Out Like a Lion...

And if all goes down as it appears it might as I sit here now, that is a huge, badass lion with nasty incisors and a hefty appetite.

There's nothing like a solid metaphor, and this case I am clearly referring to the Boston sports scene, here and now. We're looking at potentially bringing in two big time pieces to fill in one puzzle that is damn near complete and a second that is taking shape and looking like it could be a quickly assembled, well constructed masterpiece.

Let's begin with KG entering the scene as soon as today, joining PP and Ray Allen to form a starting lineup that will stand up to any in the NBA and vault the C's from a solid 4 or 5 seed in the East to an odds on favorite to reach the NBA Finals. The fear is that we're dumping our entire bench, with the exceptions of Tony Allen, Big Baby and Leon Powe with a handful of below-average role players like Scal and the Candyman. I'm okay with that, save maybe letting go of Gerald and Gomes. Gerald's departure was imminent; Gomes was one that I hoped wouldn't find a way into this equation. However, you have to be willing to let go of a lot in order to land a superstar like the Big Ticket. (speaking of big ticket, big shout out to my boys Richie and Carl for getting the deal done for season tickets today...excellent work there, chums)

If the C's can manage to pick up a battle-tested veteran over the course of the next several months and perhaps one other piece, the NBA Finals look that much more like a certainty. For the Boston Celtics' fans that have patiently awaited something good to happen over the last 15 or so years, this is a nice payoff. Bad coaching, bad front office work, etc...all that considered, we wouldn't be in the position to pick up a Kevin Garnett without the foundations of several potential All-Stars like Big Al and Gerald Green. There's something to be said about their development here in Boston under the tutelage of Doc and Danny. Regardless of the outcome of the impending 2007-08 season, it promises to be one of great excitement here in the Hub.

Piece #2: Eric Gagne. The big righty is supposedly all but in a Sox uniform as it stands now, depending on whether or not he approves a move to Boston. Consider a bullpen that is made up of Mannny Delcarmen, Eric Gagne, Hideki Okajima and Jonathan Papelbon. Unstoppable. You will be hard pressed to find a hole in there and with the solidarity of our rotation that just continues to turn out quality start after quality start, October looks mighty fine. The beauty of this is, it's not necessarily about Money when it comes to Gagne. It's more about the superb job our scouts and front office have done to give the Sox a top notch farm system to offer so much value when trying to acquire guys like Gagne and perhaps even Jermaine Dye. They've drafted well and fostered the upbringing of quality guys like Clay Buchholz, Jacoby Ellsbury and a slew of others and it shows.

KG is now officially a Celtic. I'm giddy. Eric Gagne is looking like he will be in a Sox uniform by 4 pm. I'm more giddy. July 31, 2007 won't soon be forgotten by Boston fans...not for a long, long time.

Farewell, Dynisco

Dynisco, sweet Dynisco, I'm parting ways.
Hopefully my future holds much brighter days.

It's not that I truly despised my time here,
It's really the commute from which I choose to steer clear.

I've learned that a sensor comes in so many types,
And also that KR passes the buck on most gripes.

I'll miss the main men's room; stall #3.
I paid my last visit, alas, just to pee.

We were best of friends, that third stall and I,
I fed it, I loved it, that thing's heard me cry.

I got sick in there once, tossed up me grits,
Tossed up me bangers and then had the shits.

I speak highly of that stall 'cause we were quite the pair,
'Twas where I was most productive in all my days there.

I'll miss Uncle Roy and his lunchtime guarantee,
"If my food doesn't make you shit, then it's free."

The cards games at lunch were the highlight of the day,
And all the ways we could surmise that Doug was surely gay.

A lot of you won't understand what this poem is all about.
But go work at Dynisco and you'll soon figure it out.


There. That is my farewell to the good people at Dynisco and to the Sensors Sales Team that served as my family for the past 9 months. Godspeed, gentlemen.

Behold...

The Baconator

Go to Wendy's, get the Biggie Size combo meal and feast your ass-I mean eyes-on these sobering facts about the Baconator combo meal:

2290 Calories

127g of Fat

48g of Saturated Fat

350 mg of Cholesterol

5010 mg of Sodium

The box that it comes in also has a warning from the Surgeon General:

the Baconator may cause bacon-related child defects (child being born with a pot belly and a curly tail; oinks instead of crying). It should not be consumed by someone under the influence of alcohol because you'll be too drunk to remember the heart attack it caused.

I know, you're all thinking that all of a sudden, I'm health conscious and telling you about unholy food and its nutritional value (Bowen, I'm sorry you love Boloco. Nate, you too. But get a grip).

I'm just trying to help you out, but if you're stupid enough to eat the Baconator, I think you've got a host of other problems that have nothing to do with me and should thus consult a neurologist to make sure you have a working brain up there. You've heard of the proverbial 'shit sandwich', no? It's the one that someone might offer you in an effort to really insult you or make you feel unwanted. Well, you'd be better off eating a real shit sandwich than the Baconator. For real, next time you have the urge to consume a Baconator, call me up. I'll gladly shit in a bun and serve it up to you on a plate. Would you like fries with that?

Perspective

The homeruns are great. Pitching matchups are interesting and usually make for stellar competition. There are a million reasons why I love baseball and all that it has to offer, but last night was the prime example of how the emotion of sport can take hold of the common fan and suddenly turn a somewhat significant game in late July into the mark of a season, a career, a lifetime even.

Perspective is something that I have developed a vast appreciation for over the past 6 months to a year. I think I've been learning how to separate the menial from the immense and better understand that whole 'grand scheme of things'. Well, anyone who watched last night's game and knew what it meant to one 23 year-old pitcher and his family probably learned a little bit more about perspective and how abundantly different it can be from one person to the next.

It's not like cancer is this estranged disease that some of us have had some affiliation with or maybe a distant connection to. Every single person that I have known and will ever know has a connection to this sometimes fatal disease, and I feel confident in saying that the word 'cancer' is still a very scary utterance to anyone. I've never been diagnosed with any form of cancer, but I'm fairly certain that at some juncture in my life, I will hear that word spoken in my direction...whether I'm old and approaching death or a day over 29 and approaching my thirties, I will still be scared. If I had fulfilled my childhood dream of playing professional baseball and at the tender age of 22, I was diagnosed with the disease, i don't know what I would feel. I wish I could ask Jon Lester what sort of emotions he felt when he learned of his development of the disease.

Lester made it to the big club at just 22, and as a starting pitcher to boot. He had a baby face, a strong left arm and a competitive streak that most Sox fans could plainly see when he took the hill last season. He won some games, pitched remarkably well for a rookie that young and had us fans talking about the future of the rotation and how bright it might actually be. Things were probably somewhere in the general vicinity of perfect for Lester last summer, or at least I would have to imagine they were. Until late August.

The devastation from the level of a fan was immense and Sox fans everywhere felt it. It wasn't the same as Pedro getting hurt and being out for months. It wasn't JD Drew pulling a hamstring and being a question mark for some unknown length of time. It wasn't Trot going down for almost an entire season, creating a massive hole in our offense. It was a kid having cancer; a kid that represented a big part of the club's future. But it was cancer that sent the shockwaves through the Nation, not the imminent DL spot for Lester. It was the unknown of the initial diagnosis that had everyone guessing as to whether or not this young man might live to see 23...a little more serious than wondering if your starting leftfielder might be back in time for the playoffs. Overall, it was just really difficult to put into perspective from a fan's view because it was so unfair. It's Darryl Stingley and Travis Roy. And that's just the fan's point of view...my point of view.

I had wondered about the feelings of his parents, of his closest friends and of his own emotions as he went through this whole ordeal. I suppose that, after a fairly short or long period of time, he knew that the cancer was found in ample time to extract it all and label his self cancer-free. But I don't know if that can really be considered a comfort since you just never know if it might come back and take more of your life away from you. Then came the chemotherapy sessions that were surely painful and draining for him and his family, followed by that uphill battle to get back into some sort of shape that might allow him to return to pitching in the major leagues of baseball-something that is hard enough to do the first time WITHOUT having battled cancer. I now wonder a little less about those feelings that he and his family might have had or might be having now.

I watched last night's game and I don't know what I expected to see. Lester was one of my favorite young players well before he first pitched at Fenway, so I knew that he would give it his all and probably give us a solid start. He's a great competitor. What I didn't...or couldn't predict were the emotions portrayed by him and his family over the course of the game. From watching his mother rock back and forth in her seat, half the time cupping her hands over her eyes and the other half peering over those hands to watch him pitch, you could really feel her nervousness and relief and fear and all those things. In the fourth inning, he let Cleveland load the bases and after working out of some trouble to get to 2 outs, he faced Grady Sizemore. Sizemore took him deep two innings before. Lester had been all over the place with his pitches in that inning and it certainly didn't feel like he was in complete control, but when he got Sizemore to two strikes and ultimately blew a 93mph fastball by Sizemore's swinging bat, you could feel the relief of much more than a simple recorded out in a ballgame. Lester yelled and pumped his fist, his mother threw her hands up on top of her head and look skyward and the whole family section hugged each other. I thought it was quite a moment, but I can't begin to imagine how they felt. Or how they felt after the sixth when they knew he wouldn't return to the mound, or after the ninth when it was assured that he had become the winning pitcher for that night.

I know that the win in that ballgame didn't much matter to Jon or his family in the way that it used to. I appreciated the 'W' in the win column as much as everyone else, but I really appreciate the fact that Jon Lester is back in our rotation, as healthy as before but certainly a much different person than he ever was.

Two Battles Lost

I suppose there comes a time in every relationship where one of the two has to get used to sharing his or her partner with another human being, for whatever reason. Maybe one of the two is working on a project with someone, or traveling on business with someone, or just spending time with a new friend. This weekend i've had to split time with an unlikely character; he's actually an adolescent with dorky glasses and a British accent (being that he's British and all) and supposedly he rides a broom.

Yep, Harry Potter has taken over as La's current flavor of the week, a spot that I have proudly occupied for a good 8 or 9 months now. I guess every dog has his day. Let's have a look at how I stack up to young Mr. Potter.

As I mentioned, Harry is younger than I, actually 10 years my junior to be exact. I guess he may be a bit more spry than I am these days, but I am working on that shortcoming. He possesses that newly pubescent look with perhaps even a little hint of a fuzzy moustache, whereas I can't even try to hide my dirty upper lip. It's plainly visible even on the morn of a fresh shave. On looking young, advantage Potter.

Potter's sport of choice is Quidditch, which would appear to be some sort of amalgum of lacrosse and curling with the addition of brooms and an air-bound playing field. Right. My sport is football and as a few of my readers will attest, I could William Tell that Potter's ass right off the broomstick and send him hurdling earthward. I don't tend to know the athleticism involved in a sport such as quidditch, but it does look like it possesses a fairly high degree of difficulty. But I can't concede this one to Potter because I just know I could throw on his ass all day if you lined him up at corner. I think I could hold my own on a broom. Advantage: me.

I wish I didn't have to go here, but in light of the last category, it seems fitting. I think Potter might have the upper hand when it comes to vehicle of choice. Surely his broom is light years cooler than my 2005 Saturn Ion. He may not be able to offer the comforts of a padded seat and dual airbags but there's nothing sexy about a 4-cylinder sedan that gets 32 mpg, highway. And think about the time and money you could save on parking with that broom. Forget valet, you could check it with your coat or better yet, stick it under the table while you eat. Advantage: Potter.

I fear that I may fall short in the category of trade as well. Potter studies wizardry and from the limited portions of the movies that I've seen, he can do some pretty cool shit. I can't name anything specifically but in my book, all magic is cool magic. I, on the other hand, studied marketing and my trade is sales. Sure, I can write a little, but neither selling prowess nor writing ability is going to hold any water when matched up against a dude who's a friggin' wizard. I must confess that I can't even master the simplest of card tricks; nevermind lighting something on fire or disappearing, what have you. Once again, advantage: Potter.

I think I have found an advantage in the looks department. For starters, I currently possess a nice brownish tan from time spent in the sun, whereas Potter sports the pasty white guy look. I can't really compare hairstyles because I had the Potter do no more than a few months ago. I don't wear those studious glasses, nor do I wear a school uniform day in and day out. I should hope that La prefers the shorts and a polo look, accented by flip flops and the occasional cap.

Regardless of the outcome of this head-to-head battle between me and Potter, I have lost out this weekend and will continue to lose out until the final installment of his journeys is put to rest. I suppose that if there's one dude that I don't mind sharing La with, it would have to be a fictional character. Or not.

In light of a recent request from the comment section of one recent post, I'm going to go ahead and post the results of the dog cliche text war that unfolded last week. It started on my end with a comment about drafting Vick in fantasy and it kind of just took its own life after that. Enjoy.

Me: Is it fair to say that if you select Vick in the draft, the season could be a real...dogfight?

Hammen: Taking Vick could really come back to bite you.

Me: What can you say about Vick? It's a dog eat dog world

.
Hammen: He'll definitely be spending some time in the doghouse.

Me: I'd say Goodell will be keeping him on a short leash.

Hammen: He could be all bark, no bite.

Me: Nah, he'll probably walk out of the meeting with his tail between his legs.

Hammen: He's kind of a dog without a bone right now.

Me: I wonder if he's enjoying the dog days of summer?

Hammen: Those investigators are barking up the wrong tree if you ask me.

Me: I guess they found a book on dogfighting in his home. The page about pitbulls was dog-eared.

Hammen: They'll just be chasing their tails.

Me: It's high time they release the hounds.

Following these exchanges, I repeated my 'tail between his legs' cliche from earlier and forfeited the contest as a result, making Hammen the undisputed winner of the cliche-a-thon. But I'll be back, and I'll be stronger than before. I will prevail. Oh yes, I will prevail.

The Week That Was

As a Friday treat, I thought I'd break down my week by highs and lows and see just how good or bad it really was. After all, this was my first fuil week back at work following the glorious trip to Puerto Rico. It was bound for eventfulness, 'twas it not? Methinks.

Let's begin with the end.

1. We all went out to lunch today...the sales team here. David sat to my right, and he ordered the Captain's Platter. He's about 5' tall, and the platter is just massive. I remarked that he should have ordered the First Mate's Platter (good, solid round of laughs) then asked if he had read the sign at the door saying "You Must Be This Tall To Order The Captain's Platter". He didn't see the sign, nor did anyone else. Also, he didn't see the humor, nor did anyone else. I did get points, however, when the Vick scandal came on the tube in the lounge and I remarked, "Man, Vick sure got himself into a dogfight with the NFL." I won that battle, but ultimately lost the fight...see #2.

2. I somehow became entrenched in a text war with Hammen; the basis was coming up with dog cliches concerning the Vick fiasco. See above for an example. Anyway, the feud lasted a whole day and then some, but I eventually repeated one when I wrote for the second time a text containing the cliche "tail between his legs". I was beaten.

3. I got the offer for the new job this afternoon. Thankfully, I will be ridding myself of the monotony that I have known for the past 8 months in short time. That's a huge victory.

4. I achieved 3 of 4 running goals for the week: I ran 5 miles for the first time, I ran 4 of 6 days (4 of 5 actually), I burned over 2000 calories in those 4 days and I did a 5k in under 29 minutes. Nothing miraculous here, but all milestones for this guy.

5. I've started eating something in my diet that gives me tremendous gas. I mean, bone-throttling gas...I just don't know what it is that's doing it to me. I've been eating a lot of new shit this week, so I've got to try and isolate the culprit this weekend. But my stomach has been in shambles for a few days now.

6. I got caught up with Ponch this morning, and it turns out that he is headed up to Vermont for that wedding he wrote about not too long ago. His expectations are high, which is probably going to bite him. Undoubtedly, he'll end up getting too stoned after the ceremony and asking some bridesmaid to join him in his hotel room for a cheeseburger sub and NHL '97 on SEGA, thus killing his chances of anything good happening. Unless, of course, she's into that. Then he might just get married up there, too. Best of luck, you sack.

7. And finally, the Red Sox. I'm not going to say much here because there's just nothing original to say. My Dad has already given his annual "there's always next year" speech, so the inevitable summer slide must be upon us. But let's look at it this way: it's earlier than usual, so maybe they're having their growing pains early. Much like the first girl in high school to have breasts, it'll be a little uncomfortable at first for them but eventually they'll be basking in the affections of everyone again soon. This funk will pass, it has to. They're too good and they're pitching will eventually save them. I still think we'll win the AL East by 10 games or more.

That's all for today. Hope you all have an insanely good weekend. Salut.

Inspired Bullshit

I trust most of your have heard of a new-age burrito place called 'Boloco', whose slogan is 'Inspired Burritos'. I'm not quite sure what, exactly, the inspiration was or has been behind these less-than-tasty burritos, but I'd love to know.

I had lunch these yesterday; myself and La were hoping to get over the Samurai Sushi but the rain prevented us from having the desire to walk several blocks. Thus, we had to settle for either Boloco or Viga. Hindsight being as clear as it is, we should have gone with Viga but we were right in front of Boloco and it provided immediate shelter from the intensifying rain. So in we went, hopes not so high because La informed me that these things were very high in fat due to the sauces that they put on the burritos. I didn't really think anything of this because I figured i could go with something made predominantly over veggies and be safe. Holy SHIT was I wrong.

I had the Mediterranean burrito: grilled chicken, tomatoes, black olives, hummus, black beans, white rice and some sort of sauce on a wheat tortilla. I'm sorry, but that doesn't sound so bad to me. I figured it had maybe 600 calories and 20g of fat, which I can live with for a good sized lunch. Here are the facts: 1129 calories, 46g of fat (13.5 of saturated fat...YIKES) and over 3000mg of sodium...137% of a daily intake. It did have 59g of protein, which is great. But are you serious with these other amounts? A fucking Whopper has less calories (990) and a little more fat (64g). I was just floored when I learned of the nutritional value of what I had just eaten. I mean, it's a little reassuring to know that the entire meal at BK with the Whopper has like 1800 calories, but there I was, thinking that I was eating something that could possibly be considered good for me, totally unbeknownst to the fact that it was worse than a fucking Whopper in some ways. Ridiculous.

I made up for it though. When I got home, I ran five miles and burned 700 of those dastardly calories off. I know what you're thinking here, that I'm watching my weight all of a sudden and counting calories? Well, yeah I am. I was really sick of looking at my hairy gut in the shower and it's become a bit of an obsession now that I've embarked upon a journey for ultimate health. I guess you can't really tackle health in a half-assed manner because it'll defeat the purpose. No matter how much good stuff you consume, if you're also consuming the shit on top of that, you're cancelling out the good stuff. No thanks.

Oh, on this post-Boloco run, I ran past another Boloco up on Huntington Ave by Northeastern and it made me visibly angry. I read the 'Inspired Burritos' line on their sign and I thought, yeah, inspired by a bunch of fat, sweaty dudes in sweat suits who decided to create something that sounded healthy but is actually worse than fast food. Inspired bullshit. Stay away from Boloco. It doesn't even taste that good, so if you're going to go off the caloric deep end, I suggest either Nick's Roast Beef or Burger King. Get your money's worth of shit and make it taste greasy and good. Get that grease running down your face onto your shirt. Let the mayonnaise drip out the ass-end of your sandwich onto your crotch. After that, take the part you're about to bite and actually dip it into a glob of mayo. Hey, we French love mayo on our fries. I used to have mayo on pretty much everything, but I've since smartened up.

In an unrelated story, I'm on the verge of making yet another move in my career. It seems as though the world corporate recruiting is calling me back to its doorstep. I'm much obliged to answer the call, as I really can't stand much more of this banal existence that I'm leading on as type. It's hell. The most exciting part of my day occurs around roughly 930am, when I get the "call to the bullpen", as I like to call it. Then I can go sit in solitude and do part of a sudoku while my system cleanses itself. In the rare event that I get two calls to the bullpen, that is a very special day, my friends. With any luck, I won't have to worry about my commute anymore, or about the lot of worthless individuals that I deal with daily. Sure, there are some people here that offer value but not nearly enough to keep me around. Sorry Tom, no hard feelings...you understand, i know you do. Eat those goji berries, though. You'll live longer. Actually, wait...today had a different highlight to speak of. My boss said I look like Sergeant Slaughter on account of my army green shirt and olive pants, so I took the liberty of drawing some stripes, cutting them out and taping them onto my sleeve. Every time someone came into my cube and asked for something while using my name, I could say, "That's Sgt. Chad to you", or every time Brady addressed me, "That's Sgt. Dickhead to you."

Indeed it is. At ease.

Novel Ideas

This afternoon I ventured out of the office to fill up my gas tank. The trip brought some good along with some bad. The bad was that I forgot my wallet, so said tank was never filled with any sort of fuel. The good was a hotdog stand on the side of the road, occupied by two female vendors clad in string bikinis; it was aptly named "Hottie's Hotdogs". Granted, this is Franklin and a hot woman here is the equivalent of Wisconsin's annual Miss Thunder Thighs Pageant...but still a novel idea and one that has spurred others of the like in my head.

Fruity's Fruits

Why not set up two flamingly gay men in front of a fruit stand and have them loudly sell fruit? They'd probably make a fortune doing it because, for one, people love roadside fruit stands anyway. Add two gay men who are obnoxiously loud and aggressive and they're sure to strike a little fear in the customer, thus forcing them to buy more fruit.

Customer: "I'll just have this one mango, please."

Gay Man: "Ex-cuuuuse me? I don't think sooooo! No one in her right mind buys a mango without buying at least 2 guavas. It's just not sane. It's 2 guavas or you can just scoot that little butt right out of this fruit stand, Missy."


Tubby's Tubs

I think a really tubby (or portly) man selling tubs would be the best and most effective way to demonstrate the size of the tub. This also leaves a high probability for the very funny song, "Fat Guy in a Little Tub".


Gimpy's Gimp

Something about a legit gimp selling gimp on the side of the road is particularly funny to me...but maybe just me. I mean, I have to assume that said gimp has plenty of time on his hands, so what better way to spend it than making a bunch of gimp bracelets and selling gimp to others? Look, all I'm saying is if I'm going to buy gimp from anyone, it'll be from a gimp.


Mike's Mics

This one is nothing special, but if you're going to buy a mic, you might as well buy it from a guy named Mike. He should know more about a mic than anyone else in my opinion.


Alright, I'm exhausting my creative muscles here and frankly, these just aren't doing it for me anymore. At first it seemed like a great idea, but now it's fizzled out into something bordering absurd. Imagine that, an absurd idea seen on this blog. I never thought I'd see the day, did you?
I leave you with this top 5 list:

Most Bad-Ass Names For Boys

1. Magnus

2. Bruno

3. Dolf

4. Dirk

5. Vito

When I have a son, if he comes from school one day and warns that he is on the verge of a fight and the opposing kid's name is one of the previous, I will instruct him not to fight this child. Under no circumstances should you EVER fight someone named Magnus. Or Bruno, etc. No way.

A Tale of Two Blogs

(Travis, me, Hammen, Alex, Kristen and Lauren)

Blog worlds collided this weekend as the infamous Hammen brought a little slice of North Dakota to Boston, along with his girlfriend Alex, his buddy Travis and Travis' fiancé Kristen. I have a feeling he'll write something along these same lines upon his return to Grand Forks, but seemingly everyone who came to find out about this get together thought it was the weirdest thing since the Wizards alternate jerseys.

Verbal exchange of the weekend:

La: (to Travis and Kristen) "Just so you guys know, I might be able to get you a friends and family rate at one of our hotels on your honeymoon."

Alex: "Well, if you guys come to Grand Forks, we can get you a discount at Perkins."

(If you're not familiar with Perkins, http://www.perkinsrestaurants.com/home.html)

Some of the things that I learned from this weekend are:

1. North Dakotans do not like the movie Fargo.

2. Interest in professional sports varies greatly, considering there are exactly zero teams represented there. Hence, Hammen's loyalties are with the Sox, Knicks, Titans and Jayhawks. That's some shit right there.

3. A three bedroom apartment in Grand Forks goes for about $800...total. Kill me now, please.

4. I just read #2 again and I take back the last part of #3. Unless I ever move to ND.

5. Grand Forks, ND is a 22 hour drive from Florence, AL. And Florence, apparently, is kinda shitty.

6. North Dakotans are Twin fans generally, but the University of North Dakota's biggest rival is the University of Minnesota.

So that's what I learned this weekend. All in all, it was a very positive experience and the highlight of the weekend...a weekend that also had some very unenjoyable moments, but I'm not going to bother to go into them. By the way Jum, I plan on coming to Lawrence for a game this season, so keep that in mind. Rock, chalk.

Odds 'N' Ends

There's an unknown man in my office that produces such a foul smelling fecal matter...such a powerful stench...that our industrial strength air-freshener can only whimper at the odor and wave a white flag. For weeks now, I've gone into the belly of that latrine, only to be shunned by the sour smell of what can be described as a cross between low tide and rotting carcass. It's truly and remarkably awful. To be honest, I want to find the dude and tell him to stop eating whatever raw sewage he's been consuming for the past few weeks because he's making my life miserable. I know I'm not the only one, because man after man will walk in and out of that bathroom with hands held high in defeat. I can't take much more of it, so in time I will draw up a sign and put it on the bathroom stall door:

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

This note is intended for you, Mr. Cess Pool Colon. You know who you are because you most certainly vomit at the smell of your own excretions. Well, enough is enough. You're making people sick. Next time, go dig a hole in the woods out back, shit in that hole and bury it so no one has to lose yet another appetite. Also, STOP EATING MCDONALDS. Thank you.

Ketchup

No, not ketchup...catch up. I'm caught up on things now, and it's time to get back to the daily grind of regular blogging. I know it's been a while, as was evidenced by the email from my father this morning that questioned where the hell my blog about our adventures in Puerto Rico was. Well, it's one below this one, in case you can't see it for yourself at this given time. Onto current events...

Last night was a great way to come back from the All-Star break for the Sox. Getting swept by the Tigers wasn't what I was looking for going into the break, and if you saw how bad Tito looked after that series you might reconsider those three days off being a pain in the ass; Tito needed the rest.

Anyway, we now possess the only starting rotation with 3 10-game winners, as Knuckles joined Beckett and Dice-K last night in the Sox second dismantling of Doc Halladay this season. It just goes to show that working the counts and making a power pitcher throw a lot of pitches can only benefit your offense eventually. The core of Manny and Ortiz carried the load last night, even with Papi's supposed bum knee. I don't know how concerned to be with this knee thing, but if he's going 3-for-5 and knocking in runs like he did last night, then I'm not going to sit and stew over it. Regardless of whether or not they're hitting home runs, as long as they're productive (as they've been most of the season) it doesn't really matter what the power numbers are. But they're going to catch fire at some point and the balls will start flying.

Look who's 5 for his last 9, everyone! It's the guy whose chalk outline has been drawn into the dirt at shortstop for the last few months! I'm not proclaiming Lugo to be out of his gargantuan slump just yet, but his average has found its way over .200 for the first time since the end of June. He says he's seeing the ball better and that certainly would account for his better contact lately. Let's give him July to keep this little roll going and then re-assess things in August. Needless to say, his bat would be HUGE in this lineup if it starts heating up.

Unfortunately, the end of the first half of the season brought the end of the first Jacoby Ellsbury stint. In 6 games, he hit .375 with a double, an RBI, a stolen base and 7 total bases. I can't wait for him to be our regular center fielder, but he's not there yet. I hope to see him in the starting lineup by the end of next season, however.

10 games up in the AL East, fairly healthy and the most favorable schedule in the MLB. Buckle up, folks. It's going to be an exciting few months of baseball around here and I couldn't be happier about it.

Rican Recap

The bulk of this post will consist of pictures from La and I's trip to Puerto Rico that ended yesterday afternoon. If there's anything that comes to mind right now, as I sit at my desk and reflect on our relaxing trip, it's that everyone should take a day or two post-vaca to come back down to earth. Being thrown back into the normalcies of a morning commute, granola bars and the company bathroom are the equivalent of being fun-drunk (not blacked out drunk...fun-drunk) and all of a sudden being thrust into a massive hangover without the lag time in between to either sleep or walk it off. It really blows.

Let's get into the details of the trip now, shall we?

1. The hotel.

We stayed at La's Intercontinental San Juan, right on the beach, huge pool, casino, Japanese restaurant, a Ruth's Chris and some Italian place that we never did find. The service, above all else, was insanely good. Granted, they knew we were coming and they knew my birthday was last Thursday, but they treated us like royalty. Good service is most appreciated when you don't expect it, much less deserve it. I can't afford this kind of hotel, so La being an employee there made it all possible. In order to afford simply the free food they provided us, I would have had to sleep on the beach to save hotel money and catch all of my other meals with a self-crafted spear. My point is, the people from the hotel made the trip better.

2. The other guests.

I don't hate kids. If you read this blog, you know that one of my favorite human beings is my nephew Aaron. However, I walked off the plane yesterday cursing all children and they're unattentive parents. I guess that's the difference though. Aaron has great parents who discipline him and make sure he is accountable for his actions. Every child at our resort (had no idea it was such a family-oriented resort) was the red-headed kid in Problem Child. Unadulterated splashing, yelling, running around the pool and just being an overall annoyance to me and La. I kid you not, there were 600 (give or take 550) children at the pool on any given day, and they were all uncontrolled and taking full advantage.

3. The food

I was hoping to be a bit frugal on this trip, and nothing says thrift like Subway for lunch everyday. A few complaints about the Subway down there: the bread sucked. It looked fine on the outside, but the inside looked as if a mouse lived in the roll and ate the inside prior to it being sliced. Next, the workers there did not like Americans very much. Every time I went in, I had to wait 5 or 10 minutes for them to finish their conversations with each other (the sandwich artists, that is) before I could order. And I was almost always the only one in line. Finally, they ran out of pretty much all the toppings I like by the third day. Spinach, olives, pepperoncini...at least, they said they did. Aside from Subway, we went to three different sushi places that all offered really fresh fish and creative rolls.

And onto the pictures...

La on our balcony, which looked out onto the ocean and produced some really nice sunsets every night.

The aforementioned sunsets...here's one of them, taken from the top of the Water and Beach Club Hotel. It's the only boutique hotel in San Juan on the beach, and they allow pets...FYI.

The pool...there was this outcropping of rocks in the pool that gave way to several waterfalls and smaller pools.

Another view of the beach from the balcony...if you look really closely, you can see the individual grains of sand on the beach. I'm talking really closely.

The above is an assortment of towel creatures created by Hector, our room attendant for the week. The monkey is most impressive...is there any way that these things didn't take him like an hour apiece? I appreciated the effort, though. Really nice work incorporating La's glasses with the rabbit. He was a studious fellow.

And finally, a little sample of our tans...this blog has been brought to you by the InterContinental San Juan, the Isla Verde Subway and the good people at Momoyama restaurant inside the InterCon. (Momoyama's got to be a play on Yo-Yo Ma, right? I thought so)

Ok, I Lied

I guess I couldn't stay away from ye olde blog before leaving for PR. I've decided that I want to chronicle today's holiday Sox game a la Bill Simmons...here goes.



12:57pm - just threw in a load of laundry. I best make sure that I remember to switch the load at 1:30. This might be a boring post, I feel.



1:11 - Coco triples to start the game...a ball down the first base line. The Tampa rightfielder approaches the ball like he has an egg on a spoon...I think it's Greg Norton. Coco reaches third with relative ease.



1:13 - Cora bunts down to first on the first pitch from Edwin Jackson, ensuring the Sox get Coco in and take the early lead. Hang on, this isn't Beckett against Kazmir...Jackson is 1-8 with an astronomical ERA. Well, a run is a run.



1:25 - Raul Casanova homers over the monster, 1-1. It's par for the course that Wakefield gives up a homer or two, but as long as he keeps men off base, they're not too damaging. I just noticed the Timmy's belly is more rotund as time goes on in his lengthy career. Gotta love Wakefield.



1:28 - Laundry time. Woohoo.



1:30 - Not ready yet. Here's Ellsbury's first at-bat...have I mentioned that I love this kid? Today marks his first start in left field, as he's taking Manny's spot. Grounds out to short, but had a good at-bat. It's so awesome that he makes every play a close one on ground balls. Keep hustling, Jacoby.

My July

Happy July, everyone. This is my most favorite month of the year, as it brings a birthday, my favorite holiday, the best weather of the year and so many other good things. I also leave for Puerto Rico on Thursday and that promises to be a very relaxing trip indeed.



I couldn't believe my ears this morning when I turned on ESPN radio and promptly heard the starting lineups for the All-Star Game. For some ungodly reason, Julio Lugo did not get the nod at shortstop. How can this be? He's hitting a robust .190, he has a sub .200 OBP and he's a fantastic defensive shortstop. I guess the players just really respect Derek Jeter. Too bad for Julio. As I sit here and watch the Sox, I am already really partial to this Ellsbury kid. I've been anticipating his premiere in center for the Sox since he was drafted, and even more so this preseason when he was tagged as the club's #1 prospect. Tonight, he's 2-for-2 with two singles, and he hit his first non-infield base hit just now. He has tremendous speed...what timing, as he just stole the first base of his career. Way to go, Jacoby. Here's hoping he becomes what he's expected to be, which is the next Johnny Damon. Well, minus the defection to Manhattan. Hey, Lugo just walked. I think his OBP is over .200 now...

Remy and Orsillo just had Ray Allen in the broadcast booth with them. I have to say, he's a very well-spoken guy who carries himself in a very professional way off the court from what I see. They put him in a Red Sox jersey, which is fine, but I can't imagine he was all too thrilled about wearing it. He'll probably be a fan in due time, but let's not force it on him, huh? Another update: Ellsbury just scored from second on a wild pitch. Really good stuff there.

So I'm driving back into town this afternoon after leaving work, and there I am in the middle lane, minding my own business. I'm going about 75mph which is a little behind the flow of traffic, but it's a comfortable speed for me at this time. At some point, I happen to catch a silver mass in my periphery and as I look over to my left, I see a silver Caravan swerving in to my lane, completely unaware of my existence. I lean on the horn and swerve sharply to the right, avoiding contact with the van. It's close, and I'm a little shaken up. I slow down significantly so I can collect myself, but I'm cursing like a mother giving birth to sextuplets. Between a bird here and bird there in the direction of the van, I'm also throwing my hands up in the air in my typical "what the fuck" body language. Eventually, I collect myself enough and I get back into the travel lane and continue on. I notice that the van is not far ahead of me and it's going pretty slow. I'm certain that I'm going to pass it, and I am curious to see what is sitting in the front seat. So I gain speed, get up alongside the van and I peer over to see the culprit. What I see is an elderly man flipping me the bird, and he's looking right at me. He holds his stare as I pass him, and he even switches hands with the bird just in case I couldn't see it well enough with his first effort. This kinda made me laugh, because it was an old man flipping me off with much fervor. At the same time, I was even more pissed because what the hell did I do? Why the hell was this guy upset with me? I don't know.

So my idea is this: a verbally-commanded, scrolling message board that's projected onto the passenger's window of the car. This way, you'd be able to say all those things that you really, really want to say to those shithead drivers out there. For instance, to the old man I could have shown "At least I'm not going to die soon", or "Nice Caravan, you old bag". Again, this is verbally-commanded, so you don't have to worry about using your hands while you drive. It's a safe and effective way to tell other drivers to fuck off. The possibilities are endless.

Lastly, I found it amusing that Roger got his 350th win last night in the midst of a reeling organization that just can't get out of that 3rd place hole. It makes me wonder if Roger only wanted to come to NY so that he could get all the fanfare of Manhattan to accompany this milestone victory. I'm happy for the guy in a lot of ways, mainly because that's about the only thing Yankee fans have to celebrate these days. The playoffs are looking like a real longshot, especially with the way all the teams in front of them are playing and will probably continue to play post All-Star break. Oh well. You've had yours. And you still suck.

I think this is going to be my last post until I leave for PR, so I bid you all adieu and a very happy Fourth. If I can find a place to drop a blog down in San Juan, I certainly will, but don't count it. When I return I'll be a tan version of a newly minted 28 year-old man. Eeeeee...28 is scary.