I am obsessed with ESPN radio. I frequently have to go out of the office for work to do stuff that I hate (closings. blech.) but the bright side is I can listen to more ESPN radio.
Anyway, Mike and Mike in the morning have the "Just Shut Up" segment once a week for whoever is annoying them in the sports world. I would like to offer up Michael Kaye this week.
Why? It's the A-Rod thing. Look, I'm not one of the fans booing him, but I am so tired of Michael's incessant yelling on his radio show about "how dare the fans boo him?" Ugh! Michael, it's a part of the game. And if A-Rod is so damn fragile that he can't handle it, he can't hack it in New York. Last year Giambi was one the getting booed, but did you defend him? Did he fall apart? No, he got back on the juice and elevated his game.
Is A-Rod objectively a great player? Sure. But right now he's sucking and I'm sorry, but unless you were a part of World Series win streak, you won't be immune to boos when you suck (obviously Jeter, Posada and Bernie are given massive leeway, and for good reason).
So stop it, Michael. Just shut up.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
The Light Show at the Parachute Jump
Two weeks ago, on a hot and sunny Saturday, I opted to drive into Brooklyn, pick up Philly, Emily and Jason, and head off to Coney Island for the Siren Festival. Siren is a hipster music fest that the Village Voice puts on every year. My knowledge of hipster music is limited (though it has grown thanks in large part to Philly, and of course, also to Jeeves and Jason and their blog) and there's the small part about me really not liking hipsters. But I do love Coney Island, hot dogs, the Wonder Wheel, the ocean, and this was an excuse to enjoy those things.
The lineup of bands was extensive, but we really only cared about seeing Art Brut and the Scissor Sisters. I had never seen or really heard too much Art Brut. But Philly took me to see Scissor Sisters for my birthday this year, and they are a lot of fun. But they wouldn't be on till later in the day, so we opted to head over early and get some Nathan's.
What can I say about Nathan's that I didn't say last year? Nothing. It was excellent as usual, and still a great deal on the beer - bucket (like a large soda at the movies) of Killian's for $4.50. I think my recent disappointment with Gray's Papaya was because I had eaten Nathan's a few days before.
Unfortunately it started to rain, but as luck would have it, we managed to get a table with an umbrella. Wooo! Eventually the sky cleared and we headed off to the batting cages. Some slow pitch for the ladies, medium for the gents, and we all gawked at the fast pitch (over 100 mph) and the dude who managed to make contact every time.
Next to the grossly overpriced Wonder Wheel - best view in Coney Island, even if it does cost $5. Eventually it was time to wander over to the stage to catch Art Brut. While there was a great breeze off the ocean and it's easily ten degrees cooler in Coney Island, it still get hot smooshed in with all those hipsters. As usual, the sceney kids were dressed in clothing that I can't imagine is terribly comfortable while standing around in th heat all day. But I guess that's the 80-year-old in me. Art Brut was a lot of fun, as were the Scissor Sisters, though by 8pm (when the Sisters went on) I was feeling pretty pooped and my footsies hurt.
As we walked back to the car, we got to see a crazy and interesting mix of locals, white dreadlocked kids with a sign that read "Hungry hungry hobos," and hipsters. As for the Parachute Jump, which was recently hooked up with all sorts of lights and you can allegedly see from Long Island, the lights weren't really on. Or if they were, I'd say that is one disappointing light show.
We made our way back to Brooklyn Heights for dinner at the Waterfront Ale House, which was enjoyable as usual. Except for the fact that we were all pretty much exhausted. Poor Jeeves, whose original plans got cancelled, found a group of geriatrics after his long subway ride out to Brooklyn. I'm pretty sure I was the crankiest of the bunch, which was definitely on parade as I drove home, cursing every cab driver all the way back to Jersey.
But the sleep was coma-like. And Coney Island is definitely worth turning into a grumpy pants.
The lineup of bands was extensive, but we really only cared about seeing Art Brut and the Scissor Sisters. I had never seen or really heard too much Art Brut. But Philly took me to see Scissor Sisters for my birthday this year, and they are a lot of fun. But they wouldn't be on till later in the day, so we opted to head over early and get some Nathan's.
What can I say about Nathan's that I didn't say last year? Nothing. It was excellent as usual, and still a great deal on the beer - bucket (like a large soda at the movies) of Killian's for $4.50. I think my recent disappointment with Gray's Papaya was because I had eaten Nathan's a few days before.
Unfortunately it started to rain, but as luck would have it, we managed to get a table with an umbrella. Wooo! Eventually the sky cleared and we headed off to the batting cages. Some slow pitch for the ladies, medium for the gents, and we all gawked at the fast pitch (over 100 mph) and the dude who managed to make contact every time.
Next to the grossly overpriced Wonder Wheel - best view in Coney Island, even if it does cost $5. Eventually it was time to wander over to the stage to catch Art Brut. While there was a great breeze off the ocean and it's easily ten degrees cooler in Coney Island, it still get hot smooshed in with all those hipsters. As usual, the sceney kids were dressed in clothing that I can't imagine is terribly comfortable while standing around in th heat all day. But I guess that's the 80-year-old in me. Art Brut was a lot of fun, as were the Scissor Sisters, though by 8pm (when the Sisters went on) I was feeling pretty pooped and my footsies hurt.
As we walked back to the car, we got to see a crazy and interesting mix of locals, white dreadlocked kids with a sign that read "Hungry hungry hobos," and hipsters. As for the Parachute Jump, which was recently hooked up with all sorts of lights and you can allegedly see from Long Island, the lights weren't really on. Or if they were, I'd say that is one disappointing light show.
We made our way back to Brooklyn Heights for dinner at the Waterfront Ale House, which was enjoyable as usual. Except for the fact that we were all pretty much exhausted. Poor Jeeves, whose original plans got cancelled, found a group of geriatrics after his long subway ride out to Brooklyn. I'm pretty sure I was the crankiest of the bunch, which was definitely on parade as I drove home, cursing every cab driver all the way back to Jersey.
But the sleep was coma-like. And Coney Island is definitely worth turning into a grumpy pants.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Times Miscellany
A couple of articles in the Times I wanted to point out.
The Dining Section does an interesting piece on Austrian wine. Have spent a little time there last summer, I must agree with their raves about gruner veltliner.
And Bon Jovi was in NJ for his tour - he sold out three shows at Giants Stadium. Can we take a moment and consider that it's pretty damn impressive to sell out three shows at an 80,000 seat stadium? Anyway, Times reviews his show, and clearly enjoyed themselves (an encouraged my Jersey pride in the process). I think the reviewer hit the nail on the head when he wrote: "There is something comforting about his undying relevance, as if as long as he is advising fans to 'hold on to what we’ve got,' there will always be small-town men who marry their high school sweethearts, sell 100 million records and live in chateaus in unfairly maligned states." Whoooaaaa, we're half way there!
And lastly, this article about a painting Janet and I saw at the Belvedere Museum in Vienna last summer - Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, by Gustav Klimt. The painting recently fetched the most money ever at auction (an arbitration panel ruled that the painting should be returned to Bloch-Bauer's family, who said the painting was stolen from them by the Nazis). Thankfully, the painting was purchased by Ronald S. Lauder, for his museum, the Neue Gallerie in New York. Now all of NYC can appreciate her beauty. And she is certainly a sight to see.
The Dining Section does an interesting piece on Austrian wine. Have spent a little time there last summer, I must agree with their raves about gruner veltliner.
And Bon Jovi was in NJ for his tour - he sold out three shows at Giants Stadium. Can we take a moment and consider that it's pretty damn impressive to sell out three shows at an 80,000 seat stadium? Anyway, Times reviews his show, and clearly enjoyed themselves (an encouraged my Jersey pride in the process). I think the reviewer hit the nail on the head when he wrote: "There is something comforting about his undying relevance, as if as long as he is advising fans to 'hold on to what we’ve got,' there will always be small-town men who marry their high school sweethearts, sell 100 million records and live in chateaus in unfairly maligned states." Whoooaaaa, we're half way there!
And lastly, this article about a painting Janet and I saw at the Belvedere Museum in Vienna last summer - Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I, by Gustav Klimt. The painting recently fetched the most money ever at auction (an arbitration panel ruled that the painting should be returned to Bloch-Bauer's family, who said the painting was stolen from them by the Nazis). Thankfully, the painting was purchased by Ronald S. Lauder, for his museum, the Neue Gallerie in New York. Now all of NYC can appreciate her beauty. And she is certainly a sight to see.
I Feel Love
My original plan for July 18th had been to go see the New York Philharmonic in Central Park play Beethoven's 5th. But then, late last week, Jeeves got word that he had scored a pair of tickets through work to see Madonna at Madison Square Garden. Woohoo! I had never seen Madonna in concert before, and like all girls who grew up in the 80s and early 90s, I have a soft spot for her.
Evening started off doubtfully – I wound up having to ride the elevator to the parking deck at work with the managing partner… and I had changed into street clothes. I hate it when that happens. And of course, it was a sauna outside. I had some time once I arrived in NYC to grab a bite to eat – I had been planning on checking out the 38th St. Restaurant. But on my sweltering walk up there, I got distracted by Gray's Papaya and decided a Recession Special was just what I wanted. I must confess – I think Gray's is a tad overrated. Maybe that's cause there was a thick white string running through one of my dogs. It might also be because I just ate at Nathan's on Coney Island last weekend. I hoped to run into Mr. Softy on my walk back to MSG, but he was nowhere to be found.
Jeeves and I met up at Rose Pizza in the LIRR wing of Penn Station, as per Philly's recommendation that they have the best beer prices. He was right – 32 oz Heineken for $5, and much cheaper if you wanted Bud or Bud Lite.
The concert was technically scheduled for 8, but Jeeves had heard that the Material Girl didn't go on till 9pm on other nights. So we headed upstairs around 8:40, got situated, and only had to wait a few minutes before the lights dimmed and the music started.
The show was a great time – what can I say, the lady knows how to entertain. She played a lot of stuff from her newest album, Confessions on a Dance Floor, but there were definitely decent amount of old hits, mostly remixed. The old(er) stuff included "Like a Virgin," "La Isla Bonita," "Live to Tell," "Music," "Drowned World," "Lucky Star," "Erotica," and "Ray of Light." In terms of Madge's 80s hits, I personally prefer "Material Girl" and "Dress You Up." And I prefer "Human Nature" to "Erotica" but hey, that's me. For my money, it doesn't get better than "Ray of Light" and she really killed it (in a good way). Of the new stuff, my personal favorite is "Jump" which was great, but "Sorry" was also a lot of fun. But I think it was definitely a highlight of the night when she came out singing "Future Lovers" and it morphed into a cover of Donna Summer's classic "I Feel Love."
Jeeves kept remarking that she was dancing up a storm, and yet still singing without being remotely out-of-breath. And yes, she really was singing - no lip-synching here. It must be all the pilates - the woman is in amazing shape, looked completely beautiful and is teeny tiny in real life.
There's not much more to say - I just can't think of anyone else, who at the age of 47, can come out in a Saturday Night Fever-style white suit and do a remix of her own song, "Music" to "Disco Inferno" and just sell it. The loudest thing in MSG that night wasn't Madge - it was the scream of her fans. And rightfully so.
Evening started off doubtfully – I wound up having to ride the elevator to the parking deck at work with the managing partner… and I had changed into street clothes. I hate it when that happens. And of course, it was a sauna outside. I had some time once I arrived in NYC to grab a bite to eat – I had been planning on checking out the 38th St. Restaurant. But on my sweltering walk up there, I got distracted by Gray's Papaya and decided a Recession Special was just what I wanted. I must confess – I think Gray's is a tad overrated. Maybe that's cause there was a thick white string running through one of my dogs. It might also be because I just ate at Nathan's on Coney Island last weekend. I hoped to run into Mr. Softy on my walk back to MSG, but he was nowhere to be found.
Jeeves and I met up at Rose Pizza in the LIRR wing of Penn Station, as per Philly's recommendation that they have the best beer prices. He was right – 32 oz Heineken for $5, and much cheaper if you wanted Bud or Bud Lite.
The concert was technically scheduled for 8, but Jeeves had heard that the Material Girl didn't go on till 9pm on other nights. So we headed upstairs around 8:40, got situated, and only had to wait a few minutes before the lights dimmed and the music started.
The show was a great time – what can I say, the lady knows how to entertain. She played a lot of stuff from her newest album, Confessions on a Dance Floor, but there were definitely decent amount of old hits, mostly remixed. The old(er) stuff included "Like a Virgin," "La Isla Bonita," "Live to Tell," "Music," "Drowned World," "Lucky Star," "Erotica," and "Ray of Light." In terms of Madge's 80s hits, I personally prefer "Material Girl" and "Dress You Up." And I prefer "Human Nature" to "Erotica" but hey, that's me. For my money, it doesn't get better than "Ray of Light" and she really killed it (in a good way). Of the new stuff, my personal favorite is "Jump" which was great, but "Sorry" was also a lot of fun. But I think it was definitely a highlight of the night when she came out singing "Future Lovers" and it morphed into a cover of Donna Summer's classic "I Feel Love."
Jeeves kept remarking that she was dancing up a storm, and yet still singing without being remotely out-of-breath. And yes, she really was singing - no lip-synching here. It must be all the pilates - the woman is in amazing shape, looked completely beautiful and is teeny tiny in real life.
There's not much more to say - I just can't think of anyone else, who at the age of 47, can come out in a Saturday Night Fever-style white suit and do a remix of her own song, "Music" to "Disco Inferno" and just sell it. The loudest thing in MSG that night wasn't Madge - it was the scream of her fans. And rightfully so.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Happy Birthday, Butterstick
Since K left, there are only two other female attorneys where I work and I wouldn't say I am friends with either of them. But one of them shares my affinity for baby pandas in general, and the DC panda, Tai Shan, in particular. She sent along this picture of Tai Shan celebrating his first birthday.
Jim, while once walking through a grocery store with me and watching me cluck with joy over miniature coca-cola cans, premised that girls really seem to love short, fat things. Short and fat reminding us perhaps of babies. I had dismissed him, but as I have gotten older, I tend to think he might have been on to something. Baby pandas are no different, though it should be said that I know a guy or two who love baby pandas as much as any girl.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
I've got a sweet love hangover, and I don't need no cure
Okay, so actually it was influenza and a cure would have been swell. Monday, late afternoon, while sitting in my shitty, windowless office, my back started to really hurt and I felt feverish. Also, I had been crying at really stupid stuff, which happens when I start running a temperature. The last time I had the flu, I started crying because I became convinced that I had a leg infection, they would have to amputate my leg, and no one could ever love someone with a stump. Yeah. What do you want? I was delirious!
So I was out of work for two days. I wish I could say it was all fun and games, but the first day was mostly spent sleeping, whining to Abbott about how much my back hurt, and feeling massively guilty about missing work. On the second day, my Battlestar Galactica DVD came from Netflix, and that's when life drastically improved.
Back in the day when Kate had cable, she would watch the new shows and tell me what was worth watching. Thanks to Kate, I watched West Wing and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, two favorites from my college years. Kate no longer has cable, but does have a Netflix subscription, and she probably watches more TV now than she did when she had cable. Anyway, thanks to Netflix, Kate has started watching some of the shows that I recommended. But it's a two way street and I knew I couldn't keep getting her to watch my stuff if I didn't watch some of her's.
She had been pushing BSG (the new version, for the record, not the 1978 version) for awhile, but finally piqued my interest when she said, "Bart loves it and you know he hates sci-fi!" It's true. I hadn't really trusted Kate on BSG because she's also a Star Trek fan and I hate that shit. She assured me that it wasn't a normal science fiction show - sure it took place in outer space and there were robots and stuff, but really, it was more political, religious and social commentary with some really exciting espionage and good character development.
The premise - in some distant galaxy, there are the 12 colonies of man. (The number 12 is very important on the show, and yes, it is most certainly related to the bible). Man creates these robots with artificial intelligence called the Cylons (they look like giant toasters with legs). So at this point, very sci-fi and very Isaac Asimov. One day the Cylons rise against their masters, and there's bloody war, until an armistice is declared. The Cylons go off to find their own home and no one on the colonies sees or hears from them for over 40 years. Then one day they return, launch a massive attack on the colonies and pretty much kill all but 50,000 people, who escape into space. The Cylons, fyi, still look like toasters, but they also have managed to make models that look just like humans. And they have an eeeeevil and diabolical plan for the humans who escaped. It's all very exciting.
Unfortunately, the show starts with a miniseries, which Kate had told me, and I had forgotten. But I hadn't ordered to miniseries. I ordered the start of the regular series. So I was pretty confused. Regardless, the show is a good time. As the New Yorker review stated: "But what interests people who normally don’t care about science fiction is how timely and resonant the show is, bringing into play religion and religious fanaticism, global politics, terrorism, and questions about what it means to be human."
As for my love hangover, it's all for Captain Lee "Apollo" Adama. He's dreamy and he defends democracy!
So I was out of work for two days. I wish I could say it was all fun and games, but the first day was mostly spent sleeping, whining to Abbott about how much my back hurt, and feeling massively guilty about missing work. On the second day, my Battlestar Galactica DVD came from Netflix, and that's when life drastically improved.
Back in the day when Kate had cable, she would watch the new shows and tell me what was worth watching. Thanks to Kate, I watched West Wing and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, two favorites from my college years. Kate no longer has cable, but does have a Netflix subscription, and she probably watches more TV now than she did when she had cable. Anyway, thanks to Netflix, Kate has started watching some of the shows that I recommended. But it's a two way street and I knew I couldn't keep getting her to watch my stuff if I didn't watch some of her's.
She had been pushing BSG (the new version, for the record, not the 1978 version) for awhile, but finally piqued my interest when she said, "Bart loves it and you know he hates sci-fi!" It's true. I hadn't really trusted Kate on BSG because she's also a Star Trek fan and I hate that shit. She assured me that it wasn't a normal science fiction show - sure it took place in outer space and there were robots and stuff, but really, it was more political, religious and social commentary with some really exciting espionage and good character development.
The premise - in some distant galaxy, there are the 12 colonies of man. (The number 12 is very important on the show, and yes, it is most certainly related to the bible). Man creates these robots with artificial intelligence called the Cylons (they look like giant toasters with legs). So at this point, very sci-fi and very Isaac Asimov. One day the Cylons rise against their masters, and there's bloody war, until an armistice is declared. The Cylons go off to find their own home and no one on the colonies sees or hears from them for over 40 years. Then one day they return, launch a massive attack on the colonies and pretty much kill all but 50,000 people, who escape into space. The Cylons, fyi, still look like toasters, but they also have managed to make models that look just like humans. And they have an eeeeevil and diabolical plan for the humans who escaped. It's all very exciting.
Unfortunately, the show starts with a miniseries, which Kate had told me, and I had forgotten. But I hadn't ordered to miniseries. I ordered the start of the regular series. So I was pretty confused. Regardless, the show is a good time. As the New Yorker review stated: "But what interests people who normally don’t care about science fiction is how timely and resonant the show is, bringing into play religion and religious fanaticism, global politics, terrorism, and questions about what it means to be human."
As for my love hangover, it's all for Captain Lee "Apollo" Adama. He's dreamy and he defends democracy!
Monday, July 10, 2006
Food, mostly tasty
I've gotten a lot of remarks over the last couple of weeks about all the cool places I eat. And I respond with "Actually, I've eaten at a lot more places lately than I blog about, but I'm worried that the perpetual food entries will get boring." Then I remembered who my readers are. So I decided to do an entry about all the other places I have been that haven't gotten mentioned yet.
Back in early June, Jim and I finally hit Fatty Crab. I have been excited about Fatty Crab ever since I read it's short review in the Times, and also, Eric Asimov's (whom I have dumped in favor of Frank Bruni) comments on in The Pour. In a word: disappointing. FC is located on Hudson Street in the Village. It's teeny tiny, and as such, there is usually a wait. But there was space to sit at the bar, and so we had a drink. FC's specialty is Malaysian street food, and so, food ought to be shared. We ordered the fatty duck, chicken claypot, short ribs and chicken wings. The claypot was quite tasty, with lots of tofu, which I liked, and the short ribs were tender and had a nice sauce. But the duck was disappointing as compared to Hunan Cottage and the chicken wings were undercooked. Jim says that the practice in China is to undercook the chicken, as compared to here where we burn the shit out of it. I personally prefer the latter method. And sadly, at the end of the meal I was still a bit hungry. Oh well.
As Jeeves was busy being a law student on my birthday, he took me out in June for a belated celebration to Yama, which he assured me would blow my mind. And it did. Apparently Yama is another place where you can expect a wait, and there's not much space inside to stand around, so it's best in good weather. But it is certainly worth standing around. Once inside, we marked off how may pieces of nigiri that we wanted (we had tuna, eel, yellow tail, salmon, mackeral, giant clam and maybe another piece which has subsequently escaped me, along with an eel avocado roll and yellowtail salmon roll). The pieces of sushi were completely enormous - I've never seen anything like it. The eel took me 4 bites to get through. Everything was superbly cut and tender, and the rolls? Heavenly. I daydream about the eel avocado roll - the eel sauce was perfect and the avocado was super ripe.
Other notable city eats - Great Jones Cafe for brunch which serves cajun spins on breakfast food. I had the eggs with ham on biscuits and smothered in gravy with a side of grits. It's pretty hard to find good grits in the northeast and my mom always made the best. But these grits definitely gave hers a run for their money. Creamy, but not too runny. And eggs with gravy? Brilliant. Jeeves swears by the bloody marys and indeed, they use fresh horseradish. And on this past Friday, very late, I went to Florent in the meatpacking district. Think of it as a french diner. I was boring and got eggs and bacon (sorry, but that's my go-to late at night in a diner-type setting), which came with a nice thick multi-grained toast and the bacon was well-done as requested. Jason was more adventurous and had the goat cheese and apple omellette and Jeeves had the veggie burger (which I think is bizarre, especially coming from someone who eats as many hamburgers as I do, but he insists is excellent). Also, I like that it's on Gansevoort Street, mainly because "Gansevoort" is fun to say.
What of New Jersey, you ask? Have I abandoned the food of my home state? Not at all. Wendy and I went to Reservoir in South Orange for her birthday. If you live in the area, you may know of it - great word of mouth. And with good reason. They serve up a nice thin-crust pizza. Wendy and I had one of those, some bruschetta (which was seriously out of this world - thick cuts of toasted bread which were crispy on the outside, but east to take a bite out of, with ridiculously fresh tomatoes and onions and a nice balsalmic maranade). We also had a penne dish which came with an excellent marinara sauce, mozarella and prosciutto. I highly recommend it, and in fact think I will suggest to Wendy that we head back there soon. Also, in typical Jersey , cash-only, Italian fashion, the prices were quite low - all that food for $30.
Well, another weekend has slipped by me and I had intentions of multiple entries, but as it is late, I have a cold... and sadly work tomorrow, I will have to postpone.
Back in early June, Jim and I finally hit Fatty Crab. I have been excited about Fatty Crab ever since I read it's short review in the Times, and also, Eric Asimov's (whom I have dumped in favor of Frank Bruni) comments on in The Pour. In a word: disappointing. FC is located on Hudson Street in the Village. It's teeny tiny, and as such, there is usually a wait. But there was space to sit at the bar, and so we had a drink. FC's specialty is Malaysian street food, and so, food ought to be shared. We ordered the fatty duck, chicken claypot, short ribs and chicken wings. The claypot was quite tasty, with lots of tofu, which I liked, and the short ribs were tender and had a nice sauce. But the duck was disappointing as compared to Hunan Cottage and the chicken wings were undercooked. Jim says that the practice in China is to undercook the chicken, as compared to here where we burn the shit out of it. I personally prefer the latter method. And sadly, at the end of the meal I was still a bit hungry. Oh well.
As Jeeves was busy being a law student on my birthday, he took me out in June for a belated celebration to Yama, which he assured me would blow my mind. And it did. Apparently Yama is another place where you can expect a wait, and there's not much space inside to stand around, so it's best in good weather. But it is certainly worth standing around. Once inside, we marked off how may pieces of nigiri that we wanted (we had tuna, eel, yellow tail, salmon, mackeral, giant clam and maybe another piece which has subsequently escaped me, along with an eel avocado roll and yellowtail salmon roll). The pieces of sushi were completely enormous - I've never seen anything like it. The eel took me 4 bites to get through. Everything was superbly cut and tender, and the rolls? Heavenly. I daydream about the eel avocado roll - the eel sauce was perfect and the avocado was super ripe.
Other notable city eats - Great Jones Cafe for brunch which serves cajun spins on breakfast food. I had the eggs with ham on biscuits and smothered in gravy with a side of grits. It's pretty hard to find good grits in the northeast and my mom always made the best. But these grits definitely gave hers a run for their money. Creamy, but not too runny. And eggs with gravy? Brilliant. Jeeves swears by the bloody marys and indeed, they use fresh horseradish. And on this past Friday, very late, I went to Florent in the meatpacking district. Think of it as a french diner. I was boring and got eggs and bacon (sorry, but that's my go-to late at night in a diner-type setting), which came with a nice thick multi-grained toast and the bacon was well-done as requested. Jason was more adventurous and had the goat cheese and apple omellette and Jeeves had the veggie burger (which I think is bizarre, especially coming from someone who eats as many hamburgers as I do, but he insists is excellent). Also, I like that it's on Gansevoort Street, mainly because "Gansevoort" is fun to say.
What of New Jersey, you ask? Have I abandoned the food of my home state? Not at all. Wendy and I went to Reservoir in South Orange for her birthday. If you live in the area, you may know of it - great word of mouth. And with good reason. They serve up a nice thin-crust pizza. Wendy and I had one of those, some bruschetta (which was seriously out of this world - thick cuts of toasted bread which were crispy on the outside, but east to take a bite out of, with ridiculously fresh tomatoes and onions and a nice balsalmic maranade). We also had a penne dish which came with an excellent marinara sauce, mozarella and prosciutto. I highly recommend it, and in fact think I will suggest to Wendy that we head back there soon. Also, in typical Jersey , cash-only, Italian fashion, the prices were quite low - all that food for $30.
Well, another weekend has slipped by me and I had intentions of multiple entries, but as it is late, I have a cold... and sadly work tomorrow, I will have to postpone.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
No Crying in Softball
My firm has a softball team, which I stupidly agreed to play on. Miraculously, there are only three attorneys who play on the team - everyone else is staff... or staff's kids. And thank goodness for those kids cause they are ringers. They smack the cream cheese out of that ball.
Anyway. Growing up, I was not athletic. I played soccer like most kids in New Jersey, but I was not good. And as you get older, it becomes less about playing for the enjoyment and more about playing to win, and the kids who suck gets yelled at by the other kids for sucking. That was me - sucky. Also, I was that kid in gym class who was always the second to last picked (usually there was one kid in a class who was worse than me.... actually, said kid was usually not worse than me, but just happened to be less popular and sometimes you'll take the skinny kid with no reflexes over the kid with cooties). Not helping any of this was the fact that I seemed to perpetually get knocked in the head with the ball. My mom used to buck me up with sotries about how, when she was in high school, she failed gym, but she was the class valedictorian so who cares?
On the flip side of all this, I love team sports. Love love love. Baseball, soccer, basketball, hockey, and I bet I'd love rugby if someone would explain it to me. But since the age of 15, the only sports I have even bothered playing were tennis and golf - solo sports. That is mostly because, if you suck at those sports, the only person you disappoint is yourself. I hated that look that the good kids on a team would give each other when you struck out, or popped up, or dropped the fly ball - it was just so much easier to be a spectator.
Our firm softball team was formed last year and when I heard there was a team, I wondered how I could weasel out of playing. At the same time, I like watching softball and wanted to be supportive. Also, I wanted a team jersey. Our team captain, a fellow associate, is a pushy young man and somehow I got railroaded into playing. Tonight was my first game. Wendy gave me these words of advice: "Don't get hit in the head with the ball. I know you like to do that."
During first year of law school Josh went out and bought a Nerf bat and balls and as a break, we would go out behind the school and just hit the ball around. It was a great stress reliever and a great motivator. I learned that I still remember how to hit a ball from when my sister taught me as a kid (in an unrelated note, my sister taught me all the really important stuff in life - how to write my name, how to tie my shoes, the alphabet, and how to hit a ball). So I felt vaguely confident that I could hit the ball, though I was pretty sure it would just be an out. But still, so long as I didn't strike out!
I really didn't want to play any defensive role, though - I am not so great with catching a ball with a glove. So one of the paralegals and I traded off with catching duties, which seemed the place where I would do the least damage. At my first at bat, I did indeed pop up. But I didn't strike out! That was seriously my main concern. It takes effort to strike out at softball, and I know I am bad, but I didn't want to be that bad. I wasn't the worst catcher ever either, and after a few innings, I was definitely getting a handle on using the glove.
My second at bat - one of our law clerks had reached first base, and there were no outs. So no pressure - I could make an out and there would still be two chances for the rest of the team to score a run. But I got a hit! I got a hit! Grounder towards third base and I beat the throw. Hooray! Eventually, thanks to the people on the team who are actually adept at this sport, I scored a run. The aforementioned law clerk and I were both thrilled that we had contributed.
During the top of the 7th inning, though, the batter took a big swing and foul tipped the softball.... right into my face. Umm, yeah, it really hurt. Right into my eye. I staggered around for a minute, afraid to pull my hand away from my face, until one of my cohorts pulled me off the field. Luckily, other than some quick swelling, I could still see. But I might have a shiner tomorrow. After consultation with the teammates, it was agreed I should take out my contact lens before my eye could swell shut. Fun. Then there was some conversation about how I shouldn't over-ice my eye because the vitrious fluid could freeze. Also fun.
I called Dad when I got home to tell him the news. He was, naturally concerned, and wished I had been wearing a mask. But when I told him I had gotten a hit and scored a run, he couldn't contain the excitement in his voice: "You did??? That's wonderful!" Dad loves sports too, and I think he always quietly, secretly wished he had had athletic daughters he could go root for, instead of a coupla nerds who stayed inside reading (one of whom was always fighting him for the sports section). He asked if I cried when I got hit. "Nope." "You didn't cry, and you got a hit. You're tough, kid."
Anyway. Growing up, I was not athletic. I played soccer like most kids in New Jersey, but I was not good. And as you get older, it becomes less about playing for the enjoyment and more about playing to win, and the kids who suck gets yelled at by the other kids for sucking. That was me - sucky. Also, I was that kid in gym class who was always the second to last picked (usually there was one kid in a class who was worse than me.... actually, said kid was usually not worse than me, but just happened to be less popular and sometimes you'll take the skinny kid with no reflexes over the kid with cooties). Not helping any of this was the fact that I seemed to perpetually get knocked in the head with the ball. My mom used to buck me up with sotries about how, when she was in high school, she failed gym, but she was the class valedictorian so who cares?
On the flip side of all this, I love team sports. Love love love. Baseball, soccer, basketball, hockey, and I bet I'd love rugby if someone would explain it to me. But since the age of 15, the only sports I have even bothered playing were tennis and golf - solo sports. That is mostly because, if you suck at those sports, the only person you disappoint is yourself. I hated that look that the good kids on a team would give each other when you struck out, or popped up, or dropped the fly ball - it was just so much easier to be a spectator.
Our firm softball team was formed last year and when I heard there was a team, I wondered how I could weasel out of playing. At the same time, I like watching softball and wanted to be supportive. Also, I wanted a team jersey. Our team captain, a fellow associate, is a pushy young man and somehow I got railroaded into playing. Tonight was my first game. Wendy gave me these words of advice: "Don't get hit in the head with the ball. I know you like to do that."
During first year of law school Josh went out and bought a Nerf bat and balls and as a break, we would go out behind the school and just hit the ball around. It was a great stress reliever and a great motivator. I learned that I still remember how to hit a ball from when my sister taught me as a kid (in an unrelated note, my sister taught me all the really important stuff in life - how to write my name, how to tie my shoes, the alphabet, and how to hit a ball). So I felt vaguely confident that I could hit the ball, though I was pretty sure it would just be an out. But still, so long as I didn't strike out!
I really didn't want to play any defensive role, though - I am not so great with catching a ball with a glove. So one of the paralegals and I traded off with catching duties, which seemed the place where I would do the least damage. At my first at bat, I did indeed pop up. But I didn't strike out! That was seriously my main concern. It takes effort to strike out at softball, and I know I am bad, but I didn't want to be that bad. I wasn't the worst catcher ever either, and after a few innings, I was definitely getting a handle on using the glove.
My second at bat - one of our law clerks had reached first base, and there were no outs. So no pressure - I could make an out and there would still be two chances for the rest of the team to score a run. But I got a hit! I got a hit! Grounder towards third base and I beat the throw. Hooray! Eventually, thanks to the people on the team who are actually adept at this sport, I scored a run. The aforementioned law clerk and I were both thrilled that we had contributed.
During the top of the 7th inning, though, the batter took a big swing and foul tipped the softball.... right into my face. Umm, yeah, it really hurt. Right into my eye. I staggered around for a minute, afraid to pull my hand away from my face, until one of my cohorts pulled me off the field. Luckily, other than some quick swelling, I could still see. But I might have a shiner tomorrow. After consultation with the teammates, it was agreed I should take out my contact lens before my eye could swell shut. Fun. Then there was some conversation about how I shouldn't over-ice my eye because the vitrious fluid could freeze. Also fun.
I called Dad when I got home to tell him the news. He was, naturally concerned, and wished I had been wearing a mask. But when I told him I had gotten a hit and scored a run, he couldn't contain the excitement in his voice: "You did??? That's wonderful!" Dad loves sports too, and I think he always quietly, secretly wished he had had athletic daughters he could go root for, instead of a coupla nerds who stayed inside reading (one of whom was always fighting him for the sports section). He asked if I cried when I got hit. "Nope." "You didn't cry, and you got a hit. You're tough, kid."
Monday, June 26, 2006
Bacon that will buckle your knees
I love steak. Rare steak. Medium rare, if it's closer to rare. It's probably my favorite food, if one were to insist that I choose just one. Despite this love, I have never been to Peter Luger, by all accounts the mother ship for steak lovers. That is, until Saturday.
Our IT guy at work had tossed out the idea of a trip before co-worker K had quit, and she had gone ahead and made plans for a group of us to go. Originally, the trip was planned for the same day as Kate's wedding, and so I thought I wouldn't be able to go. I was understandably pouty, and Philly kindly offered to go with me to Luger (he has been on many occasions and proclaims their hamburger to be his favorite above all others), but my co-workers rescheduled so that I could join. While I have a great deal of fondness for Matlock, I am not close with anyone else who was going, and so to some extent, I wish I had been there with Phil & Co. or the law schoolers, but whatever.
Long story short, we all met up at Matlock's prior to steak dinner, because he lives in Brooklyn Heights and it's a lot easier for the Jerseyers to get there than to where Luger is located (Williamsburg, near the Marcy Ave subway stop, which is not the easiest subway line to get to) so that we could all head over together. And not surprisingly, K wound up not coming, but that's neither here nor there.
We arrived at PL in time for our reservation, all of starving. We were seated on the second floor, and as expected, the decor looks like it hasn't been updated since the 50s and the place is really rather brightly lit. Unexpectedely, I found the waiters to be a gregarious bunch, all quite polite and nice, and while I had been warned that requesting a menu would be met with "attitude," we were offered menus by our waiter and there was no roll of the eyes when we accepted the offer.
Phil had told me to be sure to order at least one slice of bacon prior my steak. I had asked for a description, but Phil simply said that it was fantastic and he didn't want to say any more than that. As our IT Guy remarked, "This is bacon that will buckle your knees." It actually did. A thick slice of Canadian bacon, and I really don't know what else to say about it except that it was the best damn slice of bacon I've ever had.
Matlock and I split the steak for three, medium rare, as did another pair at the table and we all pretty much stopped talking when the steak came. For the record, there is a steak for two, but the steak for three was surprisingly manageable when you split two orders between four people. The steak is a porterhouse cut, dry aged and broiled. It comes out on a plate, gets tipped up so all the juices and grease accumulate and get spooned over the steak. Also, the steak is sliced for you, making the sharing process a heck of a lot easier.
The steak was, and forgive me for all the superlatives flying left and right, the best I've ever had. I simply cannot compare it to other steaks - its flavor, thickness, juiciness were in a class by itself. I do, however, wish we had ordered the steak rare. The medium rare was a little too close to medium in my opinion (though the filet side was actually quite good in terms of rareness).
We also had sides - creamed spinach (delicious, though really, it's hard to muck up creamed spinach), German fried potatoes (think hash browns) and french fries. All quite good. Dessert? Matlock and I split the chocolate mousse cake with plenty of schlag (fresh whipped cream) on the side. Again, outstanding.
Yes, I wanted to die by the end of the meal, though that was temporary. A few weeks ago, I ate so many onion rings in a sitting, that I felt ill for the rest of the day. The nice thing about great food is that no matter how much you stuff yourself, you don't actually feel sick at the end of the meal. Very full? Yes. Maybe a little too full? That's debateable. But later in the evening when I was playing poker back in Manhattan, I did not feel nauseous when the guys ordered pizza. So there you go.
I look forward to many trips back to Peter Luger (hopefully next time with dearer friends). The end.
PS - I'll have my Deadwood and Entourage commentary up tomorrow evening. For now, it's bed time (I think my body is still digesting steak).
Our IT guy at work had tossed out the idea of a trip before co-worker K had quit, and she had gone ahead and made plans for a group of us to go. Originally, the trip was planned for the same day as Kate's wedding, and so I thought I wouldn't be able to go. I was understandably pouty, and Philly kindly offered to go with me to Luger (he has been on many occasions and proclaims their hamburger to be his favorite above all others), but my co-workers rescheduled so that I could join. While I have a great deal of fondness for Matlock, I am not close with anyone else who was going, and so to some extent, I wish I had been there with Phil & Co. or the law schoolers, but whatever.
Long story short, we all met up at Matlock's prior to steak dinner, because he lives in Brooklyn Heights and it's a lot easier for the Jerseyers to get there than to where Luger is located (Williamsburg, near the Marcy Ave subway stop, which is not the easiest subway line to get to) so that we could all head over together. And not surprisingly, K wound up not coming, but that's neither here nor there.
We arrived at PL in time for our reservation, all of starving. We were seated on the second floor, and as expected, the decor looks like it hasn't been updated since the 50s and the place is really rather brightly lit. Unexpectedely, I found the waiters to be a gregarious bunch, all quite polite and nice, and while I had been warned that requesting a menu would be met with "attitude," we were offered menus by our waiter and there was no roll of the eyes when we accepted the offer.
Phil had told me to be sure to order at least one slice of bacon prior my steak. I had asked for a description, but Phil simply said that it was fantastic and he didn't want to say any more than that. As our IT Guy remarked, "This is bacon that will buckle your knees." It actually did. A thick slice of Canadian bacon, and I really don't know what else to say about it except that it was the best damn slice of bacon I've ever had.
Matlock and I split the steak for three, medium rare, as did another pair at the table and we all pretty much stopped talking when the steak came. For the record, there is a steak for two, but the steak for three was surprisingly manageable when you split two orders between four people. The steak is a porterhouse cut, dry aged and broiled. It comes out on a plate, gets tipped up so all the juices and grease accumulate and get spooned over the steak. Also, the steak is sliced for you, making the sharing process a heck of a lot easier.
The steak was, and forgive me for all the superlatives flying left and right, the best I've ever had. I simply cannot compare it to other steaks - its flavor, thickness, juiciness were in a class by itself. I do, however, wish we had ordered the steak rare. The medium rare was a little too close to medium in my opinion (though the filet side was actually quite good in terms of rareness).
We also had sides - creamed spinach (delicious, though really, it's hard to muck up creamed spinach), German fried potatoes (think hash browns) and french fries. All quite good. Dessert? Matlock and I split the chocolate mousse cake with plenty of schlag (fresh whipped cream) on the side. Again, outstanding.
Yes, I wanted to die by the end of the meal, though that was temporary. A few weeks ago, I ate so many onion rings in a sitting, that I felt ill for the rest of the day. The nice thing about great food is that no matter how much you stuff yourself, you don't actually feel sick at the end of the meal. Very full? Yes. Maybe a little too full? That's debateable. But later in the evening when I was playing poker back in Manhattan, I did not feel nauseous when the guys ordered pizza. So there you go.
I look forward to many trips back to Peter Luger (hopefully next time with dearer friends). The end.
PS - I'll have my Deadwood and Entourage commentary up tomorrow evening. For now, it's bed time (I think my body is still digesting steak).
Monday, June 19, 2006
Shut up, I'm hot
When I was in law school, one of my buddies recounted a story about how his overweight brother came to stay with him for an extended period. One hot day, said buddy brought a girl home and was horrified to find his fat brother sitting in the living room with his shirt off. When the buddy asked his brother to put a shirt on, the brother said, "Shut up, I'm hot!"
That is how I felt today.
Today is my last day of vacation, and as I considered going back to work, I found my relaxation waning. I am also still without air-conditioning because I am stupid, cheap and lazy.
When I returned from my sister's father's day barbeque, missing my mother, already stressed about work, berating myself for the things I should have done (but did not) over vacation, I proceeded to have full meltdown while attempting to make a decision about buying an air-conditioner on Best Buy online (every actual store I went to today was sold out).
Thanks, Wendy, for answering the phone and talking me off the ledge, and helping me to figure out what air-conditioner to purchase. Now all I have to do is remain cool till I get to my shitty air-conditioned office tomorrow.
That is how I felt today.
Today is my last day of vacation, and as I considered going back to work, I found my relaxation waning. I am also still without air-conditioning because I am stupid, cheap and lazy.
When I returned from my sister's father's day barbeque, missing my mother, already stressed about work, berating myself for the things I should have done (but did not) over vacation, I proceeded to have full meltdown while attempting to make a decision about buying an air-conditioner on Best Buy online (every actual store I went to today was sold out).
Thanks, Wendy, for answering the phone and talking me off the ledge, and helping me to figure out what air-conditioner to purchase. Now all I have to do is remain cool till I get to my shitty air-conditioned office tomorrow.
The Valley Ain't So Bad
Please consider this a joint Deadwood, Entourage post.
So, after last week's Deadwood, I was a little nervous - had the show lost its edge? It felt like a set-up episode and it was nowhere near as strong as "A Lie Agreed Upon," which kicked off season 2. My fears were totally allayed by this ep - strong characterization, humor, advancement of the plot, intrigue - everything an episode of Deadwood should have and I was reminded of why I think this is hands down, the best show on television. At Kate's wedding, her co-worker Matt and I stood around talking about the greatness of Deadwood and I am fully prepared again to throw my allegiance behind it.
I love the addition of Gerald McRaney (Major Dad) as Hearst - the new camp villain. I was completely taken by surprise when his sidekick Captain Turner grabbed Al from behind and Hearst stapped Al in the hand with a hammer!!! Unbelievable! And what did I love more than that? Bullock offering to go up and "finish the cocksucker off" right then and there. Who would have thought last March that we would see a Bullock/Swearengen alliance?
As always, we can count on Charlie Utter to spell out the episode's theme. The ep was called "I'm Not the Fine Man You Take Me For." While Charlie and Joanie stand outside the Ellsworth house, Charlie listen to Joanie beat up on herself and recounts how, despite the fact that Wild Bill was his dearest friend with a true and kind spirit, Bill himself had a tendency to believe he was a bad person. I found this scene especially touching, if only because of a) the closeness with which Charlie still carries Bill's memory and b) because I know I myself have had similar conversations with friends. Tonight, some of the people of Deadwood with good hearts doubt themselves (except for Sol Star who is adorable as ever). And I liked how Jane's story about the alleged hero Custer plays into this theme as well.
There is a flip side to the episode's title as well - George Hearst may have seemd innocuous at the end of last season and the premier last week, but he is most certainly not the fine man we might have taken him for. I am really looking forward to seeing how this unravels.
And can I admit something somewhat shameful? I am so pleased that Bullock is being a little less of a tool this season. And good work to Timothy Olyphant for managing to show that while he has committed himself to his wife, Bullock has not lost his love for the widow Alma. The scene where Bullock asked Charlie to watch over the Ellsworth house and find out how Alma does in surgery - surprisingly touching.
On to Entourage. While Deadwood may be the best rounded show, Entourage is decidedly the most fun to watch. Loved the references to Almost Famous, and as ever, Johnny Drama made me laugh out loud more than once. I love how this show manages to make you root for people with whom you have nothing in common. Vince continues to grow on me, and I am always secretly touched by how Vince and Eric's friendship reminds me of Kate and myself (as for who is E and who is Vince, it changes every episode). And while Ari is a scene stealer and I love him, I really don't think this show would be half of what it is without Kevin Dillon's Johnny Drama. A review I once read pointed out that he clearly bring a little self-knowledge to the role considering he is Matt Dillon's less famous brother.
HBO, you are my summertime television savior. Thank you.
So, after last week's Deadwood, I was a little nervous - had the show lost its edge? It felt like a set-up episode and it was nowhere near as strong as "A Lie Agreed Upon," which kicked off season 2. My fears were totally allayed by this ep - strong characterization, humor, advancement of the plot, intrigue - everything an episode of Deadwood should have and I was reminded of why I think this is hands down, the best show on television. At Kate's wedding, her co-worker Matt and I stood around talking about the greatness of Deadwood and I am fully prepared again to throw my allegiance behind it.
I love the addition of Gerald McRaney (Major Dad) as Hearst - the new camp villain. I was completely taken by surprise when his sidekick Captain Turner grabbed Al from behind and Hearst stapped Al in the hand with a hammer!!! Unbelievable! And what did I love more than that? Bullock offering to go up and "finish the cocksucker off" right then and there. Who would have thought last March that we would see a Bullock/Swearengen alliance?
As always, we can count on Charlie Utter to spell out the episode's theme. The ep was called "I'm Not the Fine Man You Take Me For." While Charlie and Joanie stand outside the Ellsworth house, Charlie listen to Joanie beat up on herself and recounts how, despite the fact that Wild Bill was his dearest friend with a true and kind spirit, Bill himself had a tendency to believe he was a bad person. I found this scene especially touching, if only because of a) the closeness with which Charlie still carries Bill's memory and b) because I know I myself have had similar conversations with friends. Tonight, some of the people of Deadwood with good hearts doubt themselves (except for Sol Star who is adorable as ever). And I liked how Jane's story about the alleged hero Custer plays into this theme as well.
There is a flip side to the episode's title as well - George Hearst may have seemd innocuous at the end of last season and the premier last week, but he is most certainly not the fine man we might have taken him for. I am really looking forward to seeing how this unravels.
And can I admit something somewhat shameful? I am so pleased that Bullock is being a little less of a tool this season. And good work to Timothy Olyphant for managing to show that while he has committed himself to his wife, Bullock has not lost his love for the widow Alma. The scene where Bullock asked Charlie to watch over the Ellsworth house and find out how Alma does in surgery - surprisingly touching.
On to Entourage. While Deadwood may be the best rounded show, Entourage is decidedly the most fun to watch. Loved the references to Almost Famous, and as ever, Johnny Drama made me laugh out loud more than once. I love how this show manages to make you root for people with whom you have nothing in common. Vince continues to grow on me, and I am always secretly touched by how Vince and Eric's friendship reminds me of Kate and myself (as for who is E and who is Vince, it changes every episode). And while Ari is a scene stealer and I love him, I really don't think this show would be half of what it is without Kevin Dillon's Johnny Drama. A review I once read pointed out that he clearly bring a little self-knowledge to the role considering he is Matt Dillon's less famous brother.
HBO, you are my summertime television savior. Thank you.
Friday, June 16, 2006
And one day you'll know where you are
I am on vacation this week, and I knew I had been bad about blogging when even Phil remarked about the lack of posting. Sorry.
Wednesday found me in the city. First stop - the Shake Shack to pick up lunch for Anhabelle and myself. Then to crappy Times Square to surprise Anh with lunch. We chilled in her office briefly, enjoying our coldish burgers (getting uptown took longer than anticipated) before we headed over to day care to visit Ben. I haven't seen Ben in nearly 6 weeks, and he has gotten much bigger. Interestingly, Ben has one of the only "normal" names of the kids in daycare - some of the names I'm pretty sure are made-up. But all the kids are pretty darn cute (not as cute as Ben, but still).
Next I headed up to Willis's law firm in the "civilized" (Anh's term, and can you blame her? working in Times Square sucks) part of town over on Park Ave. Will and I chilled in his office with it's creepy glass doors and did our usual schpiel. Will and I would like to be in private practice together, but realize this would be a pointless exercise - no work would get done and we'd just sit around drinking coffee, swapping stories.
I eventually made it over to West End to poker buddy Sharif's apartment. Reefy and I were both shut out of the Radiohead tickets when they went on sale on Ticketmaster, so we pooled out resources and got a pair together off of ebay. I got into Radiohead in college, thanks to roomie Janet. And interstingly, I'm pretty sure Philly decided I was okay when he asked me one day at lunch if I liked Radiohead and I answered with an enthusiastic yes.
I have never seen Radiohead live, so I was pretty damn excited. But first, Sharif made us some alcoholic fruit smoothies. Yummy. Anyway, back to the band. Totally lived up to the hype. I dropped a large chunk of change (the better part of my NJ tax refund) on this ticket - far more than I've ever spent on a single ticket before and it's a little hard for me to say at this moment if it was worth it. I think it was, though.
Anyway, I got to hear a lot of songs I love, including "The Tourist" off of OK Computer (my favorite Radiohead album) but they didn't play "Let Down" which is my favorite song off that album (other highlights of the evening for me were "Kid A," "Paranoid Android," "No Surprises" and "Everything In Its Right Place.") It's interesting now, to listen to this album that Janet played so many times in our room and wonder why I love that one song in particular more than the others. I haven't reached a clearly articulated reason yet, but I'll let you know when I do.
The evening ended at Ginger Man, which was once again quite good, and this time not colored by a burger coma. And in other, yet related news, Philly and Emily got engaged this week. Phil is one of those people in my life, because he has been so prominently featured in my blog, that people who have never met him will ask me how he is doing. So it seems apropos to end with that, and offer the warmest of congratulations for what I am sure will be a very happy life together.
Wednesday found me in the city. First stop - the Shake Shack to pick up lunch for Anhabelle and myself. Then to crappy Times Square to surprise Anh with lunch. We chilled in her office briefly, enjoying our coldish burgers (getting uptown took longer than anticipated) before we headed over to day care to visit Ben. I haven't seen Ben in nearly 6 weeks, and he has gotten much bigger. Interestingly, Ben has one of the only "normal" names of the kids in daycare - some of the names I'm pretty sure are made-up. But all the kids are pretty darn cute (not as cute as Ben, but still).
Next I headed up to Willis's law firm in the "civilized" (Anh's term, and can you blame her? working in Times Square sucks) part of town over on Park Ave. Will and I chilled in his office with it's creepy glass doors and did our usual schpiel. Will and I would like to be in private practice together, but realize this would be a pointless exercise - no work would get done and we'd just sit around drinking coffee, swapping stories.
I eventually made it over to West End to poker buddy Sharif's apartment. Reefy and I were both shut out of the Radiohead tickets when they went on sale on Ticketmaster, so we pooled out resources and got a pair together off of ebay. I got into Radiohead in college, thanks to roomie Janet. And interstingly, I'm pretty sure Philly decided I was okay when he asked me one day at lunch if I liked Radiohead and I answered with an enthusiastic yes.
I have never seen Radiohead live, so I was pretty damn excited. But first, Sharif made us some alcoholic fruit smoothies. Yummy. Anyway, back to the band. Totally lived up to the hype. I dropped a large chunk of change (the better part of my NJ tax refund) on this ticket - far more than I've ever spent on a single ticket before and it's a little hard for me to say at this moment if it was worth it. I think it was, though.
Anyway, I got to hear a lot of songs I love, including "The Tourist" off of OK Computer (my favorite Radiohead album) but they didn't play "Let Down" which is my favorite song off that album (other highlights of the evening for me were "Kid A," "Paranoid Android," "No Surprises" and "Everything In Its Right Place.") It's interesting now, to listen to this album that Janet played so many times in our room and wonder why I love that one song in particular more than the others. I haven't reached a clearly articulated reason yet, but I'll let you know when I do.
The evening ended at Ginger Man, which was once again quite good, and this time not colored by a burger coma. And in other, yet related news, Philly and Emily got engaged this week. Phil is one of those people in my life, because he has been so prominently featured in my blog, that people who have never met him will ask me how he is doing. So it seems apropos to end with that, and offer the warmest of congratulations for what I am sure will be a very happy life together.
I'm so in love with you/I'll be forever blue
Last Saturday, Kate and Bart got married. I was in the wedding. Blah blah blah. You already know all this, so I'll just include some photos and a brief commentary.
Seriously? I have never in my life seen Kate look so beautiful, and this is in eleven years of friendship. Yes, yes, everyone says that all brides look beautiful, but Kate looked especially gorgeous. I like the picture above because, aside from showing off her lovely dress, she looks so happy. And I didn't even have to say anything funny to get this shot - totally candid moment on her part. That's how happy she was to be marrying Bart.
After the ceremony, the very dopey photographer took our photos outside. He was slow. There was a gang of random local kids taunting us. No fun. But bridesbutler Jason got a nice shot of me, Pablo and Kate flipping off the camera. Then we got to go to the reception! Hurrah!
We get to the K of C in Washington Township and bartender Steve sets the bridal party up with some drinky-poos. Thankfully, Kate's sister Liz-Ann(ie) had the foresight to bring champagne in the limo so we could all have a nip.
Liz-Ann and I wore the same dress (though mine sadly did not come with a sweatshirt). Next to her is McKenzie - groomslady and fellow pale Irish lady.
Anyway, bartender Steve said that this was the first wedding he ever worked where the bride and her maid-of-honor were drinking straight scotch. That's cause we're classy, Steve. After we were introduced, I was told it was time for my speech. Gulp. But it went fine - luckily I had worked out most of what I was going to say the night before.
Then it was time for some dancing. Woooo!
Kate, her mom and dad share a moment while Bart and his mother dance. Kate's family has been my adopted family for years now - over the last few years, I have spent Christmas Eve, Easter and 4th of July with them. I have always considered myself very fortunate to have not only my own loving family, but Kate's as well.
Too soon it was over. Happily, we were all staying at the same hotel. Pablo and I were sharing a room, but strangely we were given a king sized bed when we had asked for two doubles. Pabs went to go ask for a switch. No switcheroo, but Paulito worked his magic and got our room comped! (Good thing too, as I apparently kicked him all night and he didn't sleep so well - sorry!)
Now the newlyweds are off in Jamaica... without Kate's very nice new pair of Ray-Bans because I lost them. Bad maid-of-honor! I miss them and look forward to their return (Kate and Bart's, though if the glasses showed up, I'd be happy about that too).
Bart, love, you're stuck with us now!! Ha! On the plus side, I totally think the next time I come to DC, we should do "A Little Respect" as our karaoke song.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
I just made my first communion
(First off, sorry for the extended delay. It has been a combination of laziness, an active social life, and serious cable modem issues that make me want to whine loudly). Ahem. So, this lady here is Kate, the bride to be, light of my life. And with her little veil on, she really did look like she had just made her first communion, which is what she told everyone in NYC who asked her if she was getting married. On Wednesday, Kate and Bart will pack up the car and drive to New Jersey in preparation for the big day, which is Saturday. For Kate, I am missing the first day of World Cup and the Belmont Stakes, though with Barbaro out of it, who really cares?
People have asked me if I am having issues with Kate getting married - honestly, I'm not. It's all quite surreal and I have actually been experiencing sympathy stress about the whole event, but I am not sad or tweaked about it. I'm just happy for them. Last night when I called to talk with Kate, I wound up chatting with Bart for awhile and he walked me through all the stuff that Kate is stressing over. Some of it silly, some of it legitimate, but all of it understandable - and Bart, bless his heart, handles it well. You see, Kate can be crazy, and so can I. A sample conversation from last night.
Me: I dropped my dress off to be pressed this morning. It's wrinkly.
Kate: That's good.
Me: Yeah. But I got worried. What if they mess it up? What if they burn a hole in the dress? What if I pick it up on Friday and there's a huge iron mark on the dress.
Kate: That would suck. Also, that's a completely irrational fear.
Me: I know. I couldn't help it. It kept me up for a little while last night. Also, I started worrying that I would get a pulmonary edema and have to be in the hospital for your wedding, and how much it would suck to know the wedding was going on and I couldn't be there.
Kate: Yeah. I've had a complete and consuming fear lately that something will happen to my face. Like I'll get a black eye before the wedding.
So you see, we are crazy. The mildly endearing part is that at least we know we are crazy. My point in all of this is, Bart knows how Kate is, deals with it well, and loves her to pieces. So how could I feel anything but happiness about their marriage? And I don't feel anything other than happiness.
But don't get me started on how stressed I am about work.
Annnnyyyway, the point in all of this was to sum up the bachelorette party! It was a great time. Ruby Foo's, though not the best food in the world, was festive, had some nice cocktails, and was very appropriate for the situation. Gotham Comedy Club was actually hysterical, and it's always nice to go to a comedy show that is funny.
Karaoke was at a place called Muse, right near our hotel in Chelsea. By this point in the evening, things had gotten pretty sloppy. But I will say that Kate did sing "Pour Some Sugar on Me" and brought the house down, her co-worker Selene and I sang a raucous duet of Madonna's "Dress You Up" which was fun [for us, but not for anyone else], Kate and I got teary-eyed singing the Beach Boys' "God Only Knows" (which is a personal favorite), and I'm pretty sure we all sang "Sweet Caroline" twice.
So now you know how a first communion gets celebrated.
Next week, I am on a much-needed vacation from work. My plans are loose, which I love, though I know there will be a trip to visit Anhabelle at work (and Baby Ben at daycare), a Radiohead concert (wooooo!!!!), a possible trip to see Shakespeare in the Park, sleeping, reading, and not working.
I'll be better about blogging. Ish.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
In the Continuing Quest for the Perfect Burger
Phil and the blog A Hamburger Today have raved about Shake Shack in Madison Square Park (here's AHT's review). On Sunday, Phil, Jeeves, Jason and I met up to partake of these alleged tasty burgers.
The Shack opened in 2004. It is, according to its website, a "roadside" foodstand. Here's the deal - you stand in line, order your food, wait for said food, grab a table and eat. Given the inexpensive prices, rave reviews, and quality burger, the lines can be quite long. But as Frank Bruni of the Times puts it, it's the Dairy Queen of Manhattan, and who can pass that up?
I arrived early - at about 7:20 and Phil was already in line - we were soon joined by our burger comrades, and let me say - as the weather was lovely, the company lively, and the smell of burgers, fries and shakes intoxicating, the wait did not seem as long as it was. How long was it? It took about an hour from getting on line to sitting down at a table with our food.
I had a Shack Burger, and it was certainly tasty - the meat quality, which AHT pointed out, is better than most of the inexpensive burgers. My one complaint is that all the burgers are cooked the same (medium), unlike the Burger Joint, where it's cooked to specifications. And while the "shack sauce" was good enough, I didn't think it was out of this world - in fact, it was maybe a little to tangy for me. The french fries would have been disappointing, except that I had cheese fries and I think the cheese was just what these fries needed - very tasty. And the black and white milkshake - heavenly.
A little too heavenly. I had that uncomfortable "I ate too much" feeling, but could not stop sucking down my milkshake. Phil made the mistake of ordering a "concrete" which is a frozen custard. Basically, it's like a very large and very serious DQ blizzard. Phil had the Shack Attack concrete, which was chocolate custard, hot fudge, chocolate truffle cookie dough, valrhona chocolate chunks and chocolate sprinkles (Wendy, this was sooo in your wheel house). As Phil would say, this dessert was no joke. I had one bite and that was more than enough for me. After a double shack burger and fries, Phil did an admirable job on the concrete, but I think he was hurting after the fact. Jeeves had a Chicago dog along with a shack burger and a shake. I think the Shack lived up to our expectations, though Jeeves and I are both inclined to say Burger Joint might have a better burger.
Jason left us and we trudged up to The Ginger Man, and I would have been excited to go there under normal circumstances. GM is primarily known for its ridiculous selection of beers, but at this point a beer was about the last thing my stomach wanted. Phil and Rajeev kept asking if I was okay, but what I really wanted to do was lapse into a burger-induced coma. Instead, I sipped my Lindemann's Peche (delicious) and stared into space, occasionally throwing in my two cents about fantasy baseball, Phil's beard, and my tummy ache. After about an hour, I came to, but it was pretty touch and go there for awhile.
I really did like The Ginger Man, though - it had a really nice, laid back vibe, comfy chairs and the aforementioned beer selection. I would definitely return.
And as for the Shack, I would certainly return there again, so long as I had good company to stand in line with me. And perhaps I could exercise some restraint and lay off the cheese fries. Or the milkshake. But seriously? It was a really good shake.
The Shack opened in 2004. It is, according to its website, a "roadside" foodstand. Here's the deal - you stand in line, order your food, wait for said food, grab a table and eat. Given the inexpensive prices, rave reviews, and quality burger, the lines can be quite long. But as Frank Bruni of the Times puts it, it's the Dairy Queen of Manhattan, and who can pass that up?
I arrived early - at about 7:20 and Phil was already in line - we were soon joined by our burger comrades, and let me say - as the weather was lovely, the company lively, and the smell of burgers, fries and shakes intoxicating, the wait did not seem as long as it was. How long was it? It took about an hour from getting on line to sitting down at a table with our food.
I had a Shack Burger, and it was certainly tasty - the meat quality, which AHT pointed out, is better than most of the inexpensive burgers. My one complaint is that all the burgers are cooked the same (medium), unlike the Burger Joint, where it's cooked to specifications. And while the "shack sauce" was good enough, I didn't think it was out of this world - in fact, it was maybe a little to tangy for me. The french fries would have been disappointing, except that I had cheese fries and I think the cheese was just what these fries needed - very tasty. And the black and white milkshake - heavenly.
A little too heavenly. I had that uncomfortable "I ate too much" feeling, but could not stop sucking down my milkshake. Phil made the mistake of ordering a "concrete" which is a frozen custard. Basically, it's like a very large and very serious DQ blizzard. Phil had the Shack Attack concrete, which was chocolate custard, hot fudge, chocolate truffle cookie dough, valrhona chocolate chunks and chocolate sprinkles (Wendy, this was sooo in your wheel house). As Phil would say, this dessert was no joke. I had one bite and that was more than enough for me. After a double shack burger and fries, Phil did an admirable job on the concrete, but I think he was hurting after the fact. Jeeves had a Chicago dog along with a shack burger and a shake. I think the Shack lived up to our expectations, though Jeeves and I are both inclined to say Burger Joint might have a better burger.
Jason left us and we trudged up to The Ginger Man, and I would have been excited to go there under normal circumstances. GM is primarily known for its ridiculous selection of beers, but at this point a beer was about the last thing my stomach wanted. Phil and Rajeev kept asking if I was okay, but what I really wanted to do was lapse into a burger-induced coma. Instead, I sipped my Lindemann's Peche (delicious) and stared into space, occasionally throwing in my two cents about fantasy baseball, Phil's beard, and my tummy ache. After about an hour, I came to, but it was pretty touch and go there for awhile.
I really did like The Ginger Man, though - it had a really nice, laid back vibe, comfy chairs and the aforementioned beer selection. I would definitely return.
And as for the Shack, I would certainly return there again, so long as I had good company to stand in line with me. And perhaps I could exercise some restraint and lay off the cheese fries. Or the milkshake. But seriously? It was a really good shake.
Memorial Day reminds me of....
Hot days like today remind me of when I lived one town over in Belleville with Liana in our un-air-conditioned apartment. Most of the time it didn't matter, except when it did. My apartment right now is also lacking in the air-conditioning department, a situation I plan on rectifying shortly. Anyway, back in the Belleville apartment, the people in the house next to our building would throw loud parties on holiday weekends, and it seemed like the cops were constantly being called to shut them up, or to split up the domestic dispute of my downstairs neighbors.
My current apartment is in a nice, quiet hood, slightly more upscale than B-ville. It helps that my downstairs neighbor (aka, my landlady) lives with a Nutley cop. Anyway, you can imagine my surprise this evening when I heard cursing and screaming from the street - one of our neighbors was involved in an altercation and it looks like Nutley's finest are just now leaving the scene. So, a little excitement in my quiet neighborhood, at the end of a holiday weekend.
My current apartment is in a nice, quiet hood, slightly more upscale than B-ville. It helps that my downstairs neighbor (aka, my landlady) lives with a Nutley cop. Anyway, you can imagine my surprise this evening when I heard cursing and screaming from the street - one of our neighbors was involved in an altercation and it looks like Nutley's finest are just now leaving the scene. So, a little excitement in my quiet neighborhood, at the end of a holiday weekend.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Rhona Mitra Syndrome
This pretty lady is Rhona Mitra. She's an actress - you might recognize her if you watched Boston Legal or Nip/Tuck. I think she's been in some movies, too. She is also the live model for the video game Lara Croft. Anyway, enough of that. the other day at lunch, Matlock told us that he has been watching Boston Legal, the first season, and that he really liked her. Ever helpful K then told us that one of the other associate's buddies dates her. This buddy is apparently short, a bit pudgy and not rich. He just had the guts to go up to Ms. Mitra in a bar and talk to her. And he has a "great personality."
Matlock was through the roof with joy, which I didn't understand, because suddenly it meant that he had a chance with her. He wouldn't shut up about it. On and on and on until finally when he said, "If I were with her, people would look at me and assume that I had a "great personality" because clearly there would be no other explanation for why she was with me," I responded with "Yeah. And they'd assume she had a really low self-esteem." I immediately felt bad - it was a mean joke.
But I think what got me going was the idea that when average guys (please note that when I say "average" I mean people who don't look like movie stars... and probably not your friends that you refer to as "my hot friend," cause everyone has one) hear about other average guys getting a hot chick, they assume they can do it too. Perhaps that's the attitude to take. But it suddenly seems like the average guy expects, ney, demands a hot chick.
Women don't think like this. First of all, we have no examples to follow. I tried to think of examples of very attractive Hollywood men dating average looking women. I came up with two. Matt Damon's wife was a bartender when he met her. But she's actually pretty cute. This isn't the greatest picture of her, but I've seen her looking downright pretty. And Tobey Maguire's fiancee, Jennifer Meyer is rather homely.... but she's also the daughter of the president of Universal. That was the best I could do. And when I hear about such things, I do think that said girl is lucky, but it never makes me think that I suddenly have a shot with a guy like that.
First off, average girls never think they could get a Brad Pitt. And even if average girl did get Brad Pitt, she would be wracked with neuroses the whole time about how out of her league he is and how all the beautiful women are making eyes at him. But not guys.
I told Kate the story of Rhona Mitra and she repeated it to her co-worker Matt. He said, "I like this story. It makes me think I have a shot with a beautiful woman." When I told Phil that an average looking guy would have no problem being with a woman like Rhona Mitra, Phil exclaimed "I'll be that guy!"
What is this confidence? If you got Rhona Mitra, do you really think you could keep her? I think the difference is that guys don't ponder such mysteries in advance. Guys think, "she's beautiful, I bet we'd have a lot of fun [wink, wink]." They don't consider the rest. Ah well, clearly it can work, and guys are the luckier for it - Rhona and her short, pudgy boyfriend live together now.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Megan, the Meth Lab Operator
One of the lovely parting gifts I got from Kate's bachelorette party was a cold. At first I thought it was just my allergies, and then I thought I could fight it off, but by Friday night, my nose was stuffy and I had to admit I had a cold. The over the counter stuff with phenylephrine wasn't doing the trick, so I knew I was going to have to go up to the counter and ask for the sudafed (or in my case, the cheap store brand alternative).
The reason you now have to ask for any product containing pseudophedrine is because it is one of the main ingredients in crystal meth. Wheeeee! It is also, at least for me, a lot more effective on a stuffy nose (the sudafed, not the meth). I guess meth lab operators like to go in and buy a crapload of sudafed, or they shoplift it, or they bring in a bunch of people to buy a few boxes at a time. And many states now restrict the purchase of sudafed for just this reason. The fair state of Jersey is one of them - you can't buy more than 3 boxes at a time.
So anyway, not all the pharmacies are making you show ID and shit. Target actually took down my name and address, while I was standing there sneezing and snotting all over the place, clutching a bottle of Vitamin C in my other hand. Because clearly, I am running a meth lab, and I need some Target brand non-drying sinus to make my next shipment.
It's not that I necessarily think these statutes are completely horrible, though I do think it's a nuisance and an invasion of my privacy to take down my personal information just because I have a cold and your stupid phenyl whatever product doesn't clear my nose. It's just that it seems like a complete waste of time. I'm pretty sure people who are running meth labs aren't buying their pseudophedrine one box at a time.
I couldn't find anything in the new statute that requires the pharms to take down the personal information on a person buying a single box, but I'll admit I didn't read too closely because I freakin' hate reading statutes in my time off. If they are required, if they aren't required, I come to the same conclusion: the meth lab operators are laughing at us with their gross mouths.
The reason you now have to ask for any product containing pseudophedrine is because it is one of the main ingredients in crystal meth. Wheeeee! It is also, at least for me, a lot more effective on a stuffy nose (the sudafed, not the meth). I guess meth lab operators like to go in and buy a crapload of sudafed, or they shoplift it, or they bring in a bunch of people to buy a few boxes at a time. And many states now restrict the purchase of sudafed for just this reason. The fair state of Jersey is one of them - you can't buy more than 3 boxes at a time.
So anyway, not all the pharmacies are making you show ID and shit. Target actually took down my name and address, while I was standing there sneezing and snotting all over the place, clutching a bottle of Vitamin C in my other hand. Because clearly, I am running a meth lab, and I need some Target brand non-drying sinus to make my next shipment.
It's not that I necessarily think these statutes are completely horrible, though I do think it's a nuisance and an invasion of my privacy to take down my personal information just because I have a cold and your stupid phenyl whatever product doesn't clear my nose. It's just that it seems like a complete waste of time. I'm pretty sure people who are running meth labs aren't buying their pseudophedrine one box at a time.
I couldn't find anything in the new statute that requires the pharms to take down the personal information on a person buying a single box, but I'll admit I didn't read too closely because I freakin' hate reading statutes in my time off. If they are required, if they aren't required, I come to the same conclusion: the meth lab operators are laughing at us with their gross mouths.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Coffee is for Closers
When I was in law school, my buddy Andrew used to always say, "Coffee is for closers." He would say that derisively all the time to anyone who couldn't close a deal, but it was really meant for a guy who couldn't "close the deal" as it were with a woman. It shouldn't require further explanation than that, but you'd be surprised by the number of people who tell me "I don't get it." Simply put - if you spend the night with a woman, you'll be having coffee with her the following morning. If not, you don't get coffee. Coffee is for closers.
I was reminded of that adage while watching Yankees vs. Mets this weekend. I don't entirely blame Mo Rivera for what happened on Friday. It took me over two hours to get to Blondie's on 2nd Avenue, thanks to dreadful tunnel traffic, and while in the car I listened to the Yanks gain the lead, only to have Randy Effing Johnson lose it. He did this not once, but twice.... because he sucks. Still, Mo couldn't hold onto the tie in the 9th, he gave up what probably would have been a double to Wright. Ugh. To make matters worse, there was a drunken Mets fan who kept chanting "Let's go Mets go!" Jeeves, who takes in stride the shenanigans of other bar folk, asked me what the drunkard was saying. I repeated, and he pointed out that it made no sense. "Let's go Mets go?" Yeah. Anyway, the Yankees staff thinks that the Unit's problems are all mechanical. If by mechanical you mean a brain malfunction, then I agree. The guy clearly needs to see a shrink. I've never watched a pitcher fall to pieces so much over having Jose Reyes on first base.
The next day, though, the sweet taste of victory when the Mets closer Billy Wagner blew the lead and allowed the Yanks to tie things up in the 9th inning (they won it later on). Wagner, who walks out to "Enter Sandman" (for you non-baseball fans, Rivera has been coming out to "Sandman" for years - it doesn't really bother me that Wagner uses it, except that I think it's completely unoriginal - can't the Mets closer get his own song? Why use the song that is so associated with another closer - a Yankees closer at that?), has been solid for the Mets, erasing memories of Looper and Benitez. It was a little satisfying to see him choke yesterday.
But what little satisfaction I got was quickly erased. A-Rod. I'm done with him. I want him to succeed because he's a Yankee. But you know what? He can't hack it in a pressure situation. Tonight, men on first and second, one out, the score 4-3 (Giambi had just hit a sac fly to drive in a run), A-Rod... hits into a double play. I knew he would do that, as soon as the announcer said, "And here comes last year's American League MVP." Emphasis on the "last year's" part, please. A-Rod can't hack it in these situation. His batting stats for when there are men on base are pretty pathetic. Say what you will about Johnny Damon, but he played hard tonight, and in fact the whole weekend. Maybe, coming from Boston where the fans are as (if not more) brutal, he's gotten used to performing in these situations. A-Rod hasn't, and still can't.
I'm so tired of bringing on expensive players from less stressful venues who suddenly become total mental cases when they get to NY. Suck it up! You're playing baseball! This isn't rocket science, or surgery or any other career where the weight of the world should rest on your shoulders. This is baseball, where you throw the ball and strike guys out, or you swing the wooden bat and drive in runs. It's that simple. Close the deal! Until then, no goddamned coffee for you.
I was reminded of that adage while watching Yankees vs. Mets this weekend. I don't entirely blame Mo Rivera for what happened on Friday. It took me over two hours to get to Blondie's on 2nd Avenue, thanks to dreadful tunnel traffic, and while in the car I listened to the Yanks gain the lead, only to have Randy Effing Johnson lose it. He did this not once, but twice.... because he sucks. Still, Mo couldn't hold onto the tie in the 9th, he gave up what probably would have been a double to Wright. Ugh. To make matters worse, there was a drunken Mets fan who kept chanting "Let's go Mets go!" Jeeves, who takes in stride the shenanigans of other bar folk, asked me what the drunkard was saying. I repeated, and he pointed out that it made no sense. "Let's go Mets go?" Yeah. Anyway, the Yankees staff thinks that the Unit's problems are all mechanical. If by mechanical you mean a brain malfunction, then I agree. The guy clearly needs to see a shrink. I've never watched a pitcher fall to pieces so much over having Jose Reyes on first base.
The next day, though, the sweet taste of victory when the Mets closer Billy Wagner blew the lead and allowed the Yanks to tie things up in the 9th inning (they won it later on). Wagner, who walks out to "Enter Sandman" (for you non-baseball fans, Rivera has been coming out to "Sandman" for years - it doesn't really bother me that Wagner uses it, except that I think it's completely unoriginal - can't the Mets closer get his own song? Why use the song that is so associated with another closer - a Yankees closer at that?), has been solid for the Mets, erasing memories of Looper and Benitez. It was a little satisfying to see him choke yesterday.
But what little satisfaction I got was quickly erased. A-Rod. I'm done with him. I want him to succeed because he's a Yankee. But you know what? He can't hack it in a pressure situation. Tonight, men on first and second, one out, the score 4-3 (Giambi had just hit a sac fly to drive in a run), A-Rod... hits into a double play. I knew he would do that, as soon as the announcer said, "And here comes last year's American League MVP." Emphasis on the "last year's" part, please. A-Rod can't hack it in these situation. His batting stats for when there are men on base are pretty pathetic. Say what you will about Johnny Damon, but he played hard tonight, and in fact the whole weekend. Maybe, coming from Boston where the fans are as (if not more) brutal, he's gotten used to performing in these situations. A-Rod hasn't, and still can't.
I'm so tired of bringing on expensive players from less stressful venues who suddenly become total mental cases when they get to NY. Suck it up! You're playing baseball! This isn't rocket science, or surgery or any other career where the weight of the world should rest on your shoulders. This is baseball, where you throw the ball and strike guys out, or you swing the wooden bat and drive in runs. It's that simple. Close the deal! Until then, no goddamned coffee for you.
Saturday, May 13, 2006
And a 90% of sugar being poured on her
Tomorrow evening is Kate's bachelorette party. The months of planning, schlepping around NYC - it all comes to a head tomorrow night when a bunch of federal government employees invade the city. Kate called my task tomorrow night "herding cats." True, true.
I asked Kate what she intended to sing at karaoke - she said she wasn't sure, that she never knows till she's in the moment. "Do you think there will be some sugar poured on you?" I asked. "I'd say there's about a 90% chance of sugar being poured." She does love Def Leppard.
So I'll report back after I've recovered from tomorrow evening, at least with the parts that are fit for print.
I asked Kate what she intended to sing at karaoke - she said she wasn't sure, that she never knows till she's in the moment. "Do you think there will be some sugar poured on you?" I asked. "I'd say there's about a 90% chance of sugar being poured." She does love Def Leppard.
So I'll report back after I've recovered from tomorrow evening, at least with the parts that are fit for print.
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