in the history of sports.

Is that the point, then, to try and find the ugliest, most obscure jerseys to wear? Can someone explain to me what it all means? Is it like the coolest thing in the world to wear the ugliest, oldest, most obscure jersey possible? I mean, I thought it was kind of cool to be sporting a Brewers shirt from the Harvey Wallbanger days, but I'm weird like that.

When there's lightning - it always bring me down
Cause it's free and I see that it's me
Who's lost and never found
I cry for magic - I feel it dancing in the light
But it was cold - I lost my hold
To the shadows of the night

There's no sign of the morning coming
You've been left on your own
Like a Rainbow in the Dark

Got a job, the Giants won and I'm half-drunk on a bottle of champagne.

Life is good.

?

"That'll do pig"

Like I'm not under enough stress as it is, so how the hell am I gonna make it through Game 5 tomorrow? Sometimes I don't know why I'm so into baseball because I'm way too manic about sports and baseball is so not the game to be into if you're manic. Yesterday I was convinced it was all over and today….well, all I can say is that I'm so in love with Rich Aurillia.

Anyways, cause things can't get that much worse for your humble narrator, I lost the Temp job on Friday. The ole phone call left for me when I got home telling me not to come in on Monday. Quick, clean and efficient- like a mob hit (great Soprano's by the way). Good thing I left my CD Walkman there, thinking that I would be back. Silly little me thinking I'd be back there on Monday nobody had every said anything to me about any sort of problem. Or I was asked to come in on Saturday's to help out and my supervisor had joked with me about all the new work coming in for us to do.

Ironically I was about to quit anyways. I was thinking about heading home for a couple of weeks to rest and recuperate (it's either that or the Happy Valley Farms where I'd spend all of my time hooked up to a valium drip and do nothing but watch TV all day, something which come to think of it, doesn't sound half bad right now). And there's the whole not being able to check e-mail thing which did kind of bug. I mean, there's only so much patheticness I could take at any one point and having to shell out two bucks every day at the "Ben & Jerry's Internet Café" to check my e-mail is up there. It still sucks what happened, though, because it's always better to quit before you get fired. Not to mention the whole thing about trying to avoid patheticness only to find get fired from a Temp job.

To make it that much better, I got the message on late Friday so I don't know what happened. As I said, I had no indication what was coming, so I'm kind of wondering what the fuck and I have all weekend to wonder it. It could have something to do with all the late lunches, all the times I snuck out early, and all the time I spent online. Not to mention all the breaks and all the times I snuck out to make phone calls or go to the magazine stand and read magazines. Or it could be something not even related to all that cause it's usually what you don't think it is that it is. If that makes any sense.

I do know the person at the Temp Agency said there were some "concerns" voiced about me and that she wanted to talk to me about it. Which I can hardly wait to hear about. Right now, part of me is being ultra-paranoid and thinking that they actually were able to track my key strokes and find out the extent of my slacking off. Another part of me is steeling myself for something so out of control fucked up that I wouldn't even know where to begin. Like I'm wondering whether they complained because I was taking too much time off to do things like interview. Or that someone at the site actually read went in, discovered my blog (probably shouldn't have posted from work) and read all my comments about the place, including my not quite wholesome comments about the woman with the huge rack who wore the totally too tight t-shirts (which I kind of regret saying because she was a total sweetheart and was really nice to me, but mamma mia).

I did get in trouble for spending too much time online once, a couple of weeks ago. That day, before I was leaving, I apologized to the supervisor and told her it wouldn't happen again (me being so responsible and all) and the supervisor just gave me the "don't worry about it" hand wave and told me it was no big deal. She even said that if I hadn't been rat finked out by another co-worker, she wouldn't have even noticed. And I did always make the daily quota, usually a hundred or so over it. Sometimes even several hundred over it.

You know, as I sat there and typed away, clicking and clacking, I'd wonder about my effort as compared to the others. As I've said, I got some mad typing skills and could usually do like a hundred names in an hour, but the longer I was there and the more bored I was getting, the harder and harder it was to actually sit there and type away. After about half an hour, all I could think about was getting up and taking a break. It was killing me to sit there and it would get so bad that my leg would totally shake all day because of all the excess energy I had from not being able to walk around. Hell, I went to the bathroom every half an hour not really because I had to but because it got me away from my desk (you are, after all, supposed to get up and walk around every hour- the whole avoiding carpal tunnel thing). But I was the only one like that. All the other people there, all the other data enterers seemed like they were all completely able to sit there, hours upon end, and type away. Some of them were even permanent employees, meaning that was their job. That was all they did. Day in and day out, for months upon months upon months without even a thought that there was something else out there and that the job was totally, completely fucking boring.

Were they taking as many breaks as I was and I didn't notice? Or was it just me? And why was I the only one who wasn't going crazy, having to sit there at the computer for eight hours, entering names and birthdates over and over and over and over again. We're talking about a task so boring that mindless doesn't even do it justice. See, that would connote that there is a mind involved. This was so brainless it was like null-set mindless- something so mindless that it was if you're mind was extending negative amounts of energy.

Am I that big of a slacker? Am I that big of a fuck-up that I couldn't even make it through a data entry temp job for more than a couple of months? Was I the only there who sucked? Or, is it just because out of all the people doing it, I was the only white boy and the only one who didn't use English as a second language? It is, after all, hard to do that kind of work when you're an upper-middle class, UC grad, over thirty-year old boy white boy. After all, my great-grandparents and grandparents and parents worked damn hard to make sure I could be privileged enough to be a slacker.

Either way, even if it is because it's my bad, the whole way it was handled kind of sucks-ass. And all I can say is that between yet another interview, having to go into the Temp Agency to deal with all this, and Game 5, tomorrow is gonna be one long-ass day.

This is my life-

I have no internet access at work anymore. I need internet access. Important stuff might be happening while I'm sitting around not checking e-mail. You scoff, but today I almost missed out on a huge trade for my Fantasy Football League. So all week, at lunch time, I schlep fifteen minutes or so through the heart of North Beach, plop down my two bucks, and get ten minutes of internet access at the "Ben & Jerry's Internet Cafe." I feel like a junkie plopping down cash for another hit. A smack-head in a methodone clinic getting his fix.

And for ten minutes, I sit there, trying to do all the stuff I need to do in the alloted time that I have. Have you ever been to an internet cafe? For some reason, they're all intentionally slow. You're under the gun, yet it takes forever for things to happen. You send out an e-mail and hope that somehow it'll get sent out just under the ten minutes. Sometimes you make it, sometimes you don't.

This sucks.

Memo to H.R. People- If, say, you are in an meeting or an interview and some poor schlub calls to ask you a question concerning a job, please don't get all huffy-puffy with them. After all, if you're in the middle of something and can't be on the phone, then DON'T FUCKING PICK UP THE LINE.

Oh, and another thing. Don't get snippy when the same poor schlub tries to ask you questions. Especially, don't say anything along the lines of "didn't you read the job description?" Once again, I may be misunderstanding the role of H.R. people, but isn't that there fucking job- to answer questions? Don't you know the old adage about their being no such thing as a bad question? Some of us don't have time to read through some lame-ass Web site that's so chock-full of bells & whistles that it takes five minutes for each page to download.

Bitch.

Do H.R. people take manners or courtesy classes while studying to be an H.R. person? Do they even have classes in that field since, as we all know, most of them don't actually do what they're supposed to do. Do they learn how to do these things or are they all Communication Majors who couldn't get anything else? What the hell....

Sorry.

Serenity now....serenity now....

Caught the Great Democratic Hope, John Kerry on MSNBC's Hardball. The guy waffled more than a short-order cook at Waffle House. It's a sad day for us Democratically inclined when the only guy out there with the balls to say anything right now is Al Gore.

Man, the Giants have that look- scary intense. They be meaning business. Woo-hoo

PS- now watch them lose tomorrow just because I wrote that.

This is based loosely on an e-mail sent to my father around the High Holy Days. It was something I wanted to post then, but chickened out because I was hedging my bets. Right now, I am not. The e-mail concerns the High Holy Days (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur) and why I didn't want to celebrate the High Holy Days.

"I think, actually, in terms of Judaism, the Philosophical Construct of the phenomenon 'Shit Happens' is 'Shit happens and why does it always happen to us?' After all that's happened to me over the past couple of years, I would like to add to that this addendum- "shit happens and it's always happening to me."

In terms of my opinion regarding the Celebrating of the High Holy Days, I wonder whether in light of how the past year has progressed and all the shit that has happened, whether praising Him is actually just enabling him. Why should I praise him for all the crappiness of the past year? After all, I'd hate to think I was actually encouraging Him. I think, therefore, that an appropriate gesture might actually be me for to do nothing but stuff myself silly with pigs in a blanket and fried shrimp.

And as for my feelings about whether we should be going to Temple to thank Him, considering all that's happened over the year, I wonder if instead, we should all get together and ask Him to get his butt in gear and do something before we all blow ourselves up. Considering the year G-d's had, what with all the killing done in His name, the molesting of Children in His name, and all the financial failings done in Mammon's name, maybe we should be insisting that He come down and apologize. He's gotta lot of 'xplainin' to do."

I can't believe she fucking quit.

I'm in a cranky-ass, half drunk-ass, pissy-ass mood and nobody's reading much this week, so in other words, I got nothing to say (but it's okay?)

"Can we rest now?"