Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Go (St.) Elsewhere

It's a busybusy Tuesday here, and I've got nothing new for you...all I've got is this link to some old Halloween downloads of yore. Enjoy it, or I'll rip your lips off and kiss my ass with them shits.

Have a fun night, and try not to eat too much cock candy tonight.

Slack Google Search Referrals of the Day: Just a couple today -- What is on Drew Brees' face?, Some guy's beatin' up Kid Ray, No Stairway denied and hot naked pics of Bea Arthur's dick.

Slack Video of the Day: As I said on HT earlier, James Brown feels so good during this old interview that he probably can’t feel his face, or the face of the woman he likely just punched.

Slack Song of the Day: In honor of today's holiday, here's Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London. Ah-oooooooooh.

Monday, October 30, 2006

It's a Tradeoff

On the same day fans get word that Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip probably ain't gonna make it, I find out that Arrested Development's brilliant creator is coming back to television with a new series. You take the good with the bad, methinks. C'mon!

And here's a late video addition to this post: This here blog and the following offensive party go together like Asians and homework...



Check that shit out. I don't know who those kids are, but I love 'em.

A Short List of Nixed Costumes

We're throwing our annual Halloween party on the pagan holiday itself, mainly to take full advantage of our apartment's proximity to the bonafide freak-show parade that highlights the evening's municipal festivities. It fortuitously also gives my roommates and I another day to frantically scramble for a costume for our puzzled troika.

It's hard to dress up in threes. It severely limits individual creativity and requires all of us to sign off on the same idea. Last year's decision to regulate the party as referees worked incredibly well on every level, but that was more a result of exceptional improvisational tomfoolery on our part. If my past costumes of freemoneyman Matthew Lesko and fitness celebrity John Basedow weren't indicative enough, I like to get a little more out there than the zebras.

And we've got nuthin' right now. Bupkus. Zilch. Right now we're not even going to our own party. I know this constitutes yet another fuckin' post about Halloween costumes, but here is a brief list of ideas we've thumbed down thus far:

1. The Clitoris: This means that we really wouldn't show up to our own party, but we'd hire one of our friends to say "Oh, those guys're here somewhere" every time a guest inquires as to our whereabouts. Finally we'd emerge as shy, bulbous pink objects around midnight and respond to every query, "What, you having trouble finding us? We were here the whole time, newb. Get a clue." Obviously, there are more flaws here than anything else.

2. The Too Lates: Anyone that's spent some time around here knows we live by the "Too Soon?" School of Comedy. But all too often we forget about the rugged comedic potential of the "Too late?" gag.

Case in point, how about if we went as Jeff Gillooly, Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan and acted like the costumes were hilariously current? What if we dressed as a priest and two avid churchgoers with oversized placards and cups of water, parading around the party as pro-life Terri Schiavo protestors? Elian Gonzalez, Janet Reno and an Army sniper in full regalia? Sid Bream, Francisco Cabrera and Jane Fonda? Alex P. Keaton, Mallory and Skippy? Jason Bateman and the two yutz brohters from Hogan's Family? There's gotta be something funny here, we just haven't found it yet.

3. Snakes on Cory Lidle's Plane: Who doesn't love to combine two disparate themes? This one's perfect, it's got the timeliness and repulsiveness of taking advantage of Lidle's accident and the biggest pop culture reference of the year. I think we need to re-visit this one.

So obviously we're still scrambling...anyone see some classic costumes this weekend we can steal and adapt? Any good ones otherwise?

Slack Link of the Day: On the heels of Natron's homemade Osamalantern pumpkin carving (later re-named Osama bin Lantern by an apt commenter), have a look at some more pumpkin creations.

Slack Band Name of the Day: Snip Snip & The Angry Moyels.

Slack Video of the Day: Ever wanna hear a college football announcer randomly input a "That's kinda gay" into his pass-catching analysis during a live game? Well, now you can scratch that off your list. Thanks, Brian Kinchen.

Slack Viewer-Submitted Video of the Day: Derek L. sent this clip over here late last week, David Bowie's hysterical cameo on the short-lived Ricky Gervais show, Extras. Pathetic little fat man...

Slack Song of the Day: I forced a friend to watch Stop Making Sense this weekend, so I've got Talking Heads on the brain. Off More Songs About Buildings and Food, here's The Girls Want To Be With The Girls, Found a Job, and With Our Love.

Friday, October 27, 2006

A Thought While Stuck in D.C.

I'm not quite an expert on illegal immigration, but I'm pretty close to it. I'd say of all the 27-year-olds in this country, I'm as close to an authority on the subject as you'll find. I don't say this to brag (not that that's "cool" by any means anyway), I'm merely mentioning it to show that I'm fairly well-studied on the issue.

But there is one question to which I can't get to the bottom: Is the government of Mexico exporting all its short Mexicans and keeping all its tall ones? And if so, what purpose does this serve? Are they trying to turn around the fortunes of the national volleyball team? Do they need people to reach the taco shells on the top shelf? Or is this mischievous, and are they trying to reduce the average height of people in the United States? I mean, have you seen one person you thought may be an illegal immigrant that's been taller than 5'4? Jeez, Mexicans, how 'bout gettin' some fucking lifts or something.

Maybe that's what Roommate Dorsey should be for Halloween: a really tall illegal immigrant. I like it. I got nuthin' today. Ignore me.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Not That They All Look Alike

But you gotta admit, this is fucking hilarious...

I'm in our nation's capital for a bit of the ol' business, so posting will be light today and tomorrow...or maybe it won't be. But it probably will. On the bright side, go fuck yourself.

Slack Link of the Day: Take a gander at one of the best opening sentences to a serious article I've seen in quite some time: "A high school principal has decreed that Captain Underpants has no place in an institution of learning." That's just awesome.

Slack Video of the Day: Yesterday we brought you the Holy Grail of music videos, today Matty Mac delivers the greatest collection of television show videos on the Internets: TV Links. Get it while you can, because this seems more illegal than snuffing out a hooker.

Slack Song of the Day: Short on time but long on Dead tunes, here's They Love Each Other, Mississippi Half-Step, and Tennessee Jed.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Public Service Announcement

We've gotten at least 100 search engine referrals here at Slack for "Kim Jong Il Halloween costume" since I published this post about potential holiday get-ups. And using an ancient blogger rubric, I'd venture to guess that 100 million Americans will be dressed as the North Korean dictator this weekend and Tuesday.

So I'd like to take this time to tell everyone that if you're still going to pull off Kim Jong Il, add a little splash to it: Kim Jong Il on a beach vacation, Kim Jong Il in blackface, Kim Jong Il on the Minnesota Twins, Kim Jong Il as a Foot Locker employee, Kim Jong Il with a boner, or maybe you can try some wicked performance art and never break character as Kim Jong Il with the mind of Mark Foley...

And a three-word reminder to the Slackwomen: Slutty Terri Schiavo.

Osamalantern

The following image of an awesomely carved pumpkin isn't a e-mail forward or something I found on the Interweb, this is the strangely amazing work of Lukas' younger brother, Natron. The picture's a little dark, but then again, so are the dank caves of Tora Bora.

Here's a much clearer picture of the Osamalantern taken from a bit farther away. And, yeah, I'm totally phoning it in today...

Slack Link of the Day: I honestly can't figure out the causal connection between the problem and the solution, but maybe you can: "A Canadian city under pressure for alleged sexual harassment within its fire department has ordered firefighters to wear only boxer-style underwear." Perhaps all the pressure on their junk from the tighty whities causes male firefighters to lash out at female firefighters?

Slack Video of the Day: I'll do you one better than just a solitary video, I'll grant you access to the be-all, end-all of video vaults: I Love Music Video. This thing is freakin' awesome.

Slack Song of the Day: Aretha Franklin randomly popped onto my iPod this morning, and forgot how much she sounds like chocolate pudding, in a good way. If chocolate pudding could play music it'd be Sly & The Family Stone. But if it could sing, I think it'd sound like Aretha. You tell me, here's Think, The House That Jack Built, and a super cool take on The Beatles' Eleanor Rigby.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

You Pay Now: An Adventure in Haggling

Sometimes you just never know what awaits you at the dry cleaners.

I was simply on my way home from work -- yup, straight home and out of these work clothes. But as I walked up the subway steps I realized my dress slacks were a touch dirtier than what's typically considered acceptable, and that jarred my memory's short-term errand roster: you must pick up dry cleaning.

Upon entering the establishment I sensed a little tension, and as I wafted in a full breath of Korean-American air, my original suspicions were confirmed. A straggly haired Jewish lady in her 60s, whose recent restaurant acquisition of 10 Splenda packets and a silverware set was drastically offset by a net loss of shekels at the weekly Mah Jongg game, stood tenaciously defiant in her belief that the proprietor of this dry cleaner had failed in his service-sector duty to properly repair her stretchy exercise pants. Did I make up the Splenda/Mah Jongg part? Probably, but you never know.

He's my regular dry cleaner but I don't know his name...so let's call him Mr. Kim. The two of us talk all the time, but I only understand every seventh word he wheezes. I know he quit smoking when he lost circulation in his legs. I know the way he says "circulation" is really awesome. I know he loves both the Yankees and the Mets, so he clearly wants to please everybody. But above all else, he's never done wrong by me and he always smiles when I walk in. In other words, he gets the benefit of the doubt here.

I walked into some light haggling (her reliogosity just a coincidence). She had the stitched goods in hand by the door; he puffed his cheeks behind the counter and clutched the receipt. They both looked pissed. [Let's call her] Estelle was adamant that Mr. Kim's subpar work would not be compensated at full cost, and he was rhythmically chanting "You pay now! You pay thirty!" back at her. She offered $15 in return for a "terruhble jawb."

With her stretchy exercise pants safely secured in a plastic bag, she then attempted to flee without paying. Mr. Kim instinctly jumped out from behind the counter with the closing speed of a shutdown cornerback, blocking the door before she could even grab the handle. "Don't you touch me," she bellowed, and for the first time the Mexican assistant and I locked eyes and telepathically agreed: what the fuck? [ed. note, I'm not racist on that last point, the dude actually is from Mexico, the World Cup brought us together.]

They paused for a second, and Mr. Kim decided to institute a quick cooldown period, saying he had another customer -- me. He went back behind the counter and made a move for my clothes. That's when she made a move for the door and ran for it. Out she scurried, followed closely by a surprisingly cat-like, diminutive elderly Asian former ninja. I looked at my Mexican friend and shrugged. He smiled, but he looked pretty tired.

Then I heard Estelle scream. "Call the police! Help! Call the police! Help me!" She yelled all the way down the street and a crowd began to form. I walked outside and saw Mr. Kim bearhugging the woman from behind almost as if he were sizing her up for a belly-to-back suplex, also known as a German suplex. He reached around her and grabbed for the bag that contained the pilfered patched pants, trying to gain possession and a bit of upper hand.

The crowd grew, and her screams grew louder as well. Mr. Kim tried to drag Estelle back into the store, and she resisted with all her might like each of my last few dates. There was now a full-on tug of war taking place over these pants, on a public street. At that point an Eastern European woman in her late 30s/early 40s walked up calmly and said, "I get my clothes dry cleaned here, what's the problem?" It's as if she flashed a badge, but no, all that qualified her to mediate this dispute was a non-threatening face and some old laundry invoices.

The sudden mediator declared she "used to work in fashion" and asked to see the pants; the lady obliged. We stepped back into the store -- Mr. Kim, Estelle, Mediator, Random Guy and me -- and the screaming returned. At that point I filled our reluctant adjudicator in on what had transpired, and the other four held on my every word like this was sworn testimony. I told it like I saw it, and the mediator asked Estelle if all this were true.

She then threw $20 at Mr. Kim and yelled "You fucking owe me five dollahs, you gawdamn cheater," which was met with a resounding "No, you owe me now, you get out of he-ah now." With small claims court avoided and both sides unhappily happy with the brokered deal, it was time for Estelle to walk out and for Mr. Kim to blow off steam with some old-fashioned venting. Obviously I was the recipient of that venting, of which I only understood every thirteenth word.

"Just let it go, calm down, everyone's got shitty customers, right? Just gotta shake this one off, forget about that stupid bitch, you were right the whole time" I told Mr. Kim. He seemed to agree and retrieved my clothes -- oh yeah, all I wanted was my dry cleaning, and here I've been watching and partially refereeing a more awkward fight than Screech and Horshack.

"Twenty-four fifty," Mr. Kim told me, showing me the receipt. I looked at him as stone-faced as I could get and said forcefully, "No way! I'll give you half." If ever there were an award for Best Ad Lib Joke That Cracked Up the West Village Homosexter Behind You In Line at the Dry Cleaners, I'd be giving my acceptance speech right now.

Even Mr. Kim laughed at what had just transpired. What can I say, like Dr. Allan Pearl, I love breaking people up.

Slack Plug of the Day: Today I'm pimping myself out, which sounds kinda like blog masturbation. Our brand new live music blog Hidden Track is almost one whole week old today, so go check it out and make me smile downstairs.

Slack Link of the Day: Usually it's one and done, but today I've got a couple of things I think youse'll wanna read: How Borat hoaxed America, Police hunt train defecator, Men who use mobile phones face increased risk of infertility (um, isn't that every dude?), and this article about kinky sex ed at a Canadian university that contains the instant classic quote: "It's not sexy sex sex, where we're talking about whips and chains, but we will talk about whips and chains."

Slack Video of the Day: See the post below, Best MOS Ever.

Slack Song of the Day: I've got some moe. on the brain this morning, so let's head back to 2/10/05 for the Tsunami Benefit with John Medeski, Sam Bush and Trey. This definitely ranked as the best show I saw last year, an all-night rager that sprung out of nowhere to floor an unsuspecting crowd. Here's Plane Crash, Rebubula, Night Speaks To a Woman and Peaches en Regalia.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Best M.O.S. Ever

If you want to watch the best man-on-the-street interview in the history of journalism, look no further than this not-safe-for-work and not-safe-for-arousal clip from CTV: Equilibrium in Canada.

You can all thank Red Cowboy for forwarding this video to me.

Those Guys

We were clearly Those Guys this weekend. You know, those guys that show up in a small group at their old fraternity house during their five-year reunion and talk about how they "totally used to live right here" and how they "always got really fucked up, man."

Oh yeah, we really were those guys this weekend. I used to hate those guys. My my, how things have changed.

One day in March or April, on a night when the weather is turning the corner towards acceptably warm, these kids will be sitting around playing Beirut or hitting a hookah, and one of them will groggily turn to another and say, "You dudes remember when those fucking losers came by on homecoming and asked us about party themes we've never heard of and strange customs we've never done? Ha, what a bunch of dorks. Whatever, come here and let me fondle your balls in a totally heterosexual way, brah."

But the kids are allright...they got us high and seemed friendly enough that we barged through their doors on a Friday afternoon. Only, about a half-hour after we arrived, two of them made those "I have a little work I need to take care of, so..." maneuvers. I know that maneuver well, having performed it on numerous occasions, and considering it was the Friday afternoon of homecoming weekend, we took the hint and soon departed. Those guys.

Following a shitshow of a bar night on Friday in downtown Chicago, we woke up for the football tailgate before 9 am and tried to rid ourselves of a collective wicked hangover. Six-foot bong hits may have done the trick, but we're supposed to be civilized now, five years out of college and all. We went into the game and sat in complete amazement at how awesome our alma mater was playing: We were annihilating Michigan State, on homecoming weekend.

When Joel Howells missed a chip shot field goal just before halftime, I suggested to everyone that we make a move back to our host's apartment. We'd taken a healthy 24-3 lead and the skies looked somewhat gray. So here was my reasoning: "Guys, it's either gonna start raining in the next 15 minutes or we're gonna blow this 24-3 lead and have to sit here watching it unfold. Let's go back to the apartment and order a huge pizza, we've already seen all we need to see. Let's go out on top, nothing to gain, a whole lot to lose."

How prophetic I turned out to be. The rain held off and the sun came out, but we allowed MSU to pull off the biggest comeback victory in history of Division 1-A football. Leading 38-3 by the time we got home and ordered that Chicago-style pizza, Northwestern proceeded to give up 38 points in the final 25 minutes of the game, losing on a last-minute field goal. Seriously, let me repeat that in layman's terms: We suck balls, and we knew this would happen.

That loss was just the beginning of my horrid sports weekend. Not only did my school give up a 35-point lead in the second half, but Matt Bryant kicked a 62-yard field goal through the uprights at the last second to knock me out of my huge-money suicide pool, a fairly aptly named pool right about now. Don't worry, though, I have another pick. Oh no, that's right, Houston's murdering of Jacksonville assured that I'd not pick again this calendar year.

What a horrendous weekend of sporting for me. I can only praise Jebus for my fantasy football juggernaut righting the ship and for the surprising 4-3 Jets...man, whoever thought I'd be saying that this season?

Slack Link of the Day: Yes, this is the type of society in which we should all live and play: "See a smoker in Omaha? Dial 9-1-1." That's right, if someone is smoking a cigarette in public in Omaha, you're supposed to call the police, and not just the police, but emergency response. Seems totally logical. Also, check out the picture and caption they use for the article; talk about a journalistic non-sequitor.

Slack Video of the Day: And just when you thought politics could never be funny again, here's the President of These United States telling former Beltway sexual icon George Snuffleupagus that they've "never been stay the course" in Iraq. That's rich.

Okay, so nobody cares about politics. Well then, I guess you can watch this awesome video of the Indian Thriller instead, courtesy of Slack reader Eric @ MSU.

Slack Song of the Day: I watched most of the always incredible Stop Making Sense concert film on Saturday for what seems like the 1,000th time, and it continues to blow me away. Both musically and aesthetically, it doesn't get all that much better than this thing. In honor of this weekend's viewing, here's Talking Heads with Crosseyed and Painless, Thank You For Sending Me an Angel, and Life During Wartime from Jonathan Demme's 1984 masterpiece.

Friday, October 20, 2006

Off To Chicago

You're on your own today, kiddos...if yous're looking for some action, you can either check out the trailer for the new Guest/Levy vehicle, For Your Consideration, or you can read my fanboy review of the Beck show from Wednesday night. The choice is yours, Slackers.

A handful of quick notes on the NLCS Game 7, just because:

1. Willie Randolph made two horrendous pitching non-decisions in this game. Lost in the shuffle of Endy Chavez's incredible catch was the fact that Oliver Perez should not have been left in to pitch to Scott Rolen. The Mets entered the game needing five solid innings from Perez, and he gave them five and a third better-than-expected frames. At that point Willie should have brought in The Ageless Hispanic, Roberto Hernandez, and he got lucky when Chavez bailed him out. And, of course, there's the obvious point: You win or lose the game with Wagner on the mound in the ninth. Heilman deserved to get smacked around just for Willie's stupid gamble.

2. First and second, no out in the ninth...isn't this the spot where you actually play National League beisbol, pull back Cliff Floyd (or Chris, as McCarver says) from the on-deck circle and insert a guy into order who can bunt the runners into scoring position? I'm not saying that's the correct move, but with Uncle Cliffy all hobbled and slap hitter Jose Reyes on deck, that sure seemed like the right decision to me.

3. Donnie Fiedler's back, and he and his newlywed bride joined me for the game. We decided that the Flying Molina Brothers and their proud patriarch would be utterly insane if they didn't open a Molina Sperm Bank for all the potential parents that want an heir in the mold of an excellent defensive catcher with a classic backstop build. Guaranteed millions, an investment for the ages. Now all they need is just a little bit of seed money. I'm fucking great at puns.

Anyway, onto the World Series. Have a stellar weekend. Dit-ka.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Look Like You're Fighting Dragons...In The Future

...Like the guy on the $4,000 Segway is gonna hold the online auction for the guy who doesn't make that in three months, c'mon!

For all the wealthy Arrested Development fans out there, get in on this exciting opportunity to buy GOB's used scooter.

Rumor has it, this purchase comes with an extra bowl of candy beans. Not sure about Sitwell's dress eyebrows or The Cornballer.

Send Lawyers, Guns & Money

This is a couple of days old, but if you haven't seen this ad, I guess you can say it's new to you. I've never been one to figuratively fellate the South Park dudes, but you know you've reached the top when you can put this full-page ad in Variety thanking your lawyer. Anybody order a Loveburger? Well done.

As if the South Park movie and Team America: World Police weren't hilarious enough, these yokesters go and do something like this...and toooootally redeem themselves. From what, I really don't know, but that line just popped into my head.

Fuck, I just quoted Can't Hardly Wait and Dumb and Dumber in the span of two horrific sentences. Good lord, my well is running dry.

Slack Link of the Day: Ever think to yourself, "If only there were a way for Major League Baseball to make more cash?" Well, your prayers have been answered, and MLB will now be urning money decomposed hand over rotting fist. Good times.

Slack Video of the Day: Before the copyright infringement police roll in with the tanks, let's watch one of Family Guy's greatest post-hiatus bits: Osama Outtakes.

Slack Video of the Day II: Even better than that one, check out this absolutely hysterical clip of monkeys doin' it in the wild, with some classic voice over-dubbing. Make sure to put on some headphones or turn the voume down, but you gotta hear this hilarity...

Slack Song of the Day: I saw Beck for the first time ever last night, and holy hell was that an incredible show. Unbelievable at times. I'll have a full review up over on Hidden Track some time this afternoon, but for now, enjoy some of my favorite songs that the band played last night: He opened with Loser > Black Tambourine, closed with Where It's At and encored with a rockin' E-Pro. In the middle there were live puppets, simulated bear sex, a dinner table breakdown and blown away fans everywhere. Craisins.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Papa's Got a Brand New Blog

I've been teasing it for a few weeks now, but your very own Ace Cowboy's got a new music venture for youse to peruse.

The good folks over at Glide Magazine have commissioned me to write and edit a new blog as part of their grand re-design of the site. Both the blog and Glide's re-design went live last night, and we're now officially up and running.

It's still fairly basic and only contains a few introductory posts, but if you hang around here and think we have somewhat similar tastes in music, you're gonna like it over there. Feel free to get involved in the comments section, and remember to check out Glide 3.0, which now features one of the coolest Media Centers on the Interweb.

So without any further (Freddy) ado, I present to you: Hidden Track.

About Dennis Green

I don't exactly love quoting Eric Cartman as the voice of reason, but I feel I must this morning: "What's the big fuckin' deal, bitch?"

Maybe I'm just being contrarian here, but I personally don't think Dennis Green's meltdown ranks anywhere near the all-time greats. Whatever, so the guy repeated the same stupid line a few times a couple minutes removed from a tough loss. I'd have thought it much more classic if he painted himself purple and yelled, "Call me Grimace, motherfuckers. I said call me fucking Grimace!"

As it stands, the Denny Green meltdown didn't do it for me. It doesn't hold a candle to Jim Mora's "Playoffs?" rant, or even Mora's "Diddly-Poo" blow-up, nor does it approach Iverson's repetitive "Talkin' but practice" nonsense, or Hal McRae's phone-throwing tantrum, or Lee Elia's classic "Fuck You" to Cubs fans that may never be matched.

But nothing -- nothing! -- will ever top John Chaney's barging into John Calipari's press conference to shout "I'll keel ya" and "Next time I see you, I'm-a gonna kick yo' ass." Can it ever get better than that? Take a look at this short clip and tell me with a straight face that Denny Green comes near this shit...



That's what I thought. Otherwise, I'll fucking keel you.

Slack Link of the Day: In a strange and unprecedented move, I'm linking to the UEFA Champions League scoreboard as a serious reminder that today at 2:30 ET on ESPN2, the asshats from Chelsea host the defending European champs, FC Barcelona.

Chelsea lost not one but two keepers in their EPL match against Reading this past weekend, so they start a third-stringer named Hilario, which is somewhat hilarious. But this should be the international match of the year so far. I'm predicting 2-1 Chelsea at the Bridge, with goals by Didier Drogba and Awful Frank Lampard.

My Stevie Gerrard-less Liverpool squad takes on Bordeaux today, and hopefully the Reds can walk away with all three points. My message to Buster Bluth lookalike and Liverpool manager Rafa Benitez: Start Peter Crouch today, he's the only striker who can find the net right now, even if he does look like the world's tallest halogen lamp.

Slack Video of the Day: No intro needed: In an ideal world...

Slack Song of the Day: Even though he's everywhere these days, I'm feeling the Robert Randolph vibe this morning...have a little Voodoo Chile, 3 Stroke and The March from the 2002 Mountain Aire Festival.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

At Least He Didn't Cut Off An Ear

Here's a schadenfraude-filled riddle: What happens when one flilthy rich dude with a serious peripheral vision problem tries to sell a $139 million painting to another filthy rich dude?

If you guessed that the seller punctured a two-inch tear through the canvas with his elbow while speaking to his guests, nullifying the impending record sale, you'd be entirely correct. And so goes the entertaining story of billionaire hotelier Steve Wynn's attempted sale of Picasso's La Rêve to billionaire fund manager Steven Cohen.

Check out these two fascinating recaps that my man Coach just brought to my attention: the news story from The New Yorker and then Nora Ephron's riveting first-hand account in The Huffington Post.

Wild Foosball Notes

Many sardonic thanks to Neil (and Bob) Rackers and the rest of the fancypants Arizona Quitters for blowing a 20-0 lead at home without allowing an offensive touchdown from that Jew-sounding quarterback and the rest of the inept Bears.

The Cards almost managed to knock out 102 people of the remaining 456 from my huge-ducats suicide pool, but then they decided to blow goats (I have proof) and grant the dead men walking a lucky reprieve. I hope Denny Green falls down in the shower and hits his misshaped skull on the side of the tub. Fucking amateurs.

Arizona's hopes for a win were dashed late when former Miami Hurricane Devin Hester gangbanged his way more than 80 yards down field for a huge punt return to put the Bears on top for good. Hester's old collegiate associates at The U aren't celebrating their own 35-0 weekend victory, having brawled with Florida International on Saturday and bringing shame on both their houses.

My favorite part of the Miami Melee story is that former Hurricane and current Comcast color(ed) commentator Lamar Thomas got fired for his downright thuggish remarks on television during the fight. Thomas screams, "You come into our house, you should get your behind kicked. You don't come into the OB playing that stuff. You're across the ocean over there. You're across the city. You can't come over to our place talking noise like that. You'll get your butt beat. I was about to go down the elevator to get in that thing."

But Thomas didn't stop there. He continues: "I say, why don't they just meet outside in the tunnel after the ball game and get it on some more? You don't come into the OB, baby...We've had a down couple years but you don't come in here talking smack. Not in our house." Not in our house is exactly where you'll be for the next home game.

That's still not my favorite part of the story, though. I really love it how the Comcast general manager that had to fire Lamar Thomas for such gangsta commentating was none other than Mark Fuhrman. No, not that fuckface Mark Fuhrman, but the unfortunate name struck a chord of hilarity with me when I read the story. Maybe he planted those foolish comments in Thomas' brain waves.

I doubt it, however, considering Thomas' sordid history. My esteemed colleague Jake Zebra pointed me to this Deadspin post that cites an extensive rap sheet for the former Hurricane and Miami Dolphin. As Zeebs put it so eloquently in the parlance of The Simpsons, "Allegedly, one of the times that he was arrested for assault and battery on his pregnant fiancee was during a July 4th barbecue. BBBQ, what's the extra B for? BYOBB. What's that extra B for? Battery."

Either way, what'dya mean there ain't no brawl?

Slack Link of the Day: Peace love dope! For those of you familiar with the indie-ish band Two Gallants, check out this written and visual recap from the duo's show in Houston on Friday. Jambase has a full account of the Gestapo Houston Police-infused shennanigans.

(If you want a real kick out of this story, check out the Houston Chronicle version, in which the police department is quoted as praising the officer for not shooting up the place.)

Slack Video of the Day: This one really is a must see: "Stephen Wiltshire is a human camera. He’s an autistic man who accurately draws entire cities from memory after a single 45-minute helicopter ride — right down to the correct number of windows in each building." Gotta watch Wapner. Yeah, Wapner.

Slack Song of the Day: I don't know why, but I've got a strange hankering for Les Claypool and his Flying Frog Brigade playing Thela Hun Ginjeet. And now, here it is.

Monday, October 16, 2006

You're Killin' Me, Smalls

Dear Levi's®:

You guys are serious dicks. Allow me to explain a moment: Every single morning in which I've slept in my own bed for the last five-plus years, I've been woken from glorious slumber by the studio rendition of Steven Wonder's Superstition.

It's the first song on a disc that Hoobs created some time in the 1997-98 academic year, and it's been stuck in my CD alarm clock since I graduated college. Every morning, like clockwork -- hey, so that's where that expression comes from -- the familiar introductory drumbeat appears out of nowhere and I pop right out of bed to press the snooze button. Three Superstition intros later, I'm in the shower.

So now this fucking denim-pusher thinks it can just use this awesome song in its latest commercial with no repurcussions to the general public. But I'll tell you what gets screwed by this: my sleep cycle.

Twice now, when I've been half-asleep, drifting off into nighttime affairs well after midnight, the television program I use to pacify me as white noise went to commercial, and what should come on in its stead? The mersh for Levi's Fucking Coolpants, featuring the familiar introductory drumbeat of Superstition on full blast.

And like some poor Pavlovian schmuck trained to rise from the depths of dreamhood when this song begins, I've hopped right out of nigh-repose, out of bed, making a quick a move towards the snooze button. Then I realize it's only a drill, and I pray to all that is holy I can get back to sleep as fast as possible. Both times, it's taken a solid half-hour to return to my state of near-dormancy.

Levi's®, you bastards, pick another song. I suggest "Wiggle It" by 2 In a Room or Wall of Voodoo's "Mexican Radio."

Thanks,
A. Cowboy

Slack Google Searches of the Day (or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Random Search Engine Referrals): Jeannie Zelasko boobs pictures, people suck in law school, grandmama fuking, spongebob leatherpants, Geico commercial about Virginia Ham, "the finger thing means taxes", Cade McNown pregnant, Steve Lyons pulls down pants umpire, dog mushrooms, and my new favorite: "What do Jim Nantz, Dan Rather, Star Jones and Kenny Rogers share?" For real, though, I'd love to know the answer to that last query.

Slack Link of the Day: Believe it or not, the balance of the article with this lede -- "A school principal has resigned and could face felony firearm charges after he shot and killed two orphaned kittens on school property last month" -- actually makes his defense sound fairly plausible. Besides, fuck everything that's not human. I do.

Slack Video of the Day: This weekend we witnessed the greatest brawl in college football history since the Texas State Armadillos fought the #1 Texas Colts. Who else, but The U would throw down so mightily? Say goodnight, Coach Coker, your boys just signed your very own death warrant.

Slack Song of the Day: From the You Learn Something New Every Day Files, Johnny C. informed me the other night that Randy Newman is the author and original performer of Three Dog Night's Mama Told Me Not To Come. How is it possible I never knew that? How is it possible I've never heard his version? Where were you on that one, dipshits?

Friday, October 13, 2006

Early Halloween Help

It's Friday the 13th, or so everyone seemingly wants me to know this morning. I got it, dudes. But a day like this in October does mean one thing to me, an early chance to discuss classic Halloween costumes.

My favorite costume in recent years required a little bit of work on my part: I spent a few hours cutting out large question marks and velcroing them onto a wacky-colored suit to tranform myself into money man Matthew Lesko. Free! Fitness Celebrity John Basedow wasn't a bad one either, although that costume kinda slipped under most people's radars. Now I'm looking for a good idea this year, and I figured I'd think out loud in case youse want to steal something...

The "Too Soon?" category is filling up fast: The Halloween Gods recently added Cory Lidle with airplane parts to the group that already includes the Crocodile Hunter with a stingray coming out of his chest. And if you want to crash a high-school party, you can always dress up like a congressman with a raging erection in one hand and a computer keyboard in the other, saying OMG LOL UR HOT!!! all night.

If I were black I'd go as Kim Jong Il, because that could be one of the funniest sights of all time. You can't put a price on telling people "I'm Black Kim Jong Il." Another one of my all-time favorite ideas is the devil on vacation: horns, pitchfork, red face, red clothes, with zinc on the nose, board shorts, sandals and a fruity beach drink. I've also been a big fan of Darth Brooks, part-country singer and part-evil Sith Lord. Or Goth Brooks. The most unexpected costume I saw last year that I'd like to see again: Steve Prefontaine. I also hope someone goes as "bird flu" this Halloween.

For the woman out there...Instead of a slutty schoolteacher or skanky nurse, transform yourself into a slutty Terri Schiavo or a skanky Janet Reno this year. Instead of a whored-up librarian, what about a whored-up Kathy Bates? Or, if that whole style's not your thing, you can always go as Jamie Lee Curtis from True Lies, just so when people ask, you can say "C'mon! I'm Jamie Lee Curtis from True Lies!" all night long. That could be pretty fun.

My suggestion for the couples? The obvious one relies on blackface: Condoleezza Rice and Steadman. When people find out who you two are and remark smugly, "Isn't Oprah the one with Steadman?," you can reply, "Whatfuckingever, they all look alike."

I always thought Hall & Oates would make a great costume for a couple. What about peace and quiet (one hippie, one mime)? Angelina Jolie and a little African child? The Google and YouTube merger? Can you dress like a merger? And, hey, there's always Colorado's favorite duo, John Mark Karr and JonBenet Ramsey.

Whatever you do, just remember, you have to wear the costume all night long, so make it count and make it funny.

Unrelated note of randomness: Has there ever been a worse week to be a Yankee fan? First the Bronx Nine stuns its fans with a stunning loss to Le Tigre, then the fan base weeps over the tragic loss of Cory Lidle. But as if those losses weren't enough, a show appropriately titled Lost re-aired actual footage of the last out of the 2004 World Series. Only about 20 million people re-lived the Yankums' rival celebrating their first championship in eight-plus decades on national television. Just pile it on, dicks.

Slack Link of the Day: Here's a late addition to the battle for Best Piece of Journalism Ever: "Canada troops battle 10-foot Afghan marijuana plants." This thing is loaded with goodies, so I don't even need a joke here.

Slack Video of the Day: I wanted to post this clip yesterday, but we went dark on the multimedia front as a result of unintended funereal time constraints. So it's a day late, but certainly not a dollar short.

Move over Merkle, England goalkeeper Paul Robinson made one of the all-time international boners against Croatia on Wednesday during a sad 2-0 loss in Zagreb. Hey Paul, there's a dude on the phone who says his name's Andres Escobar, says he's calling from heaven, or hell, and he says you're lucky you don't live in Medellin. Poor form, ol' chap. (And by the way, the announcers provide a great call on this...)

Slack Song of the Day: A StreamStash mix for this gloriously cold Friday -- Funky Bitch (Son Seals), Heart & Soul (Huey Lewis), Sometimes I Rhyme Slow (Nice & Smooth), Every Time You Go Away (Paul Young), and Rich Girl (Hall & Muthafuckin' Oates, yo).

Slack Plug of the Day: For the stockpickers in the house, check out this new user-friendly and newb-friendly technical analysis site that a friend of mine launched recently. I can't vouch for his grammar and punctuation, but the dude really knows what he talking about. The Chart Guy, get over there and make piles of cash.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Fuck You, THAT'S My Name

I'm off to a non-Lidle funeral for my dear friend's grandfather today, so I'll leave you with this picture of Alec Baldwin trying to pass through a police line on the Upper East Side yesterday.

I must say, after his awesome performance in The Departed (by the way, go see this movie immediately), I say the police have no right to hold him back. Let this man pass, he's a fucking genius with a hard G.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

You Just Blew My Mind

So I'm sure by now you've all heard a small aircraft crashed into a building on New York's Upper East Side. While terrorism has been all but ruled out, someone just pointed out to me that 9/11/01 turned upside down is 10/11/(0)6. That's fuckin' trippy, man.

Update: Minds are blown even more...apparently Cory Lidle died in this plane crash, one of the stranger developments I could ever imagine. Just fucking crazy; craisins even. It's a terrible joke, but I just got a text message from Scuffy McGee that read, "I never knew Cory Lidle was Muslim." Too soon for sure, my friend.

It's seriously insane to think that had the Yankees not completely blown the ALDS, Lidle and his flight instructor would still be alive right now. The Tigers are certainly with the terrorists. Also, I hope Mike & the Mad Dog feel a bit guilty about this, as they beat the shit out of him on the air and twisted everything he said the other day.

Cory Lidle, may you rest in peace.

I Seen It

Who knew "Corso" was Italian for "half-a-fag?" Nice dong, guy.

I don't know what's funnier, the sign itself or the fact that if Hunky Herbstreit turns to his right he'll be swallowing that thing whole.

Slack Link of the Day: Move over Vikings' sex boat, Vince Lombardi's Packers used to stuffed some broad who's now running for state office in Wisconsin. Not quite as cool as the "Mark Chmura abuses prom girls" affair, which gave new meaning to the "If there's grass on the field" cliche, but a juicy sex story always gets the blood flowing.

Slack Video of the Day: Paul Butterfield's sit-in with The Band for a badass Mystery Train is by far the most underrated collaboration in The Last Waltz, and that's just a load of malarkey. To right this wrong and make up for our failure, let's all watch this greatness together.

Slack Song of the Day: Here we go with the first two songs that randomly came up on the iPod this morning: Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine, This Must Be the Place and Can You Guess It?

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

George Bush Doesn't Care About Purplish Muppets

I'm a sucker for odd remixes and I'm short on time today...

So add a little Kanye to MahnaMahna and you've got the goods...

(On an unrelated note, someone just randomly came to this here rag searching for "Chinaman numbing agent" on Google. That's a surefire all-timer.)

Open Thread: Staring Blankly

I'm a total Schiavo right now. I'm going on limited sleep following a four-day bender of sorts, where the setlist looks something like this:

Don & Irene's Rehearsal Dinner > Post-Rehearsal Dinner Bar Night* > Wedding Shit and Official Pictures > Raucous Wedding** > Wedding Brunch > NFL Football with the fellas > Trey @ Webster Hall Night One^ > Full Day of Work*** > Trey @ Webster Hall Night Two^

*Handstand the Younger found later on the bar bathroom floor
**somehow with repeated chants of my name all night by the band
***with "nodding off at the desk" teases
^Big Red & Co. were more on fire than a Great White show

So, with a heavy heart and dimwitted brain, I must issue a warning that it'll be slow goings today here at Slack while I complete my business and earn my keep. Instead, I turn the blog over to the inmates: Sound off on whatever the hell youse wanna discuss...

Slack Link of the Day: Wanna know what's even better than an article showing the incredibly mismanaged Democratic Party has a serious chance to take back the House? Pie charts!

Slack Video of the Day: Allright, bear with me...I know, I know, two days in a row of heady heady grilled cheese eatin' hippie shit ain't what you're lookin' for. But until the new music venture officially gets off the ground (this week?), this is where I'm spouting my love of redheaded raunchy-toned guitarists and lighting geniuses that luck out and get to play smaller venues like Webster Hall.

Night Two of Trey's CD release party certainly did not disappoint, and I couldn't be happier with my last-minute decision to attend the second night of the homestand. The Mr. Completely jam may just have been the best thing I've heard Trey's bands play since the breakup of the popular rock band Phish, and I'm waiting intently and patiently for the My Friend > Guyute > My Friend acoustic with the string quintet to surface on YouTube. Other videos from last night's fiasco fiesta: Push On Til the Day and Heavy Things.

Slack Song of the Day: Because I work for you, what's the opposite of all this Trey schtick? Faith No More's Epic.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Reeeshard, I Am In The Middle Of A Speeesh Here

I used to be a public speaker, back when I was a kid. I could get up in front of any group, any size, as long as I could hear myself talk.

Then I went to wicked smaht kids college, and as I listened to all these pompous dipshits ask equally pompous questions in lectures and bloviate on issues they barely comprehended with these ill-informed meandering opinions in smaller discussion sections, I quickly realized, "Holy shit, everyone sounds really fucking stupid when they speak in public...all the time. Do I sound like this lickbag here?"

Ever since, I automatically clam up just about every time I have to open my mouth with a big audience present. True story. Also true is that I'm a severe head case. While I sweat public speaking and fear it more than a beard of Africanized bees (man, that's racist!), I'm actually pretty good at it. My track record is proven, having delivered a kickass best man speech for my brother and four large rehearsal dinner toasts that tore the house down.

Still, I always break into an abnormal sweat and sometimes feel the vomit reversing course on Peristalsis Trail before the big moment. So part of me had been dreading this weekend almost as much as I had been anticipating it: Making a best man speech at your best friend's wedding is a nerve-shattering experience. Of course I had some good bits, and the sentimental stuff came easy, but I didn't think it was captivating and funny enough for my liking.

And even though I'm a speechwriter professionally, I turned to another (more famous) writer friend for help with the text. He bestowed upon me a hilarious stream of thought with which to close out the extended toast, and I adapted it and delivered it as well as I could have. Since he was kind enough to share it with me, I'd like to post it here, with the hope that if you're a best man and you're stuck, you can use this little self-deprecating bit yourself:

At this time, I'd like to give Don and Irene my advice on my idea of a successful marriage. Now, I'm not married myself, so some of you might think I'm probably underqualified to give such advice. But I have intimate carnal relations so infrequently that it actually seems like I'm married, so here's what I have to say on the subject...

Then add your own little bit of solemn and scholarly advice, specific to the couple. Remember to pause for chuckles along the way, and make sure to play it straight, no smiles. The bit also worked out superbly because the drummer hit me with an impromptu rimshot after I delivered the infrequent sex punchline. I turned to thank him, and before I knew it, I was doing Conan O'Brien style kicks and thrusts in sync with the drummer. Can't put a price on good luck. But you can put a price on an awesome line like that: seven dollars.

It's a shame Donnie got hitched on the same day Detroit knocked our beloved Yank'ums out of the playoffs, but that's another story for another time. I need at least three days to digest this development and think about what I'd like to see happen before I make any public comment about it. I hope we can refrain from discussing this in the comments until I let the good times roll.

Slack Link of the Day: New Orleans is back...well, at least the awesome immorality has returned to the city: "It's 'like the Super Bowl' for sex workers, said Deputy Chief James Scott, commander of the Police Department's Intelligence Division." Road trip?

Slack Video of the Day: The redheaded fuckface brought along a new drummer to Webster Hall for his CD release party last night, and what a difference a band member makes. I went in with low expectations, but Trey pulled an evil-eyed rabbit out of his hat.

Aforementioned drummer Jeff Sipe really makes that band; he was worth the price of admission alone. Bassist Tony Hall is much better with Jeff, too, and I find it pretty strange how one man changes the whole dynamic. Funny, Jimmy Herring saves Panic, Sipe saves Trey: Col. Bruce Hampton must be smiling right now at his cohorts' new adventures in bandsitting. Aquarium RESCUE Unit, indeed.

Last night's second-set Plasma was monstrous, obnoxious, the jam to end all Trey jams, worthy of the popular rock band Phish, in my opinion. Throw in Night Speaks and Gotta Jibboo around that time in the second set, and you had magic. Another highlight was the trumpet solo Jen Hartswick took on Alive Again at the end of the first set, which was incredible, simply amazing. Great show, it's craisins how much you love everything with no expectations.

The song of the night was clearly the acoustic Divided Sky with a five-piece string quintet, the talk of the Interweb today. I captured about 51 seconds of it, having wanted to film a bit for posterity but not wanting to ruin my enjoyment of the tune. So enjoy the snippet.

(And as a late addition to the proceedings, here's a much longer video of Sunday night's performance of Divided Sky.)

By the way, the Brothers Handstand and I were laughing last night about this: Does Tony Hall not look exactly like JeanPaul JeanPaul, the Seinfeldian distance runner? Why separate knob, why?

Slack Song of the Day: What else, some Trey -- Drifting, Push On Til the Day, Gotta Jibboo, and Money Love & Change from Red Rocks.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Off To Donnie's Wedding Festivities

As you can see, the Little Superstar continues to kick ass...



Now that's a priceless video in a priceless series, but it's not quite as funny as this gem Rob Ronanea dug up involving Tootie & Natalie buying a bong for Mrs. Garrett. Allright, enjoy your weekends, and we'll see you right back here bright and early on Monday.

This Week in Slack: Advice for gay politicians; Masturbation during Ramadan; Rained out at Yankee Stadium; I'd fellate Jeter; Shitty bands make other people confused; and Jews celebrate Yom Kip.

I Want The World To Know

Politicians are fucking terrible at, among other things, coming out of the closet. The last two high-profile sudden homosexters botched their debutante announcements so horribly that they now serve as nothing but comedic fodder for anyone with a pulse.

First came former New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey, who proudly proclaimed "I am a gay American" after Israeli Stephanopolous blew the governor whistle on their alleged affair.

I am a gay American, Jimmy? Sheet, man, that's the best you can do? All I can think of when I hear people quote that is McGreevey dressed as Hulk Hogan, strutting down the aisle to the Hulkster's famed theme music, throwing out high fives and pointing to the crowd. Although, this image really does give new meaning to the opening line, "When it comes crashing down and it hurts inside..."

Now we turn our gaze upon Florida, where this week a disgraced former Congressman's lawyer remarked with a straight face, "Mark Foley wants you to know that he is a gay man." Well, gee, thanks guy. Aside from the obvious -- that it doesn't take a wicked smaht scientist to figure out a 50-something single dude IMing a high-school kid he barely knows about boners and jackin' habits is not the straightest of men -- what's with this phrasing? He wants me to know this? Actually, he didn't want me to know that at all, nor did I ask.

But I think this is just the beginning for Foley, and if I were his manager or agent, I'd get him into commercials right away. Mark Foley Wants You To Know He Likes Campbell's Soup. Mark Foley Wants You To Know He Uses Minwax Polyurethane. Mark Foley Wants You To Know He Enjoys A Warm Cup Of Nescafe On Winter Mornings. Mark Foley Wants You To Know That He is a Fan of Rold Gold Tiny Twists. I think it could work, and at the same time resurrect his public image.

Someone needs to coach these politicos and shepherd them along in this arduous process. Otherwise, people are going to continue their misspeaking at quite possibly the most important times of their lives. And that's really, really fun for us, but not so much for them.

And if you haven't read Mulgrew's stunningly accurate breakdown of the infamous instant messages, you're missing out on gold.

Slack Link of the Day: A new study shows the active ingredient in "the pot" may help stave off Alzheimer’s disease. So there you have it -- in order to fend off memory loss, impaired decision-making, and diminished language and movement skills in the long term, you must first experience all of them in the short term, repeatedly.

Slack Video of the Day: Tea Leaf Green's got a DVD coming out this month, a film by famous son Justin Kreutzmann. The director and the band have authorized the leaking of this clip, so I figured I'd share with the class. This thing's gonna be sweet-ass-sweet, well-produced and well-played: Here's One Reason.

Slack Song of the Day: There's only one song I can play in honor of Donnie Fiedler's wedding this weekend and TJ in OH's Harvest Jam festival in Ohio: The Band's Mystery Train.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Doctor Ruth Meets Islamic Jerkin'

It's Ramadan, folks, that time of year when Hakeem Olajuwon's iron deficiency acts up and causes problems in the world.

But should you have any tough questions related to the rights and wrongs of this especially holy month, here's an actual website Q&A with Iranian Supreme Leader Sayyid Ali Khameini to answer all of your questionable questions:

Q: "If somebody masturbates during the month of Ramadan but without any discharge, is his fasting invalidated?"

A: "If he do not intend masturbation and discharging semen and nothing is discharged, his fasting is correct even though he has done a harām (forbidden) act. But, if he intends masturbation or he knows that he usually discharges semen by this process and semen really comes out, it is a haram intentional breaking fasting."

So there you have it (kind of). It doesn't specifically say so in this online advice column with the Supreme Leader, but I believe it is not permitted to catch the inevitable release in your turban. Just sayin'.

Slack Link of the Day: From the great lede files, check this one out -- "For a 67-year-old homeowner and his wife, wrongly subjected to a shattering pornography search, saying, 'Oops, wrong number' is not enough." My parents do not accept your apology.

Slack Video of the Day: You'd think watching this video of the Carter Brothers fighting might make you a bit queer, and it probably will, but it's also pretty funny to watch such lickbaggery.

Slack Song of the Day: Medeski, Martin & Wood + Some Horns + Bemsha Swing > Lively Up Yourself = Lord, Have Mercy.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

So, Uh, What'd You Do Tonight?

Gary Sheffield's gospel singer wife took some time away from being urinated on by R Kelly in a series of underage threesomes to sing the national anthem at Yankee Stadium tonight.

Then the place erupted when an old Yank'um named Paul O'Something threw out the first pitch. Everyone was excited for playoff beisbol: ALDS, Game 2. The Stadium was buzzing, electricity brimming. A few minutes after scheduled game time, Hoobs the Michigander sent me a text message that included the shocking question "Delayed, yes?"

Delayed?! What delay? Wait a minute...um, there's nobody in the dugout or on the field right now. I called Hoobs. Fox told its audience to rent a movie and check back in an hour, maybe more. I surveyed the crowd: "Hey, so anyone else hear the game is delayed an hour?" Silence met my query. Oh shit, folks, there's the grounds crew.

The Great Inconvenience of 2006...what a night. I mean, it doesn't get much better than hanging out in a rain-soaked Yankee Stadium, being teased with the removal of the tarp, filing out with 55,000 other perturbed people at the same time, fighting through masses to ride home on the over-crowded subway, realizing there is NO way you can possibly attend the makeup game, then getting caught in a fucking douchestorm from the subway station to the apartment.

Ace is wet, Ace is unhappy...Hey, at least I saw Pauly O throw a screaming fastball to the plate tonight, the only pitch of the evening.

A Game 2 Diary in Pictures: The scoreboard at 7:30 shows no beisbol; the Hardcore Jews are ready for action (I believe "hardcore" is the actual religious branch); the rain comes down lightly, but it falls nonetheless; grounds crew workers cocktease the crowd and de-tarp the field; only moments later, they come back out to put the tarp back on; a couple of Matsuis don't like what they see; the scoreboard at 10:01 looks like suspiciously like the scoreboard at 7:30; finally, an announcement from the Yankees about tomorrow's game. Garbage.

News & Notes

A couple of quick bulletpoints from last night's classy 8-4 victory over the overly scrappy Tigers Nine:

--We all know Derek Jeter went 5-for-5 last night, banging out two singles, two doubles and a late-inning jack that sealed the deal. You saw that. You'll read that everywhere. I want to focus on the smirk he flashes after reaching safely and calling timeout or heading into the dugout after a homerun. It's semi-new, actually. The smirk itself has always been there, but this brand of smirk is fresh and awesome. This smirk says, "I'm better than you at life, and we both know it."

Derek Jeter can bang any broad in the world he wants. When all is said and done, he'll have made $200 million playing baseball, and another sack of cash from endorsements. He's got black and white parents, so he's coo de la with both races. He's got four World Series rings, he's a surefire Hall of Famer, he's well on his way to 3,000 hits, he's the captain of the greatest American sports franchise in history and he's a made man in Manhattan. Plus, he's not Alex Rodriguez, so he's got that going for him, which is nice.

When you've got Dan Shaughnessy in the Boston Globe writing praise like "Try to look past the pinstripes, Red Sox fans: You want your kids to grow up to be like Derek Jeter," you know you're winning. Winning what? Everything. I'd smirk like that, too.

And in a pre-emptive response to the people who say "Yankee fans are fucking gay for Jeter," I would 100 percent have some type of sex with Derek Jeter. I can't say I'd let him stick it in, even the tip, but I'd probably engage in a sort of faux-gay jack-n-slurp session, no doubt.

--I happened to check the blog's statcounter immediately following the 7th inning stretch, and I saw three referrals in a row read "Ronan Tynan looks like Sloth Goonies," "Sloth Goonies Ronan," and "Ronan Tynan Sloth." I really love the world wide web: Three people sitting at home just typed the exact same thought into Google at the exact same time (10:51 pm EST), and all three of them found a post from October 2004 when I mentioned the striking similarity. It's nice to know we're not alone. Wavelengths...and shit.

--How 'bout a big Bronx hand for the Yankums' coaching staff? I mean, Torre's working with three capable ex-managers and two of the most beloved former Yanks in recent history, not to mention Nancy Kerrigan out in the bullpen. Between Bowa, Peña, Mazzilli, Guidry and Donnie BB, has there ever been a better collection of brainpower on the bench or the basepaths anywhere? Sickening.

Peña has clearly made Posada a better defensive catcher (though Jorge refuses to sit with one leg out like Tony), Bowa is a fiery sparkplug that the players really seem to dig, and I hear Mazzilli doesn't care when Torre picks his nose and wipes it on his shirt. Throw in Gator and Mattingly, and there's no wonder this team has been humming along for the last few months.

--Fox panned the dugout after Jeter's eighth-inning blast, and the camera caught none other than Tanyon Sturtze on the bench with the boys. There he was, still looking exactly like Bill Paxton stung by a band of bees. This one's for you, Sturtzey.

--And, finally, a note from Monday Night Football that I forgot to mention yesterday...when ESPN puts up a split screen of sideline reporters Michelle Tafoya and Suzy Kolber, does it not look like a public service announcement for the positive effects of beer? It's almost like a "before and after" shot, like ESPN is telling me that with enough beer coursing through my veins, I could look at Michelle and see someone like Suzy, and then I'll want to kiss her. Just a thought.

Slack Link of the Day: How awesome is Fox News? These guys put up a picture of disgraced Republican Congressman Mark Foley with a "(D-FL)" next to it. How many different times? Three! That's either the cable business' worst repeat mistake of all-time or it's the work of a lie-peddlin' bias machine. Your call.

Slack Race Relations Quotation of the Day: Slacker En Regalia dug this one up, a quote from 30 years ago today off the tongue of Earl Butz, President Ford's Secretary of Agriculture: "I'll tell you what the coloreds want. It's three things: first, a tight pussy; second, loose shoes; and third, a warm place to shit." Yahtzee! He resigned.

Slack Video of the Day: For the second day in a row I'm throwin' out repeats, but I think you'll enjoy this and youse probably haven't seen it. Never been a big MadTV fan, though this Frank Caliendo is scratching me right where I itch. Check out his stand-up routine on Letterman, complete with a really solid Madden.

Slack Song of the Day: Anyone else feeling Derek & The Dominos this fine morning? Oh, you do? I was expecting a "no." Allright, lemme scrounge for some then: Key to the Highway, Little Wing, Crossroads and Blues Power. Enjoy the devil's music.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Just When You Thought...

...you've seen it all, the overly sensitive Polish government breaks out the tactics of the old Anti-Flatulence Communist Party:

"Police in Poland have launched a nationwide hunt for a man who farted loudly when asked what he thought of the president."

I'd launch into a somewhat similar story about the time I soiled my underpants with copious amounts of seminal fluids when the police asked me what I thought of First Lady Laura Bush, but...

I Gave Him the Wrong Finger

It's peanut butter playoffs time! It's peanut butter playoffs time! It's the Major League playoffs with a baseball bat...

But since I don't have anything especially funny to write (outside of a kickass Mark Foley scandal joke I just came up with: "Foley ran out of bookmarks so instead he just decided to bend over the pages"), I'll just mention how excited I am about this Yankums squad and hope they crush the Le Tigre like everyone says they should. Then I'll watch as they advance to face a small-market team in the ALCS and every single sportswriter in the country uses the tired David versus Goliath analogy in their tired copy (everyone except Deadspin, actually).

Instead, I give you this fantasy baseball year-end update and horribly self-deprecating anecdote: I finished out the season in the top half of the table for both of my leagues, though I owe all the credit for any success to my partners. In my long-standing, big-money league, Chuck B and I guided Berger's Mom Still Stankiwiecz to a fifth-place finish after flirting with third for much of the season. We didn't do great, but we didn't mismanage the lineup or make bad trades, and we were a handful of better pitching outings and solid hitting days from the money. And never once did Chuck or I have to schedule a closed-door meeting with our players to, ya know, straighten shit out.

But I'm also a silent partner in Roommate Dorsey's league, and we're taking home the second-place prize purse. It came down to the last week, and injuries to Travis Hafner and Rickie Weeks probably lost it for us, but I'm pretty sure I blew the league for us back in May.

Dorsey, a fantasy sports savant, woke me up early on a Saturday to tell me I had to pick up Jered Weaver, who made his major-league debut the night before. Why couldn't he do it? He was in the Virgin Islands and had no computer access. Yet somehow he knew Weaver had started and we should pick him up. Well done, Dorsey.

I stumbled over to his computer, locate a "Je. Weaver - LAA" on the page and tried to figure out whom we should drop. It was between Adrian Beltre and Ryan Zimmerman, and Beltre had just begun to heat up (before cooling off again), so in my haste I decided to drop the Jew-sounding rookie third-baseman for the ol' Expos.

Well, not only did I drop a strong NL Rookie of the Year candidate who hit 20 homers and drove in 110 runs, but I picked up Scumbag JEFF Weaver instead of his more talented (and actually good) younger brother: same team, same first two initials, same natty head of hair, totally different statistics this year. Terrible.

So much for me being a silent partner. I, as always, blow goats.

Slack Google Searches of the Day (how people randomly arrived here): ball-gagged bridesmaids photos, james worthy arrested prostitutes, love of black cock, show me the fever into the fire higher and higher, Bush OBGYN practice their love freely, who invented the blocked shot, and vegan bowler hats.

Slack Link of the Day: Pitchfork reviewed Jet's new album Shine On without a single word, and it may just be the best review ever.

Slack Video of the Day: I've posted this before, but there ain't no way you can watch this enough -- The Lady Suckerpunch.

Slack Song of the Day: I had a very Sideways experience last night, in that I saw a decent band that was somehow extraordinarily overrated, and now I'm curious as to whether the American public can ever be trusted to judge anything again.

I was told I'd walk out of the Secret Machines show sockless, as a result of them being rocked off. I'm kinda sad to report, though, this is not a band that rocked my socks off, nor did they even peel my socks down to the ankles. My socks were firmly affixed all night long, in no danger of being removed completely from the feet.

This was one of the more underwhelming shows I've been to in a long while. The set-up was awesome, the In The Round idea being cool as hell. Musically, well, I just don't get it. As Hoobs and I discussed on the way out, I really don't think these guys are all that adept as musicians. They make "decent" to "eh" music as a whole, but the guitarist proved to be nothing more than a light strummer, and someone should tell the drummer he's allowed to switch up the beat every now and then...three straight minutes of his playing Animal on the drums made me wonder whether he could be replaced with an eighth grader, or a Mark Foley e-mail recipient. Ho, snap.

Anyway, I want youse to make up your own mind, so here's the band's MySpace page. And here are some more pics from last night's show: From the balcony; more from the balcony; and more balcony bartakamous. Secret Machines, wish they were even more secret.

Monday, October 02, 2006

Win One for the Kippur

I'm a terrible Jewbag, so I won't fast today. I will see the Secret Machines at Irving Plaza later, but that's after sundown regardless.

But in honor of Sandy Koufax's sacrifice 41 years ago, this blog will observe the annual feel-good smilefest known as Yom Kippur and shut 'er down. We'll return cleansed and (self-)righteous tomorrow...