Keepin' It (Mont)Real (aka "So Many Feelings")

On the weekend of June 26th through 29th, three brave Americans intrepidly infiltrated the borders of Canada, en route to Montreal, PQ, Canada. They were Javen, T.T. and Bill. This is their story....

Friday, June 26, 2006

Things began auspiciously enough. I arrived at Javen's Schenectady compound at approximately 7PM, just in time to head to the beer store to gobble up two sixers of delicious craft brewery. (I went with the wheats and IPA's, Jables went with stouts and porters, of course.)

We headed back to the house to catch the first period of the Sabres game, when E.C.Paul and Becky showed up. We agreed that it was time for some food and drink. I am always game to play the fifth wheel, so we headed to Slick's, home of the biggest goddamn sandwiches I have ever seen. No joke. These bastards are enormous, with stacks upon stacks of meat, encased in very thin white bread. The sandwiches are great, but the bartender (the elderly wife of the owner) is not very good at her job. We gorge ourselves and leave.

Next stop is the Van Dyck, which is a brewpub and a classy little joint. They had a pretty solid pale ale that I enjoyed. Suddenly, our old college buddy Mike Short (aka Slim Colt) showed up and it suddenly started raining. Coincidence??? Yeah, probably. We went inside and decided it would be better to take off and hit B.L.'s, a favorite spot of Javen's.

Here is where the story gets a little interesting. Not very interesting, but a little. Before we go to B.L.'s, Slim says he's hungry and wants to hit Burger King. We go through the drive-thru and Slim gets some food. (I tell him that he should say to the person at the drive-thru, "Keep the change, ya filthy animal," which of course, is from Home Alone. (Perhaps quoting Home Alone is the bottom of the barrel, but at this point, I don't care.)

So, since it's raining, we don't want to have Slim eat his food outside. So we go into the bar and order what is likely to be our first of several pitchers. Anyway, the bar's owner, Frank, starts cursing and being, well, quite frankly, a dick. He is drunk and starts saying "We have a kitchen here, you can't bring goddamn Burger King in here!" Javen tells the surly drunkard that the kitchen is almost always closed at that time, and Javen should know because he's what you call a "regular." So Slim, a gentleman always, leaves the bar with his food to finish it in his car.

Meanwhile, Javen is still arguing with the owner about the kitchen and saying how he is there every other night and can he just calm down. Suddenly, some 19 year old punk at the bar, full of alcohol and clearly looking for trouble, starts chiming in saying, "Hey! It's his bar, I'd say it's his rules!" And he actually starts staring Javen down. I'm eyeballing the kid to make sure he doesn't start any shit. He does. The kid lunges at Javen and grabs his arm. I swiftly horse-collar him like Roy Williams on Terrell Owens and bring the back of his head crashing to the ground. The kid screams as I pummel his face. Paul then pulls out a knife with a serrated blade, puts it to the kid's throat and says, "There are six million ways to die. Choose one."

Okay, everything from "He does" to "choose one" never happened. But we did leave a full pitcher on the bar, unpaid for, and walked away triumphantly.

We decided to round out the night by hitting a pair of other small bars, knocking back a few and having a hearty laugh. We watched two tough-guy townies joylessly sing Metallica's "Unforgiven" and then left. Naturally, everyone wanted to end the evening eating pizza with no cheese on it, which to me is really just soggy bread smothered in tomato sauce. For shame.

Oh and the Sabres lost. We went to bed. Billy go night-night. Zzzzzz....

Saturday, June 27, 2006

Jav, T.T. and I woke up and proceeded to prepare for our trip to Montreal. We swiftly packed our belongings and hopped in the car. I did not shower, a move both my co-passengers and I would soon regret.

We got on the road and headed north without much incident after some Dunkin Donuts bagels and coffee. Everything was fine for about 2.5 hours, until...

We hit the Canadian border and proceeded to sit in traffic in excess of 90 minutes. It was a hellish bataan death march just south of the 49th parallel. I hated every second of it. And to top it off, poor T.T. was ... let's just say not feeling well, and the staid air and lack of flowing air didn't help her any. Poor poor T.T.

We finally -- FINALLY -- got over the border, where we were finally able to all use the restroom and then get some snacks. I got those maple cookies that are filled with maple syrup and are shaped like maple leafs. Okay, we get it: maple! And plus, everything was in French? Where the hell were we??? I mean it's like a whole different country!

We traversed the twisty roads of the M-T-L and, well, long story short, we were naked at rest stop. Oh wait, different trip. Sorry. But we did get one of the greatest in-context quotes of my young life on the trip from the border to our hotel. T.T., feeling the effects of her physical ailment, as well as the frustration of getting semi-lost what with the French road signs and all, said, with 100% sincerity, "I'm having so many feelings!" Well naturally Javen and I laughed for about a half hour, enjoying all the possibilities that phrase could entail.

We got to our hotel carrying brutally heavy bags and checking in. (It should be noted that when it comes to trips, I pack like a woman. I pack at for at least one day more than I actually plan to be on any given trip. I mean, what if I shit myself or something?)

We checked in, showered, watched some weird French TV show with naked breasts and person who looked like a cross-dressing Al Leiter, and looked at some awesome internet stuff like the David Brent dance from "The Office," (which starts off great before turning excruciating) the "Peanut Butter Jelly Time" video (which gets stuck in your head like you wouldn't believe), and of course, the coup de grace, the video of the retarded girl who learns about menstruation. Gross. I am so glad I am not a woman. Even if I pack for a vacation like one.

We then headed out into the Fleur De Lis city! (I'm not sure if they actually call Montreal "The Fleur De Lis City" but it sure sounds good.) We hit McLean's for dinner, then the Claddaugh Bar, then Brutopia, a microbrew where the beer actually got better toward the bottom of the glass. We met my sister Kate and her boyfriend Scott there and enjoyed the delightful camaraderie. We went to a weird bar called Mad Hatters, which was cool cuz it was outside, and also had poutine, which is the greatest food known to man. French fries, cheese curds and gravy? What culinary immortal conjured up this orgasm of the taste buds?

Anyway, toward the end of the night, this drunk, Troy Polamalu-looking douche started stumbling around and almost spilled beer on T.T. and Kate. Kate pulled the umbrella out of the table we were sitting at and threatened to shove it where le soleil didn't shine, but Troy appeared too drunk to notice. We decided to call it a night. Billy go night-night. Zzzzzzz...

Sunday, June 28, 2006

Sunday felt like a Saturday, and would be our most exhausting day yet. I began the morning by doing the David Brent dance, to which T.T. giggled. She accused me of violating her in a most unsavory manner while Javen was in the shower, and Javen laughed. We had breakfast at Dunn's, which is a nice little diner that specializes in smoked meat. I got a hamburger, slightly wary of smoked meat and all it entailed.

It was a hot day out, that's for sure. We walked to Old Montreal, which feels like a very old old city with lots of people. We walked past Chinatown (where I took a very bad picture of some tourists) and toward the St. Lawrence. T.T. regaled us once again with the story of the homeless Montreal lady she once saw eating a pigeon. It's a story that never gets old. People were being very romantic and cuddling in the park and some were kissing each other. I got a little sad, but it was nice. We saw a man who looked like the singer Seal, dressed in a suit and riding a bicycle. There was a "trained seal" joke there somewhere but I wisely avoided it.

Then T.T. started to get whiny. Suddenly it was, "I want a popsicle." "I want a sno-cone." "I want a popsicle by the water." Our feet were hurting and it was hot as blazes, so we decided to get some food. I was actually able to poop in a public restroom and I got some juice and we headed to a brewpub. We went to a brewpub whose name I could not being to pronounce, but they had an excellent Hefe-Weizen there. Although, as Javen said, it could have been the circumstance of being so hot and thirsty that it's possible the Hef was just average and just perfect for the moment. Either way, I liked it.

What I didn't like was the first taste I got of bad Montreal service. The bar wench brought our beers out to us, which consisted of literally walking from one side of a table to the other, and I paid her. She then asked if the service fee was included in the price. I had no idea what she was talking about so I nodded, and she walked away a bit huffily. Javen said she was asking for a tip. I am a big tipper, so I was ready to give her a sizeable one for the next round, but when we were done, she took her sweet time serving us. So the tip went away.

We went to a market where we bought all sorts of exotic foods. I bought some cookies for the room and some green tea, for which Javen of course made fun of me. I bought one of those Full Throttle energy drinks too, knowing I would be taking a nap soon and would need to wake up.

The day was so hot and we were so exhausted from all that walking that we went back to the hotel for a nap. I laid my head on the puffy pillow and slept for either 20 minutes or two hours, I'm still not sure. When I awoke, I was groggy, but ready to head out once again, this time for some beer and hockey!

Here was the most frustrating part of the trip: back at McLean's, we sat down and contemplated eating, though none of us were really that hungry. We ordered drinks -- in this case Leffe -- and when the waitress asked what size, we said the 32 ounce size for like $8 Canadian (which is scarily close to $8 American right now, by the way). So the waitress with a thick French accent leaves for a moment and comes back, and here is our exchange:

Waitress: Would you like the 20 ounce because I can' give you the 30 ounce.
Me: Okay, then I'll take the 32 ounce.
Waitress: But I can' give you the 30 ounce.
Me: Alright, then that's what I'll have. The 32 ounce, just like it says on the menu.
Waitress: But I am telling you, I can' give it to you.
Me: Fair enough, then please do.
Waitress: You are not understanding, I can' give you the 30 ounce, I can only give the 20 ounce of this.
Me (after a pause): Are you saying you "can" give it to us, or "cannot" give it to us?
Waitress: I canNAUT.
Me: Then ya know what? Fuck it, bring the 20 ounce.

When she left, Javen called her a very bad swear word and laughed derisively. She still took forever to bring us the drinks. And we were about to jet and leave the money on the table since the Sabres lost another overtime heartbreaker. As we were leaving, our Frenchie waitress (who, to be perfectly fair, was the only one working in a semi-crowded bar/restaurant) said very snottily (or "Frenchily"), "Were you going to pay?" Interesting that the only time a fella can get attention at a bar is when he is about to leave and the server is afraid she is going to lose out on her money. Javen showed her the money on the table, and then -- possibly as a knee-jerk reaction -- gave her a tip she so richly did not deserve.

We went out into the brisk night air to see if we could find any more delicious beer, but then remembered it was Sunday, and Canadians don't celebrate Memorial Day. And even in a city as big as Montreal, things close down early on Sundays. So we took T.T. home and Javen and I embarked for one last big score. There was one kinda loud (but relatively empty) bar that had some decent stuff in there I had never heard of (Jav, you may have to help me remember what we drank there), so we had two and went back to the Marriott. It is very calming and nice to sit by the window and drink a couple of Sleeman's before hitting the sack, so we just did that. Zzzzzzz....

Monday, June 29, 2006

We took a shower and one last look at the hotel room. We had shared so much there. The toilet, the shower, the TV. I still miss it.

We went to Rotisserie-St. Hubert for lunch. The chicken there is very good, but my favorite thing is the restaurant logo which looks like a French chicken wagging it's finger and saying "Uh-uh-OHHHH, en francaaaaaiiiis!" I was still bloated since I had stupidly had a Pop-Tart so we hit the road.

We had come up with the notion of going to Ikea, but due to the aforementioned French signage, this was simply not to be. Having passed the exit(s) to get there (partially due to some rather inconveniently-placed 18-wheelers that were blocking key exit signs), we decided to take the scenic route to the Vermont border crossing. We got food at the duty free and T.T. successfully convinced the border guard to let us carry our bags of snacks across. This wait was only about 20 minutes instead of the 90-minute nightmare of two days prior. Plus, we got to watch Dave Chappelle on T.T.'s video iPod, and we all nearly peed our pants laughing at the "Grape Juice vs. Grape Drink" part:

White Guy: Todd, would you like some grape juice?
Black Guy: Nigga what the fuck is JUICE? I want some grape drink, baby!
White Guy: I don't have any grape drink. I have some apple juice.
Black Guy: Nigga, WHAT the FUCK is JUICE? I want apple DRINK!

It's so funny.

After the border, we went into Burlington, Vermont for a little while. It is a very interesting, hippy-ish, but quaint town with a lot of shops and whatnot. I still could not get any reception without roaming, but at least Javen and T.T. got the call from ECP that their cat, Symon, was still alive.

We headed back to New York State and T.T. drove as crazily as ever, nearly missing several pedestrians and one large horse. I think the horse actually called her an asshole. We got back to the Electric City and a couple last ones for the road at a delicious bar-b-que which included a delicious brisket, some hot dogs, various vegetable salads, and about 50 billion mosquitoes. I hit the road and headed home.

All in all, we didn't go too crazy, but we had a wonderfully fun time in Montreal. When you can laugh and giggle with the weirdest couple you know, that's how you know it's working!

Dagger in the Heart

I didn't even expect them to make it this far, so I should be grateful. But it still hurts.

Boy, were they a blast this year, though. Thanks fellas.

Doug Gorman is a Dude

I just wanted to take a second to acknowledge my good friend Doug Gorman. Doug is a very smart and talented young man. He happened to just graduate from Syracuse Law School. Oh, and he also graduated first in his class. Anyone who knows Doug is not surprised by this.
This is a picture of Doug, his beautiful wife (and another good friend of mine) Rachel and their adorable baby Catherine. Those are excellent genes, folks.


Now this is a picture of Doug with a guy named Joe Biden. One of these men is a future president of the United States. The other is a current senator from Delaware.

Congrats guys, I love you and can't wait to visit you.

White-Out!

This team is going to give me a heart attack. Billy needs new shorts!



The Sabres went up 4-1, then let the lead slip to 4-3. Maybe it's because I'm a Buffalo fan, but I coulda sworn they were going to blow it in the last 30 seconds.

But they didn't. And they took a 2-1 series lead.

Could this be the year? Could this be the team??? Or are the ghosts of Brett Hull and Darius Kasparitis going to haunt my dreams forever? Usually my Buffalo teams have a habit of outplaying the opponent but finding a way to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. With this Sabres team, it's exactly the opposite. Even typing this brings out all my superstitions. I don't want to contribute to them blowing it.

But maybe, just maybe, they won't blow it.

Bad Sports Logos - Los Angeles Clippers

I am trying something new here. Maybe it will be a runaway hit, and maybe I will lose interest. It's a new N.O.C.W.I.T. feature called "Bad Sports Logos." Here we celebrate some of the worst ideas in sports logo concepts. I wanted to toggle between pro and college sports, as well as major and minor leagues. If anyone has any comments or suggestions for really horrible sports logos, please pass them along. For now, I will utilize Chris Creamer's magnificent Sports Logos site.

When you are the Los Angeles Clippers, you have a few strikes against you. First of all, you are probably the worst franchise in all of major professional sports (this season notwithstanding) and easily in the bottom three.

Secondly, you share not only the same city, but the same arena as the Los Angeles Lakers, one of the marquee franchises not only in basketball, but in all the sporting world.

You have a terrible, cheap owner, and a major inferiority complex. But most of all, you have a very bad logo.


Now the logo is very competent. The lines are sharp. The basketball icon is nearly a perfect circle. The blue and red color scheme is pleasant enough. But has there ever been a logo in the history of sports that has such a combination of being bland and non-threatening? I can't think of one.

The NBA is a league of very bland logos to begin with. In fact, until the last few years, most NBA logos consisted of little more than a basketball and some words. And perhaps a vague prop to jazz it up a bit.

To wit:



Not much imagination. The difference is this: within the last decade and a half, all of the above logos have been changed and or snazzed up to keep up with the explosion in marketing and sales of jerseys. The Clips have done nothing since they moved to Los Angeles.

But this isn't even the worst logo this team has ever had. Before, when they were the San Diego Clippers (in the days of Ron Burgundy), this was the winner they came up with.



Ugh, don't even get me started on this piece of crap. Ostensibly, it's supposed to be a stylized fleet of clipper ships sailing against the San Diego sun. But I contend it was the winner of a "come up with the Clippers' logo!" contest, submitted by a third grader who had three colors of construction paper at his disposal.

My question is this: with the boom in sports marketing (especially since companies like Reebok and Nike are helping out with design), why haven't the Clippers tried to upgrade their look to go with their newly winning attitude? Think of the cool looking 3-D designs they could have come up with? A large ship? A gruff-looking sailor mascot? A large electric hair-cutting razor? (The razor could be teeth or something. Come on, somebody pay me for my high-concept ideas!)

You would think that the center of the entertainment world would be able to find a marketing or graphic design company that could make the Clippers the new cool team in town. Kinda like the Chicago White Sox became the hot-looking uniform in the Windy City in the early '90s and the Nets became the toast of the New York Metropolitan area in the last 5 years.

Come on Clips! I'll give you a start.

Just color it blue and red and put a big "LA" on it and let's get those new uniforms out by next season!

When Is It Going to Fall Apart?

It takes 16 victories to win the Stanley Cup.

The Sabres bounced Philly in 6 games.

16 15 14 13

Ottawa walked into a goat-headed buzzsaw.

12 11 10 9

Carolina is, after all, just the Hartford Whalers in disguse.

8 7 6 5

I hope I'm not getting too ahead of myself.
or

4 3 2 1

Do I even dare think it?




I've come with you this far. Please don't break my heart again...

The Magic Phony

The biggest non-story of the day is the retirement of Doug Flutie, the mighty mulleted midget who, somehow, inexplicably became one of the most beloved sports figures of the last quarter-century. Through a combination of grit, luck and media manipulation, Flutie is the veritable poster boy for overachievement.

Considered too small to play football, Flutie has become an icon of "heart" overcoming physical limitations, and of a man with a penchant for magic finishes.

So many adjectives have been used to describe the diminutive gridiron "legend." Words like gritty, gutsy, heroic, clutch, magical, and other superlatives. He was relegated to playing minor league football in Canada until his meteoric return to the NFL with my Buffalo Bills. Even 6 years after he left the Bills, he is still deified in Western New York.

Let's just take a quick look at the reasons he has somehow been placed in the pantheon of clutch athletes.

• The famous Hail Mary play in the 1984 University of Miami vs. Boston College game.
  
• His six Canadian Football League MVP awards, and three Grey Cup Championships.
  
• His return to the NFL with the Buffalo Bills, San Diego Chargers and New England Patriots.

But a closer look reveals that Flutie's accomplishments and achievements don't necessarily merit the cult status that he's achieved.

Now, you will never hear me say anything negative about the Hail Mary. It's one of the best plays in the history of football and one of the most iconic moments of 1980s sports, period.

The CFL stuff, however, while very impressive, is hardly the kind of achievement that usually garners much attention this side of the 49th parallel. Do you think that the average casual sports fan can name any other single CFL Most Outstanding Player? (I can name three others: Tom Clements, Rocket Ismail, Jeff Garcia. But then again, I'm a huge geek.)

Also, let's further examine Flutie's return to the NFL for a moment. His 1998 season with Buffalo cannot be taken away. It was one of the most fun seasons of football that I can remember and he really took that team on his back. I will not begrudge him that. But by 1999, defensive coordinators had gotten wise to his shenanigans and he became very stifled, offensively. In fact, the reason the Bills made the playoffs that year is because they had the #1 defense in the league.

But by this time, so many blue-collar simpletons were so enamored with Flutie that he could do no wrong. So when Flutie was pulled for the Bills' first playoff game, Bills fans were aghast. How could they possibly bench the great Flutie? Most people forget that Rob Johnson actually had that playoff game won .... until a little thing called the Music City Miracle happened. (Imagine if that play had never happened. The Bills go onto the Super Bowl, Rob Johnson becomes a local hero, my brother doesn't destroy a lamp in righteous anger immediately after the game, I don't contemplate driving head-on into oncoming traffic later that day.)

What was interesting about this little turn of events, though, is that Flutie subsequently became Machiavellian in his desire to turn the team against Johnson and in favor of himself. He talked trash about Johnson, asked teammates to back him, and became an overall non-team player. (If you read interviews with Flutie from this time period, sucesses were always measured in "me" and "I," and failures were spoke of with "we" or even "they." You can read a full account of Bucky Gleason's original account of Flutie right after he left the Bills in 2001 here.

Ironically, Bills fans, who had so long championed the character-laden philosophy of Marv Levy and Bill Polian, looked the other way at Flutie's Phonyness. Instead, people clamored for Flutie's return to the suddenly-mediocre Bills in 2000, and when he left the Bills for the San Diego Chargers before the 2001 season, Bills fans in Rochester (mostly women, for what it's worth) petitioned the local radio and TV stations to broadcast Chargers games, even if it meant not showing Bills games. It was a sad, pathetic time, and I was ashamed to be a Bills fan.

After Flutie left the team, the Bills did not return to their former glory, and haven't made the playoff since. So maybe this is why I am bitter against the little Napoleonic prick. But I'd like to think it's that I reject phony people who try to manipulate their own image to look better.

What is amazing to me is how the legend of Flutie still lives, especially in Western New York. Here is a guy who did win the Heisman Trophy (as did O.J. Simpson, by the way), had an incredible play in college, and then really didn't do much. He was a bust in the NFL (save for that one season), and never won a playoff game. After his one great NFL season, he fizzled out as a backup in San Diego and New England, notably making the first drop kick in 64 years in 2005.

So considering the fact that Flutie's list of actual accomplishments is brief, it is clear that the power of selective memory and the phenomenon of legend-over-reality is influential. Since Flutie will continue to be on TV doing college football analysis for ABC/ESPN, his continued exposure will only add to his legend. The guy's 21-year football career is nothing to sneeze at, but I wonder if people who love him so much remember why they actually loved him in the first place.

Team Of Destiny

Look out. These boys are for real this year.

That's four lines of pain comin' at ya, bitches. Don't sleep.

Fear the Goat Head, Jersey OR Carolina.

Conference Finals here we come!

My Horse in '08

Officially, I am a member of the Green Party. I switched to Green in 2000 because I was fed up with the hypocritical moralizing and elitism of the Republican Party and the whiny, nattering elitism of the Democratic Party. The Green Party is really more grassroots, and I think Ralph Nader is a great American and a genuine human being.

Mainly, the reason i "Went Green" was as a protest against the other two shitty options. It was 2000, remember, pre-9/11, and pre-Bush Administration. I felt that my vote didn't count anyway, so I might as well show my displeasure with the current two-party system. That'd show 'em!

Of course, what happened over the subsequent 6 years or so has changed my perspective on the entire scope of voting. And now, especially since the last two elections were so close, stakes are much higher. Bottom line: things are going downhill fast, and it's not just Bush; it's the culture of divisiveness, fearmongering and corporate-pandering that all the Neo-Conservatives have brought into every aspect of government.

So, after much spectulation on Capitol Hill, I have decided to put the rumors to rest and finally, at long last, announce my candidate for the 2008 presidential election.

Joseph R. Biden, Jr. Or "Joe" to me.

Like any candidate, there are a few things I don't love about him (but I'm sure his opponents on both sides of the aisle will address those), and I'm sure a lot of exaggerations will be brought up (such as the overblown plagiarism charge from 1988), but in general, he has proven to be a great purveyour of common sense and moral strength.

Sure, he's an Irish Catholic, has bad hair and is a bit long-winded (kind of like someone I know), but I think he is one of the few Democrats with the necessary combination of moral fortitude and brass balls.

Right after 9/11, when Bush was still in a Pet-Goat- in-the -headlights daze, Biden was the first person, Democrat or Republican, that I saw on TV who seemed in control. When we were all looking for a sense of calm and security, it was Biden who gave me my first feeling that the world wasn't ending in the next week.

It should have been Bush giving me that feeling of security. After all, he's, y'know, the president and stuff. But for all the tough-talking that cowboy does, he has been woefully inept reacting to any national crisis.

John McCain has sold his soul to Karl Rove. Hillary Clinton is disingenuous and divisive, and if the Democrats think she has a Culkin's chance at Neverland Ranch, they are dumber strategists than I ever thought.

Biden's my boy. Which means of course, he has no shot.

"You're With Me, Leather"

Yes, Chris Berman's pickup line -- and possibly the most sublimely perfect pickup line of all time -- is my favorite phrase of 2006. I literally cannot not laugh when I hear it or read it.


Seriously, just looking at this shirt makes me giggle. (God bless Deadspin, the best sports blog in the world. Bill Simmons my ass) for bringing this phrase to national prominence. Or at least prominence in my own personal lexicon. Apparently you can buy the shirt here at Gawker.com. I can't buy it because I will never stop laughing.

Yes, for the record I am actually laughing to myself as I am typing this by myself in a dark room. It may be creepy but it feels terrific. The great thing about the phrase is that it is so multi-purpose. You can use "You're With Me, Leather" for so many reasons. To ask someone to run an errand with you, selecting a DVD at your local video store, finally finishing that TPS report for your boss, or just as a Zen mantra to help re-center yourself and restore the chi back into your balls.

To paraphrase a Dionne Warwick song, if you see me walking down the street and I start to cry, each time we meet... just say "You're With Me, Leather" and I will probably urinate on myself with laughter. Let's try it out.

Git-R-Done Indeed, You Fat Talent-Deprived Shit-kicker

I must admit that I am not much of a fan of the stand-up comedy of David Cross, but as a comic mind, he cannot be denied. Anyone who was on two of the ten greatest comedy shows in the history of television (Mr. Show with Bob & David, and Arrested Development) has to have something going on, right? As Stephen Colbert might say, David Cross "gets it."


So I was more than impressed when the erstwhile Tobias Funke decided to get all up in Larry the Cable Guy's ass. (Granted, this "open letter" is from December 2005, but I just found it so it's new to me.)

I have a lot of respect for David Cross in this piece, because not only is he unafraid to debunk the whole "regular guy tellin'-it-like-it-is" cop-out for being a lazy, fart joke telling no-talent, but he even has the sheer cojones to take a swipe at the heretofore untouchable Dane Cook! (I mean, I like Dane, but let's dial down his ubiquitousness just a shade, shall we?) I did not see that comin'!



Ultimately, I'm glad that someone wasn't afraid to call out lazy and cheap humor and fire the first salvo for intellectual comedy. Several years from now, I have a feeling that Larry the Cable Guy, while filthy rich, will be but a footnote of novelty comedy, such as a Pauly Shore or a Michael Winslow. A one-trick pony who filled a niche (the niche in this case being humor for the lowest common denominator) and faded into obscurity. David Cross on the other hand will probably (and hopefully within his lifetime) be lauded as a great creator of TV comedy, even if his Jesus-hating stand-up gets old after the 37th "Catholics-are-mindless-sheep" joke.

Either way, anyone who knows me knows that I will always champion the side of arrogant intellectual elitism over that of lazy penis jokes any day.

Yo Mama Got an Afro with a Chinstrap

I have discovered a new train wreck in TV. But unlike a normal wreck where, as they say, "you can't look away," I can not only look away from this one, but I am almost constantly am tempted to change the channel. And when it's over, I not only feel unfulfilled, but a little sad.

The show, of course, is MTV's "Yo Momma," and it is truly crap-tastic!

Here's the concept. We go to different "hoods" (that's neighborhoods to the melanin-impaired) and have five or six people battle each other in a match of wits. Using "Yo momma jokes" or "the dozens" as they once called them in a more authentic time. Anyway, the different competitors battle for supremacy to represent their "hood" in a four-hood bracket, in a "Snaps" tournament of sorts.

All the battles are held in alley ways near chain link fences, surrounded by a multi-cultural tapestry of streetwise young people dressed in puffy Sean John and Roca-Wear jackets, all too eager to hold a closed fist to their mouths and shout "OHHHHHHHHH" when somebody rips someone else. This show oozes authenticity.

When you have a show that is this "street," you have to have a host that has street cred to burn. Of course that man in this case is Wilmer Valderamma, a.k.a. Fez from "That '70s Show." If you thought Ashton Kutcher cornered the market on in-your-face comedy for young people, wait til you see Fez cracking jokes like Ralph Malph with a sack full of Bazooka Joe comics.

On the serious tip (yeah I said it), I think this is a brilliant concept for a show. There was a time several years ago when the "Snaps" series of books and CDs was very popular, so there is a very clear market for "Yo Momma" jokes. Some aficianados may remember the very popular novelty hit "Ya Mama" by the Pharcyde, which included some classic "Yo momma" jokes, such as "Yo mama got a glass eye with a fish in it," and "yo mama got a wooden leg with real feet," and the inimitable "yo mama got a peg leg with a kickstand."

But those are real "yo momma" jokes, filled with clever insults and actually a good deal of wit. The jokes on MTV's "Yo Momma" are hardly of this caliber. Which brings me to the two main flaws of this show. (Oh, and by the way, these two flaws make the show almost completely unwatchable.)

Firstly, the show is far too regimented. They will have the many contestants "snap" on each other for about 2 1/2 minutes before deciding who the winners are. This is not done like a live battle where we can see the participants spar and react. Rather, it is a carefully edited bunch of clips that act as sort of a "best-of/worst of" with all the best insults and the worst insults being shown, along with the appropriate contrived crowd reaction of "OOOOOOOOOOH" or "BOOOOOOOOOO" depending on the dopeness/wackness of the competitor.

When the finalists are finally pitted against each other, that too has a strict itinerary. Wilmer and the two other dime-a-dozen hosts that accompany him lay down ground rules. ("Okay, first, only momma jokes. Then you have to bust on each other's personal style. Then each other's hygiene. Then each other's penis size. Then who has more friends on MySpace....") It reminds me of the scene in the American version of "The Office" on Diversity Day where Michael encourages all the employees, "let's get real!" when they are supposed to be insulting each others' races. This part takes all the fun, creativity and extemporaneousness out of the insults.

Furthermore, there is a very dull and stupid segment where Wilmer takes each of the two finalists to the other's home and searches through his personal belongings. This always includes the too-cool-for-school Valderamma mugging for the camera and dropping bad jokes left and right. The information gathered in these rooms is ostensibly meant to inspire more deadly insults, but is always out of context and the crowd never reacts well, since they had never been, in fact, in the room themselves.

But the second (and most crippling) reason that this brilliant concept of a show remains a mess when put into practice: the "yo momma" jokes are terrible. And I don't even mean just subpar. They are completely pointless and unfunny. Once in a great while, they will throw in an old classic like "Yo momma's so black, she went to night school and was marked absent," but all the good ones are from the old bag of jokes that any good "momma joke" aficinado would already know.

Instead we get a very sorry and pathetic collection of jokes that rely on stupid non-sequiturs and lame physical humor. The two most egregious examples are the ones that contain the words "she ______ like this" or "talkin' bout." Por ejemple:

"Yo mama got legs on her shoulders, she walk like this..." [Competitor does a silly walk]

OR

"Yo mama wear a ring with a piece of coal on it, talkin' bout 'bling BLING'!"

That's funny? It makes one weep for the state of American comedy. If this is the finest that the urban, streetwise comedy scene has to offer, I'm going to go back to watching "Yes, Dear." If you are going to create a show predicated on cleverness and creative insults, you should at least have some semblance of cleverness or creativity. Instead, we get high school age Don Rickles wannabes shouting jive at each other, not quite sure if what they are saying is funny or not. In fact, it seems the audience surrounding and watching the competitors can't figure it out either. Honestly, I found more humor in one three-minute Saturday Night Live sketch where Seth Myers plays the great insult comedian "Zinger" than I have in the several episodes of "Yo Momma" I have watched.

(There is one note I would like to mention here. For all its flaws, it is perhaps the one show I've ever seen where race is fair game. They have white boys calling out the blackness of black guys' momses, and black guys making fun of Asians' driving. In that regard, it is a somewhat refreshing change to see people who are too young to worry about getting sued for discrimination.)

I would love to see this type of competition with the likes of Oscar Wilde or Winston Churchill or Mark Twain, but unfortunately two out of the three of those men are dead. Instead, we're left with D-Redd and Fez. Oh, does the humor ever stop?

Dude Be Messin With My Post-Season, I Go Cold Upside His Head

I promised several months ago that there would be no more football posts until April. And like the pillar of integrity that I am, I kept my word. And this will likely be one of my few football posts until June or so. So savor this one, folks. Cherish it. Print it and read it during those dreary days where I'm not writing anything football-related. This one should get you through those depressing summer months.

Now I know this isn't the most appropriate time to bring this up, since it actually happened like a month ago, but in the NFL owners meetings, Kansas City Chiefs owner Lamar Hunt -- so illustrious a character is he that the AFC Championship trophy is named after him -- suggested that the NFL consider changing from a 12-team playoff format to 16 teams, seeding the teams one through eight like basketball and hockey, and eliminating the bye weeks for the top two teams in each conference.

With all due respect to Lamar (and I know for a fact that he is an avid reader of mine, so my respect is certainly appreciated), this is a godawful idea. Absolutely terrible. For two reasons.

First, the current NFL playoff format is impeccable. It's the best playoff system of all the four major sports (and yes, hockey is a major sport, haters). First of all, the bye week is the ultimate reward for playing well in the regular season. It gives the top four teams in the regular season a full week off to rest and game plan for the next opponent. It also gives those teams at least one game of home field advantage.

Lamar Hunt said that the reason he opposes the bye week in pro football is because it (and I'm paraphrasing) places the "showcase teams" of the league on a shelf for a week. In other words, if the Colts are the best team in the league (for the sake of argument), why would you want to have a week where they were not on television, in effect hiding them from public consumption. This is a very short-sighted argument. Which is a better option? To milk television ratings for one weekend or maintain the integrity of the current playoff format (which, by the way, after 17 seasons, has had very little downside). No league does a better job of straddling the line between rewarding the good teams, and allowing the other teams to have a chance, especially in post-season play.

The second reason this is a terrible notion is that the 16-team playoff format is, and will continue to be, a laughingstock. It's not like this is the NCAA Men's Basketball tournament, where there are hundreds of schools to choose from, and 65 is actually a low percentage. The NHL and the NBA have playoff formats that basically assure that all non-terrible teams will make the playoffs.

But that is a laughable format for two leagues that each have 30 teams. Do the math, baby. That means that more than half the teams in those leagues make the playoffs. This isn't CYO basketball, where Bill Shannon's crappy 0-22 team of 8th graders still gets to play in the tournament. It's major pro sports. This year in the NBA's Eastern Conference (of course), three teams with records of .500 or lower made the playoffs. This is clearly not the intent of postseason sports.

In the NFL, good teams miss the playoffs. And that's how it should be. Back in the 2004 season, my favorites bunch of losers (next to my friends), the Buffalo Bills, would have made the playoffs under this 16-team format. But you know what? And it pains me to say this: they didn't deserve to. Had they won their last game of the season (a pathetic effort, getting blown out by Pittsburgh's third-stringers, a game which I attended and clearly jinxed), they would have made the playoffs anyway.

Interestingly, under this 16-team playoff format, Lamar Hunt's Chiefs would have made the playoffs in 2005, since they were the best team to be locked out of the playoffs in the AFC. Granted, Hunt has been pimping this idea for a long time, but still, intriguing no?

I have written before about the NFL being the league that is going to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs, tarnishing all that is great about the game for quick money. But if they did this, it would be a case of the league taking a very bad idea from a very good man in the interest of creating two more playoff games every season. I'm just hoping that the money-hungry owners of the league like Jerry Jones and Dan Snyder don't try to continue their hostile takeover of the league by adopting this hare-brained idea.

The league is already perilously close to over-saturation, and that's coming from an erstwhile psychotic football aficianado.

Note: I am going to do something in this post that I promised I would never do. I am going to (ugh) get sentimental. Oh sure, I re-live old tales of the past with a hazy, sepia-toned eye all the time. But this is about all the people in my life now. Yes, it may be vomit-inducing, but it needed to be done. (Especially since it's the end of April and I was really drawing a blank about other topics.) So if you detest award banquets and/or interviews with James Lipton, you may want to turn your head or click "Next Blog" up top.

Okay, I'm not very good at this.

The last couple of months have been a struggle for me. There has been a lot of change and transition in my life. Anyone who has talked to me since my 30th birthday knows what I'm talking about. Anyway, I just wanted to take a second to sincerely thank all the people (well, my "subscribers" anyway) who have really been there for me and kept me from jumping out the nearest window on those tougher days.

I am a creature of habit. I do not fear change; change scares the living piss out of me. I have never been able to deal with it or react to it. And lately, my life has been turned around in a lot of ways. I have felt an odd sense of limbo. My surroundings are different, and my daily and weekly routines are different. So when an event comes up that upends with the convoluted order I have tried to maintain in my life, it sends me into somewhat of an existential tailspin.

So with that, I want to specifically name and thank those folks who have seen my unrest and reached out to me. Whether it's inviting me to stay the weekend, to go out for a drink, or to just hang out and watch TV. You have all been great and when the proverbial chips were down for me, you all propped me up. And I really, sincerely thank all of you, without even a hint of irony (if that's even possible). I have to tell you guys like this because I just can't do this kind of thing in front of you. So sorry if it comes off a little impersonal. But trust me, I know you guys are the best. (This is absolutely no particular order, by the way.)

• Javen and TT, for hosting me in the Electric City a couple times (with more to come, I hope) as well as visiting me on Final Four weekend. (Danny, this goes for you too, buddy.) You guys really go out of your way to show me a good time and it does not go unnoticed.
  
  
• Doug and Rachel, I feel like that homeless drunk who just shows up on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, which won't be the same after you guys leave. I want to thank you for letting me come over and hang out. It's been a weekly highlight. Sorry I leave so many empties and stay so late. I'm sad to see you guys go, but I feel like I've really maximized my last few months together with you.
  
  
• Will and Jaime, my new roomies. Even though you are taking away my beloved "bachelor pad," I am very glad you are going to be here. I hope we can keep the Friday tradition alive, even if just for an hour or so. And who knows, maybe after that, Will and I can have sex with each other? Just a thought.
  
  
• Mike C., my ace boon coon. I've only seen him once but he is constantly making me laugh by calling me terrible names and implying that I am a homosexual. And, last paragraph aside, who would ever believe that? (Quiet, Javen.) Thanks for at least saying to my face what so many others say behind my back.
  
  
• Tracie, who helps me figure things out and maintain perspective. Day by day, you help me see the light at the end of the tunnel, always keeping my spirits up when they are down. Whether it's lending me $1.43 when I'm short on coffee money or just telling a funny story about how you tripped on something and fell, I hope I can somehow pay you back for the strength and support you have given me.
  

It's just the little things you all have done to pick me up when I've been down. You didn't have to do it, but you did. I was thinking about it and just wanted to show my appreciation. No sarcasm, no punchline. I love all of you guys. Thank you.

A Depressing Development

I knew this day was coming, but now I'm just so goddamn sad about it I can barely contain myself.

Arrested Development is no more. Fox: You've made a huge mistake.

It is one of the most brilliantly complete works of art I have ever been privy to. Every element was perfect: the cast of nine regulars (each of which whom would be the breakout star on any other sitcom) were each a perfect archetype of some sort of dysfunction. The writing was both funny and endlessly self-referential, spreading individual jokes over several episodes and even several seasons, and weaving together disparate plot elements in a way that would make Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David jealous. In order to truly comprehend its full brilliance, you had to treat it as a mini-series, watching it in order. Sure the episodes could stand alone, too, but not with the same richness that several episodes would provide. I've seen each episode at least three times and I still get things I didn't get before.

But it turns out that Arrested Development was just too good for us. We didn't deserve it. As much as I tried to pimp the DVDs out to the uninitiated, I'm afraid it was all just too little, too late. (I know, I was pretty sure that I was single-handedly going to rescue the show from cancellation. I'm shocked at my failure to do so.)

I guess why I'm so depressed on a macro-level is that it so sad to see such adept craftsmanship go unrewarded. This show, even the sub-par episodes, could cram more comedy into 22 minutes than any show I've ever seen. The artistic level is one that I had hoped would be successful to the point that it would spawn imitators, that would continue to create smart, vibrant satire that actually rewarded the viewer for paying attention. Sure there were some cheap and/or obvious jokes here and there, but for the most part the show challenged the viewer to keep up.

And maeby that's why the show never caught on. People don't like to be challenged. Don't take this as me assuming a position of artistic superiority, either. I understand it. People don't want to "work" to understand or enjoy a sitcom, and that's kind of what Arrested made us do. But each meta-joke (Bob Loblaw replacing Barry Zuckercorn, for instance), repetition (Tobias's innocently homosexual proclamations) and "callback" (look for all the foreshadowing in the episodes before Buster loses his hand) is so rewarding that I simply don't know that anyone could ever quite replicate it.

There has been talk of a movie (and if you saw the epilogue of the last episode of the show, it might not surprise you), but even that would only serve as a reminder of all the great comedy we had to miss out on due to the Neilsen ratings system. Never has so much work gone so underappreciated. I can't imagine what Mitchell Hurwitz & Co. could have created in the next 53 episodes.

I think many years from now, the show, which is now a cult hit, will be discovered, much in the way I have tried to get people to discover it: by word of mouth. And I think -- or maybe just hope -- that a decade from now, people will discover the show, maybe as an artifact of a comedy experiment that didn't catch on, but hopefully as a kind of "proto-comedy," a show that inspires talented writers and comedians to aspire to it. Maybe there are just enough people out there who watched Arrested and realized that this is what comedy can be, and maybe they will end up making Arrested the Rosetta Stone of humor, a starting point which influenced a comedy renaissance of sorts.

As it stands, I actually feel a sense of loss, which is very odd because TV and I are not that close of friends. Maybe it's a sense of injustice, like a brilliant album that nobody bought or when your favorite sports team came up just short. I was hoping against hope that they could squeeze just one or two more seasons out of it.

My one solace on this dark day is that we can re-live this triumph of art over commerce on the DVD format. (And by the way, whoever decided it would be a good idea to sell TV shows on DVD should be knighted or something.) They are teasing me saying that there is still a chance that Fox could still conceivably pick the show back up (like they did with Family Guy), if it got enough "support," i.e. DVD sales, which is probably just a carrot they are putting in front of us. But still, go buy the DVDs...

So it is to this program that I give a final "Huzzah!" The great experiment began, and sadly had to end well before its time. With any luck it will continue on in reruns on FX or Comedy Central or something, and others can be frustrated by what they had before them and chose to ignore. Like Mr. Show with Bob & David, the British version of The Office, and of course, Sledge Hammer, it was snuffed out long before its time. Until we say "Annyong" again...

The tears aren't comin'.

The tears, they just aren't comin'...

Oh it is ON NOW! BLOGWAR!

There's a girl I know by the name of TT, and she just had herself an up and down day.

On the plus side, she made it back to the blogroll after a long absence. Yes, now you have the honor of being exposed to the more than 2000 readers this little word-trap has summoned over the last year or so. (Or the same 6 people that many times. Fine, it's really me just hitting "refresh" over and over again. Happy?)

Ohhhh but on the other hand, she also climbed herself right near the top of my shit-list. She could never reach the top as long as Oprah and Bill O'Reilly are alive but she's like top 12 right now. No, top 14. She's #14 on the list.

So if it's a blogwar you want, baby, you just found it.

Unfortunately, since I don't have a picture of TT, I have to post a picture of her namesake, Oscar-winning editor Justine Wright. Here she is:


(TT, if you could just go ahead and send me a picture so I can post it and then make fun of it, that'd be great. Thanks! Hope your stomach is better!)

I suck do I? DO I????

Quite honestly, I think it's awesome that if you go to google and type in "Bill Shannon Sucks" it will lead you right here. THAT is marvelous.

Eye-Browse

Yes, I know, I am obsessed about so many things, and most of them in a self-centered way. Some call me vain. But let's face it, when you are as embarrassingly handsome as I, you tend to meticulously pick apart every aspect of your particular "look." Anyone who knows me knows I spend about 4 hours a day on my looks. Well mother nature helps me with much of that, given that only through sleep can you achieve "bed head."

But anyway, one day, many years ago, and I don't know what day it was, I lost my eyebrows. Or at least about 80% of them. Look at the evidence.

Here is a picture of me from November 1994:



Look at those Dukakisesque, catepillar-like things. It's not like I was that fond of them, but I never realized how promient they were on my face until one day I looked in the mirror and noticed that I didn't really have any.

Look at this picture from March 2006:



Now remember, those are rimless glasses, so there is nothing being covered up. Where the hell did they go? I do have two light, wispy parentheses above my eyes right now, but a far cry from those glorious tufts of yore.

How did this happen? Does male-pattern baldness start at the eyelid? (Not that I ever have to worry about going bald, eh comrades? Eh? ... Ugh...) Did I somehow singe them off in a fire and/or electrical accident of which I was not aware? Is it stress? There isn't anything like an Eyebrow Fairy, is there? Because if so I am owed some compensation. Has anybody ever heard of this?

It's Pronounced "Uh-NALL-ruh-pist"

Fine, so I'm obsessed with a TV show that has been cancelled for over a month and only has like 53 actual episodes. Fine. I admit it. I'm the asshole.



But I'm not the only one, apparently. Two named Justin & Kyle from Progressive Boink have made the Top 25 Arrested Development Moments (and no, smart-ass, "Mr. Wendel" is not one of them). From G.O.B.'s Chicken Dance to George Michael's campaign video to J. Walter Weatherman, they are comic delights that will make you urinate all over yourself ... with hilarity! Huzzah!!!

When you have to lose something that important to you, sometimes the memories are all you have to hold onto. Aw look at us! Crying like a couple of girls...

Welcome Back, G-MAC!

And I don't mean those bastards that finance my car.

This sonofabitch has been insane the last 72 hours. Where the hell has he been for the last year and a half???

Devo (left) gets the dish from G-Mac.

Cincinatti
UConn
Georgetown
Pitt?

And Tourney bid???

I never would have guessed it four days ago.

Finding the Tootsie Rolls Among the Cat Turds

I've really only been listening to "white music" for like ten years.

When I was an adolescent and then teenager, I listened to nothing but rap. In fact, I would say that from 1989 to 1996 I bought and/or "dubbed" (remember that word? doesn't high-speed dubbing sound like such a relic of the past?) hundreds and hundreds of rap tapes (sigh...I know), and I would say that ten of those or less were non-rap albums. (I'm using term rap here because that's what we used to call it back then and it's easier to type than hip-hop over and over again.) And of the non-rap tapes that I did buy, so many of them were albums that inspired rap albums. In other words, they were not rock albums. They were albums like Zapp V by Roger Troutman, Pickin' Up the Pieces: The Best of the Average White Band and even those were usually picked up out of the $0.99 bin.

But when it came to rap I was on the cutting edge. I knew more buzz and had more insight as to what albums and MC's were good than any acne-ridden Rochesterian had a right to. I bought L.L. Cool J's Mama Said Knock You Out long before it was popular, before "Around the Way Girl" and the title track were released. My album cover has white lettering; after "Mama Said ..." was put out as a single and video, they changed the lettering on the album to red. That's how you know I was down.

I bought A Tribe Called Quest's Midnight Marauders the day it came out and Wu-Tang Clan's Enter the Wu Tang: 36 Chambers 6 months before anyone had ever heard of them. I couldn't sleep the night before Kool G Rap and Polo's Live and Let Die came out, and I told everyone I knew that Raekwon's Only Built for Cuban Linx... would be the best of the Wu-Tang solo albums. (I still think it is, tied with GZA's Liquid Swords.) Everyone laughed at me. I bought Coolio's first album before "Fantastic Voyage" came out, because I knew that he had been a member of W.C. and the Maad Circle -- who I didn't even particularly like! --and read somewhere that it was going to be a classic album. Well, I was wrong about that one I suppose. Of course rap started to suck in 1997 and afterward and that's a topic for a whole 'nother blog.

The point is this: by the time I came around to non-rap, I had a whole helluva lot of catching up to do. I started by listening to jazz, since it was close to some rap and my dad had a bunch of old jazz albums. But eventually, I gravitated toward rock, which we all know was invented by caucasians like Pat Boone and Elvis.

I really hated what I thought was all that modern rock music had to offer (your Limp Bizkit, your Nickelback, what have you), so I went back to older stuff, some of which I still think is incredible to this day. I went fairly mainstream, but got into a diverse collection of older stuff (and by older I mean older than ten years) like Tom Waits, They Might Be Giants, Cream, Traffic, Jethro Tull, Todd Rundgren, 10cc, Gordon Lightfoot and a bunch of other stuff.

My subconscious rationale at the time was this: my understanding of the rock music of "today" (meaning anything after the year 1990) was that it was messy. Lots of noise, screaming, out of tune guitars, feedback, etc. It didn't seem to be very harmonic or melodic. Whereas the older stuff, the more pop-oriented rock, was much smoother-sounding and melodious. Even the harder stuff from that era, like Cream and Led Zeppelin, seemed much more "musical" than the newer stuff.

I felt that the world of modern music was not for me. It was kind of a sad feeling really, to think that all the music that I could possibly like had already been made. I know this was a pretty naive viewpoint, but I had not had any exposure to anything that would make me feel otherwise.

The turning point was in late 2003 when my friend Tony made me a CD chock-full of MP3 from various things he was listening to at that time. He still makes these CDs for me from time to time and they are very valuable. But I remember putting the disc in the computer drive and deciding to check out all the songs from the band Pavement, and for the first time, I discovered a rock band from the modern era that I really liked. That I loved.

(Note: One of my biggest pet peeves is when people try to force music on me. Like when someone gets in my car and takes out one of my CDs and puts in one of their own without asking and says, "You have to listen to this!" and then proceeds to go through each and every song on the disc and say, "Do you like this one? What do you think of this one? Did you like that one?" Just give me the CD and let me listen to it on my own. I like to be surprised by discovering great music, not have someone tell me "this song we are listening to right now is great." I guarantee there have been at least a dozen bands that were ruined for me because someone forced them on me and I wouldn't even give them a chance. Tony, wisely, never did this and for that I am forever gay for him.)

Pavement, while noisy, had beautiful melodies, versatility, a variety of movements and changes in time signatures within songs. They may not have been the first band to do all this, but they were pretty much the first I had ever heard at length.

As a brief digression, this is why I think file-sharing sites like Napster are so beautiful. I am not the kind of guy to gamble on a band I have never heard or have heard little of when I have been burned so many times in the past. With Tony acting as my own personal musical guru, I have been exposed to bands that I never would have even thought of exploring. Exposure to lots and lots of music -- not the same songs over and over again -- is the way to get the record industry back on its feet again.

So many people are just not going to explore or search for new, great music. And it's not being fed to them on cable or terrestrial radio. So what better way to build a following of a lesser-known band than by allowing better access. Again, a totally different blog topic lurks here somewhere.

This exposure to Pavement and other various bands and opened me up to a brand new world of music. And now I realize that there is unbelievable music being made everywhere. In the last two years alone, I have discovered some of my favorite bands, like Rogue Wave, The Shins, Iron and Wine, Elliott Smith, just to name a couple.

And also, I have been re-discovering older albums that I had never heard before and love, like Grace by Jeff Buckley and Loaded by the Velvet Underground.

It's sort of a wonderful and frustrating paradox: knowing that there are so many great albums out there, albums that could very well change my life in the musical sense, that I haven't even heard of. There they are, just sitting on shelves of record stores, practically taunting me each of the hundreds of times I have passed by them. How was I supposed to know how much I would love Marquee Moon by Television or The Three E.P.'s by the Beta Band? It's like walking by the great love of your life and never realizing it.

But what a beautiful feeling to know that even if it was made 20 or 30 years ago, there is -- like a musical Galapagos Islands -- so much left to discover.

All Footballed Out

Editor's Note: Now that football season is over I feel like I got my brain back finally. Thurman Thomas not making the Hall of Fame really wore me down and made me a bit disillusioned with football and with all the crap the NFL does. So no more football posts until April. That's a Bill Shannon Promise.

Although I do have to mention this one thing. The day of the Conference Championship games, we opened up the envelopes that Willie, Phelps, Toast and I created on the first day of the season with all our picks. My NFC picks were not good. The only playoff team out of the National that I got right was Carolina. Go figure. I picked Arizona for godsake. BUT, I did predict that Pittsburgh would win the AFC, losing to Philadelphia in the Super Bowl. Again, sweet pick there. I had Mike Mularkey as Coach of the Year for the Love of Pete. I tried to pencil in "Worst" before that Mularkey pick but thought I'd stay honest.

Anyway, just because I'm all footballed out doesn't mean I give a shit when pitchers and catchers report so you can all save it (I'm talking to you, Salami!) Bring on the hockey!

Not Doubting Thomas

Some facts:

• Thurman Thomas is #12 on the all-time rushing list, with 12,470 yards
  
• Thurman Thomas is #2 in total postseason yards from scrimmage with 2,114, behind only Jerry Rice.
  
• Thurman Thomas is the only player in NFL history to lead the NFL in total yards from Scrimmage four consecutive years. In year number five of that streak, he was second in the league.
  
• Thurman Thomas is #8 all-time in total yards from scrimmage, with 16,532 yards.
  
• Thurman Thomas was selected to five consecutive Pro Bowls from 1989-1993, and was All-Pro in 1990 and 1991.
  
• Thurman Thomas led the AFC in rushing in 1990, 1991 and 1993. He was in the top six in the NFL in rushing from 1989 to 1994.
  
• Thurman Thomas was named NFL Offensive Player of the Year in 1991.
  
• Thurman Thomas gained 190 total yards in Super Bowl XXV, and should have been named the game's MVP, even though the Bills lost.
  
• In his first nine seasons in the league, Thurman Thomas averaged 1,176 yards rushing before his role was diminished in his tenth season.
  
• Thurman Thomas is one of only four running backs to have rushed for 1,000 yards in eight consecutive seasons (the only other three are Barry Sanders, Emmitt Smith and Curtis Martin).
  
• Thurman Thomas was not one of the final six players to make the Pro Football Hall of Fame this year.
  

Check the stats and the bio.

Doesn't matter. He is my all-time favorite football player and the greatest Buffalo Bill I ever saw. He should be in the Hall of Fame and anyone who ever saw him play in his prime knows it.

Loathsome People

Buffalo Beast presents The 50 Most Loathsome People in America, 2005.



What a great list, with everyone from Karl Rove ("decidedly not a genius; he is simply missing the part of his soul that prevents the rest of us from kicking elderly women in the face") to Johnny Damon ("Going from the Red Sox to the Yankees is like fucking the guy that murdered your husband") to Oprah Winfrey ("[her] entire life is an exercise in self-aggrandizement") to Larry the Cable Guy ("makes Jeff Foxworthy look like Chris Rock") to George Lucas ("an awful writer and a shitty, shitty director").

I think I hate every single person on this list (except #37). Outstanding! I can only assume Tedi Bruschi was #51. Great job, Beast!

The Word "Cinephile" Sounds So Dirty

Okay, we established long ago that my opinion is of little consequence to anyone (see: title of blog). But I feel the need to explain myself a little here.

In the never-ending pursuit of eliminating negative space and adding clutter to my already cluttered blog, I have added a new list down the right-hand side (my left, your right) of the last 40 movies I've seen. I know that you don't care what I have recently seen because you, a) would hate the foreign-slash-indie crap that I watch, b) hate movies (I'm talking to you Javen and E.C. Paul) or c) don't give a crap what I think about anything and why the hell would the fact that I put a stupid list of stupid movies on the stupid sidebar change that?

Point taken.

But here's why I feel the need to explain myself. If you look at the list itself, I have included the movie title (helpful), the year it came out (to distinguish, for example, the new The Longest Yard with Adam Sandler from the old The Longest Yard with Burt Reynolds) and a rating of my own. Yes, folks, I have taken it upon myself to list my ratings for the last 40 movies I have seen. Let me give you a quick breakdown of what these ratings mean:

• A - One of the best movies ever made or one of my favorite movies (eg. Lord of the Rings, The Right Stuff, GoodFellas)
  
• A- - Maybe not quite at the apex of movie making, but much much better than average; a special movie (The Big Lebowski, sex, lies & videotape, All the President's Men)
  
• B+ - Very solid, very entertaining movie. Better than average. (Dodgeball, In the Line of Fire, Back to the Future)
  
• B - Worth seeing. Meets expectations. Basically not a waste of time. (Shakespeare in Love, Traffic, Gladiator)
  
• B- - Underwhelming. Does not meet expectations in some way, slightly disappointing. (Magnolia, Ray, Good Will Hunting)
  
• C+ - Not horrible, but disappointing. Unfocused usually, with a major flaw in either acting or plot. (Elf, In & Out, Jackie Brown, The Phantom Menace)
  
• C - Severely disappointing and/or overrated. (Titanic, Chasing Amy, The Wedding Singer, The Blair Witch Project)
  
• C- - Incompetent, usually a movie that is trying to be important but comes off as just plain stupid (Grand Canyon, Natural Born Killers, Gerry, Higher Learning)
  
• D+ - Supremely incompetent -- yet sometimes perversely entertaining in a campy sort of way (Cellular, Freddy Got Fingered, Showgirls)
  
• D - Supremely incompetent in a way that is not at all entertaining (Time Out, Any Given Sunday, Dogma, The Contender)
  
• D- - Stupid and lazy beyond comprehension. (Deuce Bigelow: Male Gigolo, Scary Movie)
  
• F - Utterly worthless and/or Vomit-inducing. (Heavy Traffic, Master P's I'm Bout It)
  

Okay, the reason I'm addressing this seemingly (okay, definitely) non-crucial issue is that if you look at the list, you will notice a lot of B+ grades. Lest you think I was one of those people who just defaulted to B+ because I have no guts, or because (GASP!) I haven't watched the movie, and this was my phony "book report" of sorts, fear not.

The reason I give out so many B+'s is that I read a lot about movies before I actually rent them. I used to joke that I would read 2 hours worth of online reviews before deciding whether to see a 90-minute film. (Yes, I know, my wit is boundless.) So when I decide to rent a DVD, or venture out into the anarchy that is the movie theater, I usually know what I'm getting into and know what to expect. Therefore, it is rare that I see something I don't like, because I am so selective in what I watch. So the B+'s listed represent the times that the movie has been just good enough for me to recommend it.

I don't want you to think I'm getting lazy, or being too lax on subpar films. No, you can always count on me to force my dull but honest opinions on you at every turn.

God bless.

Get Off Your Knees, Vanderjagt...

Many of you who know me know my intense, white-hot hatred for that overrated, arrogant Mike Vanderjagt. If you don't, please read this post from September 10, 2004.

I will reiterate a paragraph I wrote back then. I think you will find it eerily prescient:

...If you couple this arrogance with Vanderjagt's complete ineptitude in any kind of clutch situation, you get a man who is more gabber than game-winner. Off the top of my head I can name games he has blown: Against the Dolphins in the 2000 playoffs, in that...playoff game against the Jets in 2002. He even missed one against Tampa Bay on Monday Night Football in 2003 that was luckily (and questionably) called back on a Tampa "leaping" penalty....Bottom line: if an important game is on the line, Vanderjagt is not the one you want. - Me, September 10, 2004

I was rooting for the Colts in this game, but nothing in this world is more satisfying than watching a self-serving, shit-talking kicker miss so badly when not only a game, but the fortunes of an entire season are on the line. I can now add this, the worst field goal attempt I have ever seen, to the list above.

To Mike Vanderjagt: You are a disgrace. You are an embarassment. You should be ashamed of yourself. And I should hope to never hear a single cocky word out of your mouth again. I hope this event has humbled you. I have predicted for many years that you would miss a clutch field goal in a key game, and today my prophecy has come true. I hope that you realize now that you are but a field goal kicker, and one that has never made a truly important field goal in your entire career. So the next time I hear you making comments that you don't get enough credit for having the highest field goal percentage, and for making that one field goal against Denver in the regular season, I hope you will remember this day and that it will shame you.

Scott Norwood only missed his notorious field goal by about three yards in the Super Bowl, on the road, in an outdoor stadium, on grass. He was under far more pressure than you were, and he came far closer. Your kick was humiliating, and I hope you are humilated. I know you will likely never read this, but I hope somehow it gets to you. No matter what you do for the rest of your career, you will always be remembered for the time you destroyed a "Season of Destiny," wide to the right.

Dis. Respect.

Praise the Lord. The Champs are Dead.

The three B's of the New England Patriots are denied a third ring.

Belichick


Bruschi (with Vrabel)


Brady

Overrated

Well now I'm gonna go on and do it. Something I've been meaning to do for about 10 years now. I'm gonna piss off both coasts.

I listen to a lot of rap music. Not as much as I used to, but still more than you, probably. Anyway, whenever some music critic from Spin or Rolling Stone or some other ignorant music rag comes up with one of their stupid lists or articles about the best rappers ever, the list usually looks like this (in no particular order):

• Rakim
  
• Jay-Z
  
• Nas
  
• Biggie Smalls
  
• Tupac
  

It's a ridiculous list, first of all, because it only counts rappers non-connoisseurs have heard of. (I mean, would you come up with a list of greatest guitarists of all time and only include Nickelback and Linkin Park, etc?) Secondly, the only person on that list you could make a legitimate case for is Rakim, because he actually did something to revolutionize rapping, with a unusual-for-the-time flow and abstract, conceptual lyrics. The fact that the other four rappers listed have usurped the other four spots is ridiculous at best.

I mean, Jay-Z is fine, but he's only really been around since 1995 or so. And though he is a very skilled rapper, most of his beats are so lame that he hasn't really put out a really really good song since his first album. (Which is why The Grey Album by DJ Danger Mouse is so great, since it's Jigga's lyrics with superior production.)

Nas? Don't even get me started about Nas. Nas had a great first album, then a mediocre second album, then a bunch of really mediocre shit after that. One great album does not make you a legendary rapper; it makes you a one-hit wonder.

But the ones I'm offended by most are Biggie and Tupac. Because not only are they not two of the best five rappers ever, they weren't even really that good. First Tupac...

Tupac's first album was not good. Tupac was a dancer for Digital Underground. (You may remember them from the "Humpty Dance.") His original name was MC New York, which should give you a glimpse into his creativity. His first album had a bunch of lame-ass songs like "Brenda's Got a Baby," "If My Homie Calls" (and by the way, that word is spelled "h-o-m-e-y") and "Trapped." I remember when the videos were released that these were some boring-ass songs.

Then Tupac got a part in the movie Juice and got a higher profile, leading to his second album, Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z., which was better than the first one, but still unremarkable. You may notice by the title of this album that Tupac was starting to try his hand at controversy to give himself some publicity, and the media ate it up.

Tupac really started getting famous from 1993 - 1995, when he got shot (the first time), went to jail for rape (including the embarrassing time he kept yelling "Thug Life" after an arrest to promote his proteges... named "Thug Life", who released "Volume 1" in 1994. Predictably, there was no Volume 2.) and started trading on his mother Afeni Shakur's name, being that she was a high-profile member of the Black Panthers.

This is the point where Tupac transcended mere gangster rapdom and became an icon. He was seen as a brash revolutionary who wasn't scared to break the law or say things that were controversial. (I remember reading an article in The Source or something where Tupac said if he was walking down the street and a woman pulled her purse close to her, he would snatch it from her just for clutching it. Now that's the enlightened thinking we need to uplift urban youth!) But don't confuse this notoriety for being a good rapper. Because Tupac was really not a good rapper. In fact he sucked.

A good modern parallel is Snoop Dogg. Snoop used to be a good rapper, for about 2 songs. Then he became famous for all sorts of other reasons (attempted murder, smoking pot, making adult movies, playing himself in several movies, doing versions of "Nuthin' But a G Thang" and "Gin N Juice" even 12 years after they were originally popular). But for the most part, no one would call Snoop a good rapper. In fact, the reason Snoop has to continue to perform old songs is that he hasn't put out anything of any significance whatsoever since 1993. That's the cold truth, brotha.

Tupac was the same way. He was famous, for sure. He was actually a solid actor, if you ever saw Juice or Gridlock'd. But as a rapper, he was (at worst) shit, or (at best) nothing special. And the reason was that his flow was so simplistic. Yes, Tupac yelled a lot, and he said things that were inflammatory, but his delivery was about as basic and simplistic as you could get. He rapped in the same 4/4 delivery that Run DMC did, and even the fact that his vocals were all doubled over (so it sounded like there were Two-Pac's rapping at the same time) could not hide this. He is a clear example of style over substance. I remember that some college in California several years ago started a class that would study Tupac's lyrics as poetry. I was really disgusted, not that they would study rap lyrics as poetry, but that they would not pick somebody better.

Now, there are a ton of Tupac disciples out there, but my guess is that there is something about his charisma and/or material that makes him so popular. In my opinion -- and in the mind of many non-biased people from the East Coast -- Tupac was never really a great rapper at face value.



Now Biggie took a different path. He was a nobody who worked his way up the ranks and earned his stripes selling crack and battling on street corners. Biggie was actually a ferocious battle-rhymer in his early days, and many underground recordings can attest to this fact.

But this is not the era that Biggie fans remember. Rather, they remember the era after his debut album came out. I remember when it first came out, it got 4 1/2 "Mics" in the Source, so I knew it must have been good, and I remember it being one of the most disappointing albums of my young life. Most critics consider this a masterpiece, but I am not one of them. Because for every excellent hip hop song like "Unbelievable" or "Machine Gun Funk", there are two lackluster sell-out pop tracks, like "Juicy" (which, by the way, is a blatant ripoff of a 1989 "Wrecks N Effect" song of the same name), "Big Poppa," "One More Chance." I mean, any album that can make a duet with Method Man ("The What") sound boring can't be good.

So what we get is a rapper who eschewed the rapping that made him an underground legend, only to make pop-rap songs that would make him a mainstream legend. When people think of Biggie, they do not think of the slightly fat kid in a t-shirt rapping in front of a post office somewhere in Brooklyn. They think of the far less-compelling B.I.G. (he had to change his name because some white boy had already taken the name Biggy Smallz), a really really really fat guy in a white suit sunglasses sitting on a yacht or in the corner of a fancy club drinking Cristal and surrounded by a troop of sluts. You can practically trace the rampant materialism of mainstream rap and rap lyrics to the "Big Poppa" video.

Biggie had been a good rapper, but once he became a mainstream celebrity, his voice was gone. Instead, he became the image he felt people wanted him to be: big, rich fat guy who got a lot of women. He was no longer an interesting figure in music, not to me anyway. He was playing the role of the smooth kingpin, but all I wanted was the kid with the chip on his shoulder ready to battle.

I guess my point is this (wasn't sure if I had one or not): we live in such a knee-jerk society, especially when it comes to white people talking about rap music. Whenever superlatives are mentioned, people who don't know better and shouldn't talk go back to the same stock examples. People always mention MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice when they talk about pop-rap, or always mention Dr. Dre and Easy-E when talking about "gangsta rap," or always Lauren Hill and Common when discussing "conscious" or "positive rap." And when it comes to "best of all time," the five listed above tend to fall on the list. But have people who created these categories really given a listen to the product? Or are they rattling off the usual suspects?

Great, now I'm not safe on either coast.

Oh, and by the way, the greatest rappers of all time are (off the top of my head and in no particular order):

• Big Daddy Kane
  
• Kool G Rap
  
• El-P
  
• Aesop Rock
  
• Lord Finesse
  
• MF Doom
  
• KRS-ONE
  
• Rakim
  
• Redman
  
• Pharaoh Monch
  
• Eyedea
  
• Ras Kass
  

Please God Kill Pat Robertson

Dear Lord, please take this evil, Satanic, self-serving hypocrite from the comfortable confines of earth and cast him down to the hoary netherworld where demons may sodomize him and feast upon his innards. Oh please oh please oh please...



Some of his better quotes:

• "You say you're supposed to be nice to the Episcopalians and the Presbyterians and the Methodists and this, that, and the other thing. Nonsense. I don't have to be nice to the spirit of the Antichrist." - Showing he doesn't like other Protestant religions, January 14, 1991, on The 700 Club.
  
  
• "[Feminism is a] socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians."
  
  
• In a 2001 interview with Wolf Blitzer, he said of that the Chinese were "doing what they have to do," with regards to China's one child policy, sometimes enforced with forced abortions.
  
  
• "If you look over the course of a hundred years, I think the gradual erosion of the consensus that’s held our country together is probably more serious than a few bearded terrorists who fly into buildings." - April 30, 2005, on ABC's This Week.
  
  
• Of Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez, "I don't know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war, and I don’t think any oil shipments will stop." - August 22, 2005 broadcast of The 700 Club.
  
  
• "I'd like to say to the good citizens of Dover: if there is a disaster in your area, don't turn to God, you just rejected Him from your city.... And don't wonder why He hasn't helped you when problems begin, if they begin....just remember, you just voted God out of your city. And if that's the case, don't ask for His help because he might not be there." - to the citizens of Dover, PA, for voting out members of their school board who believe in Intelligent Design, November 10, 2005 broadcast of The 700 Club.
  
  
• "...One of the fundamental principles we have in America is that the president is the commander in chief of the armed forces and attempts to undermine the commander in chief during time of war amounts to treason." - December 7, 2005 on The 700 Club
  
  
• "He was dividing God's land, and I would say, 'Woe unto any prime minister of Israel who takes a similar course to appease the [European Union], the United Nations or the United States of America....God says, 'This land belongs to me, and you'd better leave it alone.'" - Referring to the health problems of Israel's Prime Minister Ariel Sharon.
  

Rise up against these megalomanical charlatans who operate from a position of false moral superiority. These are not Christian people, they are purveyors of hatred and divisiveness, wrapping themselves in the cloak of misinterpreted fundamentalist scripture and intolerance falsely masked in the supposed "word of God."

If you call yourself a Christian and you agree with people like this, you are in for a big, hot surprise after you die. This is not Christianity, it is hatred and evil. Die you God-damned evil pig, DIE.

Another Bush That (Probably) Shouldn't Have Won

After the huge second half USC's Reggie Bush had against Fresno State back in November, everyone has been touting him as the next dominant player in the NFL. He won the Heisman Trophy and is likely to be the number one pick in the 2006 NFL Draft.



That's all fine. But it may be another case of the sports media jumping on the hot topic or hot player and running away with it without stepping back and thinking, Hey, maybe Reggie Bush isn't the second coming of Eric Dickerson just yet.

But I'll tell you one thing, in the Rose Bowl this evening, the best player on the field was Vince Young.



It was one of the most entertaining college football games -- hell, one of the most entertaining pure football games, period -- that I've seen in years. And Vince Young had that glow about him. He carried the Texas Longhorns on his back and willed them to victory. You can see a certain halo around some players when they are in that zone, where you know, even if for just one game, they are just not going to be stopped. I saw John Elway do it in Super Bowl XXXII. I saw Tom Brady do it in the "Tuck Rule" game. I saw Byron Leftwich do it against Akron in 2002 where he literally had to be carried to the line. And Vince Young had it today.



It's the first game I've seen Young play where I was actually paying attention, and he sure elevated his game against an excellent USC team. He can throw, and he can run. He ran for 200 yards. This season he passed for 2,500 yards and ran for 1,000 yards. That's just not right.

The guy is a dude, no doubt about it.