Thank You to DVJS

As a tribute to the linked blog of DVJS at the lower left, I am imitating his "Answers To My Questions" segments by posting his answers to my questions. I figured that, since he's away for the summer and not really posting very often, some of us might like to know what his deal is. Thus:

Answers to my questions: DVJS

Full name: Daniel Vincent John Sondreal

DOB: June 2, 1983

Places you've lived: Grand Forks, ND - Reynolds, ND, Grand Forks, ND, and in two months or less Lawrence, KS

Nicknames: DS1, Derny, 3D (Dorm Dean Dan), and am often referred as Dirk or Steve on the basketball court as some say I look somewhat like Dirk while playing like Nash but enjoy being nicknamed Luuuuuuuke on the court as I think I play more like Luke Walton than anyone else.

What was your last purchase? 2 fourteen ounce tins of Dole Pineapple Slices, a six ounce tin of Blue Diamond Whole Almonds, twenty fluid ounces of Glaceau Vitamins Water - Rescue, a sixteen ounce box of Dakota Growers medium shells, a gallon of Land O Lakes Vitamin D milk, three-hundred and five grams of Kashi's 7 Whole Grain Honey Puffs cereal, three-hundred and fifty-tw0 grams of Kashi's Heart to Heart - Honey Toasted Oat Cereal, and five-hundred and sixty-seven grams of Kashi's 7 Whole Grain Nuggets cereal. All purchased at Hugo's #8 on 32nd Avenue South in Grand Forks, ND.

Favorite MLB player: All-time: Ricky Henderson and Jose Canseco Today: Eric Chavez and Barry Bonds

Favorite NFL team: New York Giants

Most often used phrase: "I don't know" and "thank you"

Favorite drink: whole milk

Favorite sport to play: basketball

Favorite sport to watch: NBA basketball

Favorite food: cereal and scalloped potatoes

Most embarrassing moment of your life thus far: Likely the time when my shorts flew off while tubing behind a jet ski and swimming towards the shore with my bum showing a little bit out of the water while having a pontoon boat full of people floating by laughing and asking me to stand up. Furthermore once I arrived to the shore while laying in the water and asking my mom for a pair of shorts or a towel or something she just laughed and went to get the camera thus leading to the photo of me lying in the shallow water with my bum showing while flicking off the camera. After a few minutes someone finally brought me a towel which I wrapped around myself and begun to walk to the shore but tripped and fell onto the sand.

Proudest moment of your life thus far: Being an Uncle to Piper and Paris along with growing a wonderful beard last summer.

Favorite article of clothing: a t-shirt and brown pants.

Who do you most admire? My mom, brother, grandpa and anyone that goes for that they wish for.

What was your dream as a child? To play in the NBA and one day becoming older than my brother in hopes of finally being able to overpower him.

What's your favorite number? zero

When I'm not working, most of the time you'll find me: Doing something basketball related or likely at home.

What trait do you like least in yourself? My low self esteem at times along with my receding hair line on my big head.

What trait do you like most about yourself? That I am honest to others along with being fancy and likable.

What would you do with a million dollars? Many of things but mainly rid myself of financial burdens, visit the grocery store more often, buy another property or two, watch team USA play in the Olympic basketball qualifying games in Las Vegas in late August, and hope the million dollars can do wonders...

Where's the farthest place you've traveled? By automobile on my own: grand forks, nd to fort mcmurray, alberta - automobile with others: grand forks, nd to san diego, ca - by plane: winnipeg, manitoba to orlando, fl - by bus: greenville, sc to minneapolis, mn - by train: fargo, nd to chicago, il - by bicycle: grand forks, nd to reynolds, nd.

Favorite thing your mom makes: Chocolate chip cookies.

Is there anything else you'd like the world to know about Daniel Sondreal? I am hopeful and your guess is as good as mine.

Triple H

No, not the wrestler. (oh, on that note, I'd like to pay my respects to the Benoit family for the loss of their son, the Crippler. My brother's name is Chris, so it was a little creepy to read the articles...and 'roid rage is a horrible thing, yes)

Hazy, Hot and Humid. Well, I can certainly attest to the fact that it's effing hot out. My run last night almost saw me taste death, as my legs gave out from dehydration at just after the 3.5 mile mark. I guess I shouldn't have pushed it so hard yesterday, knowing the humidity and heat could very well take a toll on me. I just get some sort of sick enjoyment out of generating enough sweat to fill a bathtub and take a sweat bath. I'm not sure my undercarriage holds the same enthusiasm for the sweat, though...things are always touch and go down there when it's this hot.

I always find it hard to believe the weatherman when he reports tropical dew points in Boston. The dew point last night was around 70, which is bad. Nothing like hot, moist air to get the day going. In Southie where I live, walking outside in that humidity is akin to walking into the exhaust plume of a Mack truck and sucking it down. It's hot, it kinda stinks and it just feels altogether unhealthy for you. When it's this hot out West, it just feels like you're getting more of a tan; here, you feel like you're shriveling up and dying. I got an email from my Dad this morning, mentioning that he and my mother had a devilish time sleeping last night due to the fact that they were sleeping sans A/C. Looking back, I never minded not having central air in our house. Generally, we all had a window-mounted unit that sufficed. But why in holy hell they wouldn't have theirs on last night is beyond me. Carl and I could turn our apartment into a meat locker if we wanted to, because it's balls cold in there.

I find that the best way to cool down after a long, arduous, sweaty run is to take a hot shower. Get in there with the water temperature as high as you can stomach and continue to sweat it out for a while. When you're at you absolute breaking point of overheating and you think you just might collapse, turn it down to ice cold. Next thing you know, you're in a cold shiver and Mr. Johnson has gone into hibernation. Once it gets too cold to bear, turn it halfway to hot and continue on with your normal regiment in the shower. I don't know how good this is for me, but it works. It sucks, but it works.

Something else occurred to me as I ran down the boardwalk in Southie last night. How can people eat hot, greasy food in the blazing heat of a day like yesterday? All I want to put it my body in that kind of heat is either water or something really cold. Picture a sweaty, tank top wearing, obese man waddling down the boardwalk towards me. He's got a bag of mozzarella sticks in one hand and the marinara in the other, dipping and munching with every snail-like step. He's sweating his burly ass off, but he seems utterly content with his fried friend. Content. I'm out there working my body like a cog in an assembly line and here's Tubby, feeding his face and living the dream on the boardwalk. More power to him, I guess. Hey, if you're happy with what you've got, godspeed, my friend.

I'm awaiting the first response to the suggestion for the burger patties. I'll be bringing them to a family cookout this weekend, so Dad, you'll be able to bear witness to them yourself at that time. Carl had them Monday night and he liked them so much, he went out and bought more ground turkey last night and grilled up another pound of them for his dinner last night. Another satisfied customer. So where's everyone else? You don't trust me?

Birdbrains

A lot of things in this world do not make sense to me, and I'm ok with that. I don't claim to be all too intelligent, but I think I have superior knowledge in a select few areas. I realize that knowledge of athletes' jersey numbers may not get me into MENSA, but it's something. Three current topics in pop culture and sports have me wondering what sense or intelligence could have been used by some of the parties involved, and thus, I am naming my top three birdbrains of the day.

1. Celtics' Brass

I don't get it. A week ago I was sitting here writing about what potential number KG might be wearing when he takes to the Garden Parquet for the first time. Now I'm wondering how good the Lakers might be with KG and Kobe playing together while the C's throw Pierce and Jermaine O'Neal out there and hope for the best. Hey Danny, I thought you hated JO? Isn't he a thug in your opinion? A little lazy even? I have always liked JO, even in those hard-fought playoff series with Indy back in the Reggie Miller days. I wouldn't mind seeing him in Celtic green, but how in all hell can you justify giving up Al Jefferson who, at 22, has already established himself as one of the premier power forwards in the league? O'Neal averaged 19.4PPG, 9.6REB, 3 turnovers and shot 43% per game last season. He's going to be 29 in October. Al averaged 16.0PPG, 11.0REB, less than 2 turnovers and shot 51% per game last season. Even if this was a straight up deal, Al for JO, I still want Al. But did I mention that the other chip involved will send the #5 pick to Minnesota along with Al Jefferson? (this is all part of that 4-team trade involving Boston, LA, Minnesota and Indiana) I've been a little salty with a lot of the moves made by Danny Ainge at the helm, but this one is beyond any logical reasoning. It's a birdbrain move and nothing more. I wish we had Kevin McHale running things. He's going to end up with Al, 3 picks in this year's first round of the draft and 20 million dollars in cap room next season, if this deal goes through. The C's end up with Jermaine O'Neal, and a shitload of guards and absolutely no chance of coming close to anything higher than a 6 seed in the playoffs. If fans haven't given up yet, this might just be the last straw. I think my boss said it best this morning when I asked him his opinion of this pending trade: "Is this gonna screw up my bobblehead collection?"

2. Any fan of Paris Hilton that came out to cheer her release last night

I would have thought that Paris Hilton had just been released from a hostage situation when I saw her release from prison last night. There were people lined up to cheer this event, screaming her name and telling her how much she's loved. Aside from all the things that are wrong with this girl and her meaningless life, what kind of reflection is this on our society? Sure, the vast majority of Americans probably detest even hearing her name, much less the sight of her face. But it's completely off-putting that anyone could rationally decide to go and cheer her on as she waltzed out of prison in white high heels and what were reported to me designer jeans. This is a girl who gets paid a lot of money to film a television show in which she has to live the life of a common person; a non-celebrity who works for a living. It's sickening, infuriating, nauseating, what have you. I guess the producers and creators are more to blame than she is, but still. She is the face of the show and her reprehensible actions on the set are enough to stir up homicidal thoughts, aren't they? No, I don't plan to kill Paris Hilton. I do, however, have a suggestion for her next show. They should stick her in the Middle East...maybe Afghanistan, circa 2001 and under the rule of the Taliban. I'd watch that.

3. Terry Francona

I'm not quite there yet, but I don't know who else to blame. Tito sets the lineup and that lineup continues to show the name LUGO in it. I'll give him a pass until the halfway mark of the season, which is in a week or so. After the All-Star break, no more sympathy. I didn't have very high expectations for Lugo coming into the season. I thought he'd hit somewhere around .250, have 15 home runs or so and knock in 60. I thought he could steal some bases, draw a bunch of walks and just be on base for our power hitters. Alas, here we are in late June and the guy is hitting .190 with the lowest OBP in baseball. He now hits in the 9-hole, and only because he has to hit. His defense is nothing special to say the least and it's gotten to the point where I actually wanted Beckett to hit instead of Lugo in a recent game. I like to think that I give players a chance, especially when they're from these small market teams and have to get used to playing here. But enough is enough. How many shortstops do we have to cycle through, year in and year out, that come from small market teams where no one gives a shit about baseball? It doesn't work, Theo. I don't doubt for a second that Lugo will be somewhere insignificant next season, batting around .300 and getting on base 40-45% of the time. But right now, that's not even close to happening and it never will this season. Again, I'm not blaming Tito now, but I don't want to see Lugo in an everyday role after the All-Star break. Cora should be there, without question. At the very, very least, Cora can get the little things done on offense. He can bunt, he can place his hits and he's very smart. Reduce Lugo to a utility man that can fill when Pedroia or Cora need a rest. He's hurting the team and it's pissing me off.

(mental catharsis complete)

Here's a suggestion for all of your believers in the self-formed burger patty. I don't subscribe to the store bought patty school of thought. They're way too thin and by the time they're grilled, they carry the consistency of a hunk of jerky. I suggest the following when/if you decide to go the way of the hand-formed patty.

Take your meat, preferably 1-2 lbs of ground turkey meat, and put in into a large bowl. Add 3/4 cup of parmesan cheese, 4 tbsp. of mustard, lots of black pepper, about 2 tbsp of Montreal seasoning, 1/2 cup of minced onions and 3/4 cup of bread crumbs. Mush this all together with your bare fists, making damn sure all those ingredients get mixed in evenly. Form into 1/2-1" think patties, about 3" in diameter. Salt patties sparingly. Grill them uncovered for 5-7 minutes a side and then you will have the tastiest damn burger you've ever laid tongue to. You won't even need condiments, but Carl will attest to putting a few banana peppers on top of your burger before eating. Go ahead, try it. You've got the 4th coming up, which is notorious for large cookouts. Impress your friends and family.

No Small Feat

As we age, the milestones we can reach in our lives become fewer and farther between. For me personally, I have the milestone of turning 30 around the corner...but still a few years away. Aside from that, I guess eventual fatherhood is on that list along with marriage, making millions of dollars without lifting a finger, retirement, terminal illness and death. A child, however, has several milestones to look forward. The younger, the better. Most of you are familiar with Aaron at this point; he's my almost-four year-old nephew whom I write about from time to time. He reached one of those milestones yesterday.

Mind you, the big A is at the point where he has the potential to reach a milestone every day of his young life. He ate some home made granola yesterday for the first time, and this was tremendous. His diet is very limited, so there are countless foods that he could add to his diet that would count as a milestone because a kid his age broadening his taste buds is great for his parents and for him. For the last year or more, the kid has been eating the following at every dinner I've been at: carrots, oatmeal, bran buds, bread, cereal and ice cream. You might imagine that he's probably as regular as a Sunday coming after Saturday. And this leads me to my point in this whole thing.


Me: "Hey buddy! How's it going?"

Aaron: "I made a big poop!" (hands out, about two feet apart, showing us the approximate size of the poop)

Lauren: "We heard, that's awesome!"

Aaron: "I made a big poop!" (hands wider now; as the myth grows, so does the poop)


He told several people about his poop yesterday, and the event wasn't that he had made his first poop, but that he had made it in the toilet. How proud he must have been...after all those days and nights of pooping in his diaper, he can finally see his creation as opposed to having it smeared within that diaper...all over his bum. No longer will he have to walk around carrying the weight and stench of his own feces. A feat to be recognized and celebrated, indeed! So here's to you, little man. Keep on doing your thing in that big, white bowl. There will come a time when it's not such a celebratory thing and people won't be so eager to congratulate you. Trust me, I know. When you're old enough to read this, ask my Dad about the stick incident in the motorhome.

Here's something else of note from this weekend: I realized that I am/on my way to being Jack Arnold. La and I were watching an episode of the Wonder Years at some point and Jack brought Kevin to work with him for the day because Kevin was extremely curious about what his father did. We learn that Jack gets calls from angry customers about late shipments, has to answer to some old guy as to why parts aren't shipping in a timely fashion, and the people that surround him are older, heavier women who answer the phone and give him messages. This is my day, for the most part. I did learn something from this, though. I don't want to be Jack Arnold. I don't want to be Manager of Distribution someday, and I don't want look at the coffee break as the best part of my day. What 70's or 80's sitcom character are you? Maybe the Wonder Years doesn't qualify as a sitcom, but you know what I mean. Perhaps you don't work, drive a blue van and clean someone's house all day. This makes you Tony Miceli. Or maybe you live downstairs from some average, American family, take care of their kids sometimes and work at a pizza parlor. This makes you Charles in Charge. Or perhaps you're the best friend from of a guy who lives downstairs from some average, American family and works at a pizza parlor. This makes you Buddy Lembeck.

***Sox Update***

Two out of three in San Diego, five straight Yankee losses and more phenomenal pitching from our staff. Things are good in the Nation, and lo-and behold, Coco and JD are starting to hit. Of course Lugo is under .200 and it's really gotta be about time to bench him for Cora, but other than that, all is well. Word is that Kason Gabbard will be up for a few starts in Schilling's place, giving Jon Lester more ramp up time down on the farm. Personally, I don't mind this because I want Lester to be 100% when he comes back. And we don't really need him now. Tavarez has been nothing short of outstanding, and as La said this weekend, I really don't hate him anymore. His antics on the mound are endearing. So give Lester more time, give Schilling some time off and let Dice and JB keep holding down our staff by throwing a gem virtually every time they take the mound. There's nothing to complain about right now.

Worth Its Weight In Water

Water is very heavy. For instance, I got on the scale this morning and weighed in at a solid 185lbs. I then peed, showered and stepped back on the scale. Weight: 182lbs. I never really thought about the weight of a full bladder, but according to wikipedia, a gallon of water weighs over 8 lbs. 8lbs! So I had roughly a third of a gallon of piss in me when I woke up this morning. I guess water must be pretty heavy if we float in it...unless we're absent of oxygen.

Moving onto another topic that involves water, I've been drinking my requisite 128oz of water per day since I started running again. I haven't had this much transparent piss since the famous Case Race of 1999 on the 4th floor of Cance Hall, Umass. I mean, I'm urinating at astronomical clips. And they're all of the cathartic variety, too. You know how sometimes you think you really have to go and you rush to the bathroom, unzip and...and...and...and...drip...drip, drip...drip, drip, drip... Then you get back to your desk and sit down, only to have the final several drops of piss discharge down your leg. This is especially bad when wearing shorts.

Water is pretty cool, though. And useful. I used to be a big proponent of water parks when I was a kid. On all those motorhoming trips to the lovely southern US, we made our way to a few of these parks. My favorite still stands as River Country at Disney World. They had this one water ride that consisted of a tube circuit that you entered sans foam board or something of the like...just you and the plastic tube with water rushing all around you. You hauled ass down the circuit and then it went dark towards what you eventually find out is the end. You begin to see light ahead and all of a sudden, you're airborne and plummeting several feet (it seemed like 30' back then, but it was maybe 10-15') to a deep pool below. I cannot imagine for the life of me why I was allowed to ride this thing, but boy was I thankful.

Here's something else I am thankful for: not being the chosen one in high school gym class to receive the obligatory golden shower after class. I was in a gym class with mostly jocks, but there was this one kid, a pre-pubescent late bloomer, who had the unfortunate distinction of being known as the bald eagle amongst the boys in the class. We had a community-type shower room, with about 12 shower heads in a square. We all had to shower per gym class rules, and without fail, the bald eagle would get the golden shower every time. I admit that I laughed at the time. I never peed on him...there was only one kid who administered the pee bath. He, as you might have guessed, was a complete douchebag. But there was something unmistakably funny about seeing a kid get peed on as he lathered his head up with shampoo; pee-infused shampoo, that is. I believe it's called Pantene Pro-Pee. Heyoooooo.

Hey, what's the story with the saying 'It's water under the bridge'? Is that supposed to mean that you just don't notice it anymore? Or it's passed by, like water under a bridge might do? This phrase is employed when you might have done something bad to someone a while back and you see them again, and when the incident is brought up, the guy tells you that it's water under under the bridge. What might the saying be if he was still irked by the incident? Fire under the bridge? Thus, the bridge is going to eventually catch fire, burn down and send you and him hurdling into a pit of death flames? Maybe there's non-viscus oil under the bridge. No flow...so it's still there and plainly visible. It doesn't pose any imminent threat, but perhaps he's wants to toss you into the oil a watch you try to swim out of it. In this way, the incident wouldn't be out of his mind at all, but he's kind of not pissed anymore. But he might get pissed. Food for thought, nonetheless.

Let's visit the notion Jesus turning water into wine for a quick second. I can see this being a problem for some people if he used his alcoholic alchemy in the wrong situation. Maybe he mistook AA for Alchemists Anonymous and consequently sent dozens of people back into rehab with his little trick. Or in a mixup on the sidelines at a soccer match, he turned the cups of water into wine on account of the coach exclaiming that he needed a drink after his team gave up a few quick goals. Imagine being parched after running for 20 minutes straight, only to have bitter wine hit your throat in place of water. No good. Methinks it easy enough to purchase wine from a liquor store when needed, rather than have it conjured up from what would originally be water. I can't imagine that wine would be any good, anyway. I mean, it's not grape juice. But I guess that would eliminate the mystique of the whole thing.

Well, that's just about enough garbage for this Friday. I'd like to welcome Dunny to the blogger community and hey, perhaps he'll be starting his own adventure in blogging before long. As for me, I'm gonna go turn my water into urine.

Something's Fishy

Earlier this month, I posted an entry (Only In Dreams) about a dream I had that was extremely vivid and memorable. To add to the analysis of the dream, I'd like to share a new tidbit of information with you. Upon reading that post, Nate (who was in the dream) emailed me and offered that the pig incident in the house was an extension of one of my childhood fears which stemmed from his mother. See, I used to eat and sleep over his house quite regularly as a youth. Dinners there were very Americanesque most of the time...mac and cheese, burgers and dogs, drumsticks and tater tots; things of this nature. One of my least favorite meals as a kid was his mother's sausage subs. I don't know why, exactly, but I always dreaded dinner when I knew that was on the menu. I was usually polite enough to eat whatever was being offered, but these were otherworldly...in a bad way. i still don't know why I had such an aversion to them, and no one else who dined there shared my sentiment. So perhaps the pig offering to his mom in the dream was some sort of apology/retributional gift for all those times I cringed at her sausage subs.

I had another dream two nights ago that stuck with me, but it was much shorter in content that this other one with the pig, etc. I was on a raft with my father and we were fishing on some pond in New Hampshire. We weren't catching anything but little sunfish or perch, until this enormous school of trout appeared in front of us. My dad cast out his line and hauled in like fifty of them at once. he immediately got off of the raft (which was pretty much next to the shore for whatever reason...one of those inherent weird parts of any dream; as if the whole concept of this one isn't weird enough) and stepped on dry ground to gather his catch. Once he was off, the rest of this giant school of fish took control of the raft and suddenly I was being shuttled around by the fish. Terrified and yelling, they pushed me over to the other shore and directly into a thorn bush. I then woke up, and La later informed me that I was whimpering in my sleep and woke up panting.

Analysis:

I. I don't have a fear of water, but I do have a fear of what's in water. I guess this dream sort of highlights that fear.

II. Thorns are terrible things, but why would a school of fish thrust me into such a fate? Scrapes and cuts and all that sort of thing...hey, I'm not the one who caught a chunk of your school for purpose of consumption. Why not toss my pop into the thorns? Not that this is what I would want, it's just a logical question. Dad, no offense.

III. I've addressed the whole issue of meat and how I eat very little anymore, if any. I have been consuming a lot of fish over the last several months. Maybe the fish are trying to tell me to lay off of them, too. Well, I've got news for you, fish. I'm not even close to done with you. In fact, I'm on the verge of expanding my breadth of fish variety and that's what's up. I learned last night that Puerto Rico has some delicious appetizer called the cod fritter, which I plan on sampling in about 3 weeks. Snapper is also on the horizon.

I'm really enjoying the recent dream analyses. This makes two dreams in the past few weeks that I can recount with complete ease and accuracy, after several years of having little to no recollection of any dream at all. I wonder why this is.

Look At This Guy

This is Kramer. Everyone, please say hi to Kramer. He has a pretty funny face.

Onto other things...

1. Schilling, once again, has given us every reason to trust that the Sox were right when they didn't extend him a re-up for his contract. He's old, like I've said before. Last two starts: a lot of runs, a lot of hits. We need to have a better trip to the West coast than we did a few weeks ago.

2. This...

http://shop.nordstrom.com/S/2907614/0~2376778~2372811~2378539~2378568~6006512?mediumthumbnail=Y&origin=category&searchtype=&pbo=6006512&P=1

...is the coolest thing ever.

3. Kobe is coming to the Eastern Conference this summer, like it or not. He won't be a Celtic, don't worry. Although I can think of worse things...but I don't want to see Kobe in green. He'll probably end up a Bull and return Chicago to its glory days...a la Jordan.

3a. Jeff Green is remaining in the NBA draft and it's looking like the C's are highly interested in this young man. If we had held onto Orien Greene and we draft Jeff Green, we'd have 3 Green(e)s on the roster. That's a whole lotta green...Red's rolling over in his grave.

4. Tiger Woods is absolutely ripped. Ironic that he lost out to a flabby, floppy, middle-aged, cigarette-smoking Argentinian in Angel Cabrera. But seriously, where did all this muscle come from on Tiger?

5. There are 3 kinds of people in this world: those that give shit and can't take it; those who constantly take shit, never give it and finally snap one day and kill someone; and those who have a healthy give and take of shit.

6. I think most porn stars would disagree with the Cheez-It slogan: An open box is an empty box.

7. #6 is one of those reasons that my mother is not allowed to read my blog. She'd probably ground me, even though I haven't lived at home for 10 years.

Kids Stuff

It's pretty clear to me that the key to getting older is reminding yourself of things that make you feel young...revisiting those things and making them a part of your everyday life. Those things are going to be different for everybody, without a doubt. If you've been out of touch with your inner child for some time, it could also be a great challenge to get back there and relive some of the things that made you so happy all those years ago. It's important to do this, however. And it's equally important to find things that can achieve this remembrance from all stages of life (where you were old enough to know what the hell was going on, of course).

My morning run today took my by and around Fenway Park, my favorite place on the planet. I switched my pink iPod to a song that I knew would pump me up and I sprinted down Yawkey Way to Van Ness. I even thought in my head, for a quick second, that some talent scout might be out there having himself a morning and perhaps he'd see my blazing speed and think, hey, that kid is quick...we could use more speed in this lineup. Because, you know, that's what happens in reality. But Fenway is a magical place for me on so many levels. It's truly awesome to think that the park has remained relatively unchanged over the course of so many years and generations. So many teams have played there; so many fans have walked through the gates and watched the Sox there. And because it's still intact and ever-improving under the accommodating hands of the current ownership, we can have our memories preserved and revisited every time we step foot in the park. All that said, I will always remember those games with my Dad in my Aunt Gloria's seats...three rows behind the Sox dugout, eye-level with the players. There's no better seat in the house.

Maintaining the baseball theme, La and I were out in the park across the street from my parents' house yesterday afternoon, playing baseball. I now have a collection of about 50 tennis balls courtesy of Wilson the dog, and when the weather is nice, La and I try to find time for her to take some swings. All of that happened yesterday, along with two teen aged boys challenging us to a game of 2-on-2. It was a one inning game due to the dinner rule being in effect. The two boys wanted to be up first and we gladly obliged. I pitched, La fielded with a catcher's mitt. For the record, it's tough to shag flies with a catcher's mitt...in a skirt...barefoot...in front of a small but raucous crowd of two or three onlookers. We were quickly down 5-0 after the first half-inning, but we battled back in the bottom part of the inning. Our offensive onslaught was highlighted by a clutch, three-run triple off La's bat and a pair of long home runs off mine. After going ahead 10-6, we declared it dinner time; game over. We had won, albeit over a pair of 14 year-olds. Following the game, La said to me that she felt like she was 6, having to stop playing outside because dinner was ready. That's kinda what I'm talking about.

A great way to feel like a kid again is to actually spend some time with one. There was more Aaron time yesterday, and since it was Father's Day, there was sure to be some high comedy. The thing with holidays is, Aaron loves to spread the cheer of a given holiday to all those in his presence. Yesterday was no exception, as he was able to turn Father's Day into a holiday for all to celebrate. For my mom, his mom, my Aunt Joanie and La, it was Mother's Day. For me, my dad and his father, it was Father's day. At one point during dinner, he crawled under the table and wished everyone there either a Happy Father's Day or Mother's Day, one by one, around the table. And one by one, we all thanked him. After this first round of wishes, there was a round of goodnights to everyone at the table, once again one by one, and then finally a second round of Father's Day and Mother's Day wishes. The meal concluded by having chocolate cake and ice cream. The little man always has the right idea with food, and his cake eating is truly a no-frills event. Index finger only, all frosting. Screw the actual cake part, who needs it? Get to the good stuff. And he gets to eat in his underwear, by the way. I'm sitting there in a full sweat because it was a humid night, and he's all smiles in a pair of pull-ups...just living the dream.

There's a ton of stuff one can do to revert back to childhood, even if only for a short while. I wonder if we all do this subconsciously, as a way to feel younger. If that's the case, then I'm simply taking the guesswork out of it. I suggest doing the same.

RUN UPDATE

Went for run #4 this morning, as I mentioned before. Today felt remarkably better than the previous three times, and I felt like I could have gone for another 2 miles once I finished. I'm beginning to realize that I'm healthier than I've been in several years. I haven't been in any sort of shape since senior year of high school, so nearly 10 years if not more. It feels pretty freaking good, too. Oh, this morning I was running about 200 yards behind this dude who I could see up ahead. I picked up my pace and established a landmark as a goal for passing him. As I gained on him, my competitive impulses kicked in and I started to really push it...near full sprint. I glided by him before the landmark goal, and smiled wryly on my way by...peering back at him, I noticed that he was probably in his seventies...his pace was that of Manny on an infield ground ball. Satisfaction annulled...

The Rambler

On a cool, shitty morning;

In a job bound for nowhere.

I set up to write a rambler;

And I began to type.

Scanning the latest Hammen entry this morning put me in some kind of mood...not sure exactly what kind, but the nature of his post also put Kenny Rogers in my head - hence the Gambler parody - and I thought, it must be time for another rambler of a post. Why not? I want it, you want it...let's light this candle.

It really is a cool, shitty morning. I think it was only in the mid 50's when I left for work this morning, in a sweater. A sweater in the middle of June? I knew I shouldn't have complained about the heat in the beginning of May. What the hell, now the sun's out, as I peer over my left shoulder for an uninspiring look outside. And...it's gone again. Just gloom and what looks to be a good amount of wind out there now. I hear the weekend is supposed to be a nice one, and that's really all that matters, isn't it?

8.5 games. 3 weeks ago, it was 14.5 games and the Yankees were tied for last with the Devil Rays. Spare me the 'it was only May' garbage, please. I don't care. No Red Sox fan in his or her right mind was ever sitting comfortably without worry about the potential Yankee streak. It was inevitable and we're in the midst of what won't be the last streak for them this season. Every analyst from here to Chechnya has been saying that the Yankees will be playing for the Wildcard and the Sox will win the Al East because Boston is built to withstand any Yankee run. I'm not so sure that's the case.

Over the course of the last week, we've all been reminded that Curt Schilling can be an ace as well as an ass. He should have no hit the A's, then he comes back and throws up a complete piece of shit against the feeble Rockies. This is why he's not signed yet, folks. While he has the potential to throw a no-no every once in a blue moon, he's much more likely to mail it in. He's in his 40's, lest we forget. There's just no escaping that fact. Our only true pillar of reliability is JB. Beckett goes for win #10 tonight, and he's been very good in nearly all of his starts. In those that haven't been stellar, he's kept the team in the game and given the offense a chance to pull it out. No issues there...yet. Dice has been (and I'm sorry for saying it, I am) dicey at best. He's prone to that 'one bad inning', and that drives me up a wall. What that means is that, during his starts wherein our offense is snoozing, we're going to lose. I just don't like that prospect. The saving grace here is that Jon Lester is going to be returning to the rotation soon, and all reports from his rehab starts say that his stuff is electric.

I'm not truly worried about our pitching, but I'm never going to be completely comfortable with it, either. What really bothers me lies in our lineup, 1-9. At this point, I have no issues with 1, 2, 3, 4, 6 and 7. 5, 8 and 9 are really getting on my nerves and I think that probably goes for the whole of Red Sox Nation. We knew Julio Lugo wasn't a great fielder when he signed. What we were hoping was that he wouldn't suck with the bat, which he has; tenfold. I'm not even going to post his numbers here, because they make me really, really angry. He has speed, woohoo. When you get on base NEVER, that doesn't really matter. Next, we have one of the 7 dwarfs playing right field: Sleepy. I've never seen a man look more uninterested in what's going on around him than JD Drew does, game in and game out. I know he's a hard worker and I know he'll probably break out this funk he's in but WHEN THE HELL IS THAT GOING TO HAPPEN? It's June, going on July. Wake up, JD, if that's your real name. Finally, there's Coco. His defense has been nothing short of perfect, so he gets more of a pass than Lugo and Drew. But Coco, dude, come on. Who works with this guy on his swing? Anyone? He looks like the kid from T-Ball whose helmet dropped over his eyes and couldn't help but hit the plastic T every time. Get a clue, man. Where is Dave Magadan?

Ok, I'm done with Sox talk. I'm getting pissed here, and it's only 9:15am.

Here's something that i find awe-inspiring...a while back, a woman I work with made a point of stopping by my cube and pointing out the amount of sodium in the thai noodle bowls that I eat for lunch on occasion. Generally, when I have foods that resemble something healthy (which is all the time), she looks for something that might be thought of as unhealthy and points that out to me. Word 'round the office on this woman is that she never brings her lunch and pretty much eats fast food every day. I've seen her eat it several times, but I've never monitored her habits...until this week. So far, the menu has been: Monday, McDonald's double QPC meal, with cheese, Large size, diet coke; Tuesday, Wendy's double cheeseburger meal, Large size, diet coke; Wednesday, McDonald's Big Mac meal, Large size, diet coke. Hang on one sec...

Ok, I'm back. I had to run to the men's room so I could barf. Is that a joke, you might ask? Is he just trying to get a rise out of me, you might wonder? Stop your muddling. It's true, dammit. Every bone in my body wants to walk over to her slop trough (lunch table) and tell her that she makes me sick, but I can't do it. She knows what she's eating, who wouldn't? It's not like any of us are unclear on whether or not fast food is bad for us. No one has ever wondered, hmm, maybe there is some nutritional value in this greasy, shit sandwich. She knows the effect its having on her body. But don't waltz into my cube and judge the amount of sodium in my noodle bowl, bitch. Get a grip.

I have to tip my cap to the drunkard that La and I ran into at the South Bay shopping center in Southie last night. As I got out of my car, I heard a man say "excuse me, can you help me?" I turned and looked for someone, and he asked "are you from around here?" I said I was, and asked what he was looking for. He eluded the question, instead telling me he lived in Salem, and I stupidly replied that I was born there. He asked where, but I figured he meant to ask where I lived...not where I was born. By now, I could smell the rampant booze on his breath. I told him where I had lived in Salem and he told me where he lived. He then pointed to 'his' car (a wobbly hand pointed to like 6 cars) and he repeated a few times that he was terribly sorry to bother us. He even looked at La and apologized just to her, like he was really inconveniencing her more than me. Then he asked for $3. I had no cash on me (well, I did, but it was for supper. Not for a bum's fix of Dr. McGillicuddy's) and La didn't either, so the conversation ended quickly. But he was clever to ask me if I was from around here as he was getting my attention, because I simply thought he was lost. I was open to hearing about his tale, thinking I'd eventually have to tell him where the nearest gas station is. But he lied. He was drunk. Clever, yes. But drunk.

Ok, I've rambled enough for one day. Here's wishing you a real stick-to-the-ribs lunch that'll tide you over until dinner.

Why Walk When You Can...

...run? Or perhaps just not go at all.

Ahh, yes. The morning run. Today marked the re-inauguration of me taking a nice morning jog. Or, as I like to call it, 30 minutes of my life where I really, truly wish I was dead.

I got up at 5:35 this morning, laced up the old tennis shoes and threw on my (well, not mine...actually it was La's pink iPod...shockingly emasculating**) headphones and took to the streets of Boston's Back Bay. One song into the run, I was gasping for air and, as I mentioned before, wishing I was dead. Let me run through the reasons why this common ritual among the active lifestylers makes me feel as such.

1. The effect on my insides.

For some reason, every time in my life (approximately 30 times) that I have gone for a run, my stomach takes revenge on me; for what, I have no idea. But I always find myself struggling to keep my bowels in check for the duration of the run. There is an upside to this, because it takes my mind off of the other things that add to my despair.

2. The burning in my lungs.

I have asthma. I cannot run in the cold weather because it's too much for my lungs to handle. Even running in the warm humidity of a June morning is a task. But somewhere inside, I just know that I'm bettering the overall state of my breathers. I coughed up a lot of shit this morning...hopefully that will subside before too long.

3. Overheating.

I sweat like a whore in church when I run, and my face turns the shade of a beet. I sweat through my cool-off stretches, through my cold-to-warm-to-cold shower and right on into breakfast. My sweat finally ceased right around play #3 of the Top 10 SportsCenter highlights from yesterday. I enjoy sweating, but that's too much. I was, however, 3.5 pounds lighter after my run than I was last night before bed.

4. The Other Runners.

No matter how brisk my pace, I'm always seeing these other runners gliding on by, leaving me in the dust. This is no good for me, because I get competitive and try to match their paces. I then get burned out quickly and have to slow to a snail's pace for a few minutes, thus leaving me discouraged and demotivated. This is where the iPod has to bring me back up...perhaps a little AC/DC or Rage Against the Machine, as was the case this morning.

But with the bad comes the good. I feel extremely energized today and my legs are the good kind of sore. I've been to the bathroom a hundred and sixty-two times already, but I can deal with the bowel movements. I'm also peeing an inordinate amount because I'm trying to drink tons of water to keep well hydrated. Tomorrow will be another interesting morning as I try my hand in the weight room. I haven't been privy to that kind of scene since Sophomore year of college, 1998. Yikes.

** - to clarify this, La has a pink i Pod because it was purchased for her by an ex...who, as it turns out, might be gay himself. She hates it and never felt comfortable using it from the start; hence, she also has a silver one and black one. I use it because I don't have my own iPod and the silver one that she has and doesn't use anymore is on its last legs. Thus, I suffer through life with a pink iPod.

You can contribute to the 'French's New iPod' fund here: www.frenchipodthatsnotpink.com

Thanks a lot, people. Your kindness will not go overlooked. God bless.

Only In Dreams

I wish I knew why some dreams that I have are so much more vivid than other ones. Is it something I eat? Is it because I'm more tired than usual? Maybe it has something to do with the position I'm sleeping in, who knows? What I do know is that there are mornings that I wake up and recollect a dream as if it actually happened because it's so colorful and detailed in my mind.
This morning was one of those times and I will share with you the transpiration of this dream.

Let me start off by saying that this was a dream that included several stages of my life on one, microcosmic setting. I like it when that happens because to me, this kind of dream is supposed to mean something. Anyway, the dream started at the home of my closest friends, Nate and Josh, who are brothers. Only, it wasn't their childhood house. It was in Beverly, which is where I grew up, but it wasn't the same house. I have no idea what house it was and I don't think it's a house I've ever been in. But it was their house. There was a party there and pretty much my entire group of friends from high school was in attendance. I do not remember any presence of alcohol, however. I guess it wasn't an integral part of the dream.

The next part of the dream involved one of Maggie's (Nate and Josh's little sister) friends trying to hit one me. Here's where the whole 'several stages of my life' part comes into place. La wasn't with me at the party. but I actually said to this other girl in the dream, "I have a girlfriend, leave me alone." I ever remember feeling as though I wasn't sure where La was and trying to call her. Weird. Also weird is that this other girl was actually Vicky Vallaincourt from the movie 'The Waterboy'. And she was the same character as well; I think she told me "you ain't man enough fo' me, anyway" once she realized I wasn't interested.

Then comes the weirdest part of the dream. I was in the kitchen of this house long after people had left, and I was slicing up a whole pig in the proper cuts that one might get from his or her local butcher. I remember that I had planned on putting all of this stuff in the freezer for Nate's mom, sort of as a thank you for letting us have a party at their house. I also remember feeling extremely guilty as I was doing this, because of the whole meat issue that I'm currently dealing with.

I stopped before finishing the job of cutting the pig (which was dead when I started) because I just couldn't do it. It was pretty gross. But then I was left with this carcass and all this cut up pork, so I had to get rid of it. I put all of it in a plastic trash bag and started to walk it out of the house, but I ran in to Josh on my way out. He was coming home from driving some people home and he chatted with me for a few minutes. I wouldn't tell him what was in the bag. Then I left to walk up the street to dispose of the bag.

I walked as far as I had to in order to find a dumpster that I could inconspicuously ditch the bag in. I didn't want to leave the bag in Nate's garbage; no idea why that was. So I drop the bag and start to walk back to the house, but at this point, I have absolutely no idea where I am. Next thing I know, a live pig runs up behind me with a tennis ball in his mouth and nudges my leg. He then drops the ball at my feet and grunts while looking up at me. So I threw the ball down the street. The pig stayed with me for a while, playing fetch and just kind of following me on my walk to find Nate's house again. Then at one point, he saw a mother and her baby walking into their house, so he ran after them. I never saw him again.

After walking for what seemed like hours, I give in to calling Nate and asking him where I am. Again, this is supposed to Beverly. There isn't a part of this city that I don't know. But I tell him I'm on 'Union St.', and he says that I'm downtown. He lived nowhere close to downtown when we were kids. I asked him to come and get me, and he said "give me five or 45 minutes". After walking further into town, I realize that I'm in the Downtown Crossing section of Boston and it's now morning. People are everywhere, and I run into another old friend, the Alison. She was smoking a brown cigarette and we walked to meet Nate. That was it. I woke up at this point.

My analysis of this dream will show that it highlights current issues in my life and actual situations. It is a reflection of many things that are happening to me right now.

1. The Vicky Vallaincourt thing.

Last night was one of the rare nights that La and I were sleeping apart, so that might account for the fact that she wasn't present in the dream. She obviously existed to me because I remember thinking about her during the dream and trying to call her, wondering where she was. This makes sense because we spend 95% of our time together.

2. The pig incident.

As I've mentioned in a previous blog, I am having issues with meat as of late. Red meat has become a rarity in my eating life and I can't remember the last time I ate a pork product. Cutting up the pig left me feeling very guilty, and I also remember thinking in the dream that La would be disgusted if she knew I was slicing up a pig for food consumption. This is why I stopped doing it. I felt bad, guilty and displeased with myself for this.

3. The trash fiasco.

La and I go up to New Hampshire pretty often on weekends. We generate a decent amount of trash while we're there and we have to take it with us when we leave because there's no trash pick up there. Lately, we've been stopping at this restaurant up there to dispose of our garbage in their dumpster. I always feel a little bad about this and kind of look around before I toss the bag. Oh, the name of this restaurant is the Yankee Smokehouse and their logo happens to be...you guessed it, a pig. Hence, I was disposing a dead pig in someone else's trash and feeling weird about it.

4. The pig pal.

See #2, #3. Maybe this pig was trying to tell me that I should feel really guilty for slicing up his friend, but the fact that he was playing fetch was certainly an effort to depict a pig as a pet; I'd never kill something that I'd keep as a pet.

5. Union St. & Alison

I can't really go into detail about this one, but a close friend of mine will know why this is pertinent information when he reads it. It has nothing to do with me directly as Alison is a name in his past. And it's got nothing to do with him cheating or anything like that...whatever, it makes sense to me that it was a part of the dream. If you really want to know, email me.

6. Downtown

One of my current goals in to get back to working downtown in Boston. In my dream, I'm lost and can't find my way. When I finally find myself in familiar territory, it's in downtown Boston and I know exactly how to get home. Maybe I'm closer than I think to landing back in the city.

It's kind of fun to pick apart dreams and try to make sense of the individual events within them. Of course, it's a rarity for me when I remember such specific details of a dream, but maybe there are reasons why this one was so vivid. They say that the average dream lasts no longer than 20-30 seconds. If this is true, that dream may have been the most efficient dream in the history of dreams.

Weekend Notes

-Got a wicked bad sunburn New Hampshire. Also, I realized that the rotation of music on WCYY in Portland must include Greenday's Working Class Hero as well as the new White Stripes tune. This rotation happens about every 90 minutes.

-The Sox completed an offensively deficient road trip at 3-4, their lead in the AL East diminished to a mere 9.5 games over the streaking Yankees. If any of you listen to or watch Mike and Mike in the Morning on ESPN2, you can hear Dick Vitale every Monday morning. Today, he warned all Sox fans that the Yankees are coming back and the Sox need to start looking in their rear view mirror. Hey Dick, here's a news flash for you. You just beat up on the Pirates and the White Sox. Clemens wasn't exactly on point in his first start, either. Let's talk after the next two series with Arizona and the Mets.

Honorable Mention

I think I'm going to be hooked on this jersey topic for a few posts. After further contemplation this afternoon, I present 5 more jerseys that very well could have been in the top 5 had I been in a slightly different mood yesterday. There are some real gems in here.



1. Elway Era Broncos jersey

I think they worse these with orange pants. Enough said. I don't like how they went to the new style numbers, like all curvy and shit. These are classics, and very plain and simple. I think my tastes in jerseys are plain and simple, no? Stick to the basics, man. Stick to the basics. (in the words of the immortal coach Bud Kilmer)










2. Michigan Football jersey

Probably the greatest color scheme in the history of sports. But it's not yellow, it's MAIZE. And who has a better helmet that Michigan?








3. Old School Habs jersey

I have a soft spot for the Canadiens, what can I say. I've heard it called sacrilege, but frankly, I've never been a huge hockey fan. I am, however, a fan of Guy LaFleur, Saku Koivu and all things Canadien. Er, French Canadien.




2. Throwback Buffalo Sabres jersey, a la La Fontaine

Again, not a huge hockey fan, but this logo is one of the best of all time. Why they changed, I'll never know. A huge buffalo between two crossed swords is just about as good as it gets, isn't it? And that old color scheme again...it's everywhere!








1. Garvey Era Padres jersey

LOOK AT IT!!! Yellow AND Brown? And a little orange, yes I know. But this is a classic. The Pads don't break these out nearly enough, in my most humble opinion. Picture Tony Gwynn, banging out all those hits in these glorious colors. They had a sick cap, too. Awesome.

Layout Fiasco

Sorry about the layout issues from the last post. This happens to me all the time, and I can usually fix it. But this one is beyond repair. I hope it still gets its' point across.

Oh, in case you haven't got enough of the Nords logo on the jersey (per my #1 jersey of all time), here's another little morsel for you.

Top Ten Jerseys of All-Time

10. Early 90's Toronto Blue Jays

I just wish the Jays would revert back to this old-school
logo. Their uniforms these days barely have any blue
in them. What the hell is that? And they took the
idea of adding black to their uniform way too far. All-

black hats are no good. Look at the Jay on Carter's
jersey there. Awesome.

9. 70's Dan Devine Era Notre Dame jerseys

Are you kidding me? Look at Montana in this picture. He looks

like such an animal in that green jersey and the gold pants. You know, Devine re-implemented these jerseys so that the Irish might snap out of a funk they were in at the time, and it worked. Must be luck. No good?

8. Current Miami Football jerseys

I'm not the biggest fan of Miami football, believe me. But I've liked these uniforms since the first time I saw them. I feel like they just have a lot to offer in the style department.

7. Throwback Vancouver Canucks jerseys

So simple, so sick. You have to love the subtelty of the hockey stick in the middle of the jersey, all by itself. It suggests that this is a hockey jersey and nothing else. It doesn't even suggest what team it represents, but we know it's a hockey jersey. Genius. Old Whaler colors, too.

6. Current Mavericks jerseys

I think these are some of the best jerseys the NBA has ever seen, next to the two that precede this one in my pecking order. The blue stripe down the side is almost not noticeable, but it's necessary because it is part of the Mav's color scheme. Good work on design here, guys.

5. Celtics Alternate jerseys

I mentioned before that some teams really overdid it when they added black as an alternate color to their uniform. I think this is the most tasteful representation of the black addition. Not too much, and they went back to having 'Boston' on the front instead of 'Celtics'. Awesome.

4. Cavs' Throwback jerseys

These are, hands down, my favorite NBA jerseys of all-time. Whoever came up with the piping for these jerseys should be inducted into the Pro Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield. I'm not even sure when the Cavs had these colors, but they made the most of them. Just look at it. LOOK AT IT.

3. Deion Sanders Era Atlanta Falcons jerseys

This one is a package deal, with the helmet and the jersey. But it wasn't just the white one that did it for me. They also had a black and I believe there was a red at some point, too, and they wore silver pants with these jerseys. My second favorite uniforms the NFL has ever seen.

2. Original New England Patriots jerseys

Two words: Pat Patriot. Best NFL uniforms ever created. I like the uniforms they have now, but I wish they would go back to these unis, full time. They're so great, aren't they?

1. Quebec Nordiques jersey

A Nordique is a man from the north. That's where the Nords got their name. This jersey possesses one of the best logos in the history of sport, what with the igloo-slash-hockey stick-and-puck combination. Great colors, and they managed to put the fleur-de-lis along the bottom there. Classic. I was very upset when the Nords moved to Colorado, but it's great when the Avalanche wear these as their throwbacks.

Fantasy Yankees

Bowen, full credit to you for the inspiration here. In light of your posting about your fantasy Sox team, here is my New York Yankee lineup, concocted of my most hated players in the game today. I don't have any other pre-requisite for this team other than my hatred for each player. Here goes.

1B - Jason Giambi, Yankees

2B - Brian Roberts, O's

3B - Alex Rodriguez (top vote getter) Yankees

SS - David Eckstein, Cards

LF - Matt Stairs, Jays

CF - Gary Matthews Jr., Angels

RF - Gary Sheffield, Tigers

C - A.J. Pierzynski, ChiSox

DH - Barry Bonds, Giants

SP - Matt Clement, Red Sox; Gustavo Chacin, Jays; Jeff Weaver, Mariners; Brett Myers, Phils; Randy Johnson, D'Backs.

RP - Vinnie Chulk, Giants

Closer - Armando Benitez, Marlins

Manager - Ozzie Guillen, ChiSox


I know a lot of the guys on here are either current or former Yankees and I guess that says something about where most of my hatred stems from. Either way, I'd love to hate this team.

Time To Cut Bait

Let's assume for just one minute that Brian Cashman decides to rescind the contract offer to Roger Clemens in light of the recent setback due to Clembo's groin injury. Forget about the issues of contract validity (see Billy Donovan for a cloudier case), forget about the swallowed pride, forget about embarrassing the Rocket and forget about making millions of Yankee fans very, very upset. Let's take a look at possible ways the Yankees might tell their beloved fan base of this occurrence, should it come to pass.

1. Make an announcement over the P.A. system at Yankee Stadium and post the following message on the center field jumbotron:

"Hey Yankee Fans: Roger Clemens is NO LONGER a Yankee! Again! Also, we're giving up on the season in June!!!!"

1A. Bring Roger himself into the stadium again and put him up in George's box. Give him the mic during the seventh inning stretch of a game and the following script:

Hey fans, it's me again, Roger Clemens. I just wanted to take this opportunity to tell y'all that I lied when I told y'all I'd see you soon. As it turns out, I'm really fuckin' old and perhaps more importantly, this team has no shot in hell of making the playoffs. Thank you.

2. When eventually being forced to put Kei Igawa back in the starting rotation, have him record a message in Japanese before his first start. Before the first pitch of that start, throw the message up on the jumbotron with subtitles. Igawa will report that Roger Clemens won't be joining the club anymore because he has a bad groin but not to worry, because he will be their new #1 starter. Igawa will then reveal that he is actually a woman.

3. Prior to the next home start, fly a mini rocket into the outfield of Yankee Stadium. Botch the landing so that the rocket is actually destroyed beyond recognition, and then bury Clemens' contract in the hole left by the rocket. Fill in the hole and place a grave stone on top of it that reads '2007 season'. Be sure this is all televised and visible on the jumbotron.

It would make sense for the Yankees to pull the plug on the Clemens thing. They're twice as far off of the lead in AL East than they were when they signed him, the guy is not healthy and frankly, the rest of the pitching staff isn't either. How much of a jumpstart can a 45 year-old give a pitching staff, much less an entire team? I just don't know how they can justify that kind of money on Roger, given the whole picture. The Red Sox have even lost 4 out of their last 5 and still the Yankees remain 12.5 games back. Hell, they're 2 games behind the second place Jays at this point. Mussina isn't the same pitcher this year, Pettitte might be hurt, Igawa is in AAA, Wang is shaky at best, Clippard and DeSalvo are rookies and Rivera has only had 7 save opportunities all season. The bullpen is a joke, nothing more. Abreu is involved in trade talks, A-Rod is involved in every controversial issue in baseball right now (and slumping), Giambi is hurt (and shitty), Matsui has dropped off, Damon's production is down and he can't throw (I know, old news) and Cano is in the typical sophomore slump year. What's left is a red-hot Posada and of course, Jeter, who may never have a bad year. Just not a good scene in the Bronx.

Believe me, I am of the persuasion that a baseball season in Boston isn't as much fun if there's not a tight Sox/Yanks race to worry about on a daily basis. And you never know, there could be a lot of scenarios that could play out over the remaining 2/3 of the season. All I'm saying is that it's not looking good for the Yankees and paying an aging star (who might give you six innings per start) 24 million dollars or so just isn't justifiable. It's a total waste of money and a very desperate move by a crazy old man.

Food for Thought

Two things struck me as mutually interesting yesterday. I guess I wouldn't have found cause to write about them individually but having seen both of them in the same day, I found enough inspiration to bang out a blog on the subject.

Incident #1: at the dinner table at my folks' house.

Five of us are sitting around the table eating clam chowder (A+ on the chowder, mom) and my dad calls for my attention. He directs me to his dog Wilson, who appears to be deep in thought on his doggie bed next to the dinner table. Sure enough, he was engaged in the blankest stare one could possibly imagines, eyes slightly bigger than slits. I began to wonder what he was thinking about, assuming it was probably food or taking a leak.

Incident #2: 12:45am in bed, trying desperately to fall asleep while watching Animal Planet.

There was a program running about a chimpanzee refuge in Florida that houses 30 rescued chimps from testing labs in Africa. The woman assessing her chimps remarked that all animals have thoughts, feelings and emotions just like you and me, and they must be considered and treated as such.

I guess this whole thing struck a chord with me on varying levels at this particular time because more than ever, I have been increasingly aware of what I am eating in terms of animal products and stuff like that. I've never been one to shy away from eating meats of any kind but as of late, I've been shying away from red meat and pork products in favor of lots of fish and poultry. I'm not a vegetarian by any stretch of the imagination, but I can appreciate why people I know are either vegetarian, pescetarian or something of that nature. Every time I hear or see something relating to animal cruelty or the treatment of animals who are bred for food production, it's unsettling to say the least. But I digress, because this was not intended to be a post about not eating meat.

Often times I wonder about the thoughts in the heads of animals, especially those that are a part of my life on some consistent level. Wilson is probably the most visible animal, as I see him every weekend or so while I'm visiting my parents. I don't know what it is about this dog, but he certainly has a personality and quirks about him that I find hilarious. To look at him yesterday in his 'deep thought', I wondered if there was anything at all going through his small dog brain. Usually when he's fixated on one thing for an inordinate amount of time, it's a morsel of food or my father. This dog spends half of his time awake staring at my father because he wants to go outside or eat. I'll be watching a Sox game with my dad and Wilson will literally sit across the room from him and stare for long periods of time without budging. Occasionally he'll let out a soft whimper to be noticed and if he gets really antcy, he'll sit right in front of my dad and whine like a child. Point is, he knows who takes him on walks, who gives him food and treats and above all, he knows that my dad is the only person alive who will adhere to his demands. Dogs are simple animals with small brains but they do what they can with what they have, don't they? Wilson knows that, in order for him to be happy, he must count on a man for all things. The only thing he has failed to figure out is that he will always have massive diarrhea every time he steals entire loaves of bread off of the counter. However, how many human beings eat really shitty food, full-well knowing that they're going to feel like complete shit for a while after? We all do from time to time. I might even argue that we know better of this fate than a dog, which makes us dumber in that regard. Also proving his intelligence is something I've noticed fairly recently. He used to get really excited when I walk in and the last few visits he totally ignores me and falls all over Lauren. I've now lost the affections of two life forms in my family to Lauren: a young boy and a dog. What's next??

Obviously Wilson has proven to me that he is wise beyond what most might think of him. The great thing is, he will eternally possess the ability to have others underestimate him and his intelligence; this is his equalizer. Fortunately for him, he's not a test subject in an animal lab like the chimps I referred to. A sad moment in that chimp program I watched detailed the fate of Sparky, a 35 year-old chimp who looked like an elderly chimp due to the fact that he was used in testing cures for Hepatitis. It was sure to cut his life in half, but luckily for him he could live out his days in this sunny Florida refuge, without the constant, badgering stares of lab assistants nor the sting of their sharp needles. The program ended on a bright note, telling of how this woman who was visiting these chimps had received a grant of land in Louisiana where should can now build a refuge ten times the size of this one in Florida. She'll be able to save hundreds more of these former test chimps like she had the aforementioned. What was amazing to me is these chimps clearly knew who she was and expressed certain affection and emotion when she came into contact with them. It was a moving story, but ultimately I failed in my quest for boring tv that could put me to sleep.

I'm guessing there will come a day when I stop eating meat altogether. The more material I see related to the torturing and treatment of animals, regardless of the purpose, makes me think a little more about what I can do to play a part in not aiding these practices. And I understand the argument that testing has proven extremely valuable in the advancement of cures for disease. I also know that there is something called the food chain and ultimately, we all take our place as either the consumer or the consumed. Perhaps those who remain ignorant about where their food comes from and how it is produced will be inherently less stressed about it than he or she who does a little research on the matter.

One thing remains a glaring fact amidst all of this thought in my own brain: Wilson has it all figured out lives life as I might choose to live it if I didn't have to work for a living. He sleeps 75% of the day, doesn't pay taxes, never worries about being on time, has every blessed meal handed to him in a silver bowl and finally, he's followed around by a man who cares for him endlessly enough to pick up his poop and dispose of it for him without a single thought of resentment. You win, Wilson. You win.

Le Roi

Le Roi...c'est francais pour "The King". C'est bon...c'est tres bon.