I guess Verne Troyer came up with a fairly convincing retort to Randy Newman's unprovoked screed.
The ultra-diminutive Troyer couldn't keep me out of the paint (I'd back his tiny ass under the rim all day long), but he just took a 1-0 lead on me in the increasingly competitive Number of Sex Tapes on the Internet category. (Note: that link isn't to the sex tape. I wouldn't do that to you. Hell, I wouldn't do that to me. But I guarantee one of you sick fucks clicked on it thinking it might be. Probably Greg.)
Randy Newman, meanwhile, is writing movie soundtracks and picking Whattaburger crumbs out of the fleshy folds in his pasty middle-aged belly.
A little weekend political absurdity to tide you over to Monday's regularly-scheduled absurdity:
Among the co-sponsors of the Party of God's once-more-into-the-breach attempt at a Federal Marriage Amendment: Larry Craig and David Vitter. Because who better to defend the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman than a glory-hole connoisseur and an admitted purveyor of prostitutes? At least my hypocrisy has carefully considered boundaries.
Finally, the NBA Draft is upon us. Unlike many of today's sports fans I am an unabashed NBA lover and therefore an enormous fan of the NBA Draft. Around this time last year, TJ said to me that though the NFL Draft is the far more publicized and glamorized event, it was the NBA Draft which he really, truly loved. I could not agree more with that sentiment.
Has any NFL Draft pick sauntered on stage in an ensemble to rival that of Jalen Rose's famous pinstripe suit? Has the NFL ever given us two collegiate teammates picked back to back only to be swapped for each other five minutes later as once happened with Vince Carter and Antawn Jamison? The answers to these questions are, of course, NO. The NBA Draft has always been a special evening of franchise changing decisions, horrible fashion choices and loads of comedy. Honestly, I still get weak when I watch the videos of the Stephen A. Smith Heckling Society of Gentleman.
So with that in mind, I've decided to get tonight's festivities started with a G:TB NBA Draft Preview.
Guys I like (ngs):
Jerryd Bayless: I don't think he should be drafted in the top 2 or 3, but I am a big fan of Skip's bastard son. He's a combo guard who may or may not be able to make the transition to a full time NBA PG. However, he already possesses a good handle, terrific athleticism and a dynamite jumpshot off the dribble. Personally, I think he's better than Ben Gordon within a year or so with a shot at being an All-Star down the road. Comparison: Monta Ellis
Danilo Gallinari: I know Euro's drafted in the top ten haven't exactly set the league on fire but this guy is different (I think). He's a proven player in both the Italian and Euroleague where he led his team in scoring at almost 15 per game. He handles it well, gets the FT line and has good size for the SF position. As always, lateral quickness is a question but he feels like a guy who could be a nice point forward in the right situation. One more thing: His nickname is, apparently...Big Cock. Seriously. Comparison: Toni Kukoc
Brandon Rush: He's the classic fifth banana. He'll play great D, knock down open shots, he's a proven winner and he can play two positions. Plus, he's not a drunk like JaRon. He was never aggressive enough at Kansas but that will be an asset for him in the NBA because he'll be content to blend and do the little things on a successful team. I had hoped he would slip to Orlando but there's no chance that happens now. Comparison: Tayshaun Prince/Josh Howard
Chris Douglas-Roberts: His unorthodox game and average long range jumper will result in him falling farther than he should tonight. He's a scorer who will find ways to get 15+ per game over the course of his NBA career. He also provides a lot of length on the perimeter defensively. He doesn't do anything great, just does everything well. He'll end up being one of the ten best players in this draft as well as the best player ever to have the Magna Carta tattooed on his arm. Comparison: ?
Courtney Lee: The most underrated player in the draft. Trainer David Thorpe compares him favorably to Kevin Martin (who Thorpe also trained for the draft). He's a great shooter (over 35% from 3 every season at WKU) who can create his own shot and also plays great D. Apparently he's also as good a citizen as you'll find in this draft. If I had my way, this is who the Magic would take. (Which of course means they won't). Comparison: Kevin Martin (I'll fucking kill myself if he's anywhere close to Martin and the Magic pass on him.)
Guys I Hate (other than Burr)
Deandre Jordan: 6'10", athletic and still couldn't manage to average double figures on a mediocre Texas A&M team. Steven Hunter reincarnated basically.
Russell Westbrook: Keyon Dooling 2.0. He's more athlete than basketball player and he has no true position. He's too small for the 2 and doesn't handle it well enough to be a full time point. Have I mentioned that he can't shoot? Yeah, well, that too.
Joe Alexander: Maybe the first ever white guy who's flying up draft boards because of his athleticism. He had about 10 good games at the end of last year and now he's a top 10 pick? If you want to know why the Bucks are consistently awful, consider this: One of the reasons they're considering drafting him is that he speaks Mandarin and that would make Yi Jianlian more comfortable. Here's an idea, get a rub and tug installed in the back of the trainer's room at the Bradley Center. Not only will that make Yi more comfortable, you won't have to waste yet another top 10 pick.
Anthony Randolph: Why would anybody draft a raw, athletic forward from LSU at this point? Isn't that like giving a record/TV deal to the youngest Spears daughter? I mean, we already know how this story ends, right? Anyway, he's 6'10", 197 lbs. and its gonna be at least 3 years before he contributes. Well then, I can see why he's being hailed as a lottery pick.
Mareese Speights: The Magic are reportedly seriously considering him. Fuck. Me. Listen, I watched this guy at UF. He's got a ton of offensive skills. What he doesn't have is heart, a motor or any desire to play physical under the boards. He's exactly the kind of guy who gets to the league and packs on 25 lbs before his rookie season. Have I mentioned he's soft as fucking cotton? I wouldn't draft him anywhere before 25.
Donte Greene: He's a "great shooter". Oh really, is that why he shot under 40% at Syracuse this year? In fairness, he's not an awful shooter, just a gunner. And, though he shoots it well "for his size" I never saw a single other thing that he did well or even really attempted to do. If you're lucky, he's a poor man's Rashard Lewis. If not, he's the black Matt Bullard. If somehow you could give his jumpshot to TJ's boy Paul Harris, well, then you'd have a player worth drafting in the top 15.
Kosta Koufos: He's American but you wouldn't know by the way he plays or his name. Far softer than Speights, which is quite an accomplishment. If I had to guess, I'd say he's Primoz Brezec. I really wish he would've stayed another year so we could've watched the Timberwolves take him in the top 5. We've all been robbed of a magical moment because this damn kid didn't want to spend another year staring at Thad Matta's pockmarked face.
Concerns (aka: Players I like but have reservations about)
Derrick Rose: Am I the only person who doesn't think he's a surefire pereniall All-Star PG? I feel like a lot of people have been seduced by his athletic gifts and aren't remembering that he only averaged 5 assists a game in an offense that was tailored to his strengths. He's a great penetrator (though he's no Greg) and a terrific defender but that jumpshot is clunky and he hasn't displayed Kidd/Paul/Williams level court vision in my opinion. I think he's a lot closer to Tony Parker than anybody is realizing. Now, Parker's no slouch but most of us would have a different opinion of him if he were expected to be one of the league's best pure point guards.
Michael Beasley: I could honestly care less about his "character issues". I think they're overblown. Most of them were immature pranks. He's never been arrested or fought with his teammates (that we know of). I guess what I'm saying is this isn't Eddie Griffin we're talking about. My concerns arise from the fact that he's only 6'8". More than likely he's going to have to play SF in the NBA. Does he have the perimeter skills off the dribble to play out on the wing? If so, I've yet to see it. Furthermore, how's he going to defend NBA athletes on the wing? He's already known as a below average defender and that's without venturing to the perimeter and matching up against the world's best athletes. I don't think his skills translate as seamlessly to the NBA as most people assume. He may be successful but it will be a very rough transition for him. There have been a ton of player comparisons made with Beasley. Guys such as DC, Carmelo & Glenn Robinson and there's some truth in all of those. However, the one I've seen since early last year is Wayman Tisdale. Seriously, look at the size and the collegiate stats. If I find out Beasley plays the bass I'm asking for Chad Ford's job.
Eric Gordon: He's an undersized 2 who can't play anywhere else due to his below average handle. He's also a terrific athlete but I have trouble seeing him being able to take full advantage of that athleticism because of his inability to create his own shot. In order to be highly effective in the NBA he's going to have to have an offense tailored to his strengths ala Rip Hamilton or Reggie Miller. Will a team be willing to do that for a 19/20 year old?
Darrell Arthur: He's one of the most skilled big men in the draft. Unfortunately, he's not as big as once thought. He measured out at 6'7" at the predraft camp in Orlando. For a guy who has always been a 4, its tough to see him being extremely effective down low at 6'7" and with a frame as thin as his. Additionally, he's often been criticized for not going 100% all the time. Some GM is going to have to really be sold on him to pull the trigger on a guy with this many questions in the middle of the first round.
Mario Chalmers: I liked Chalmers a lot coming into the draft process. He's shoots it very well and was probably the best defensive guard in the country over the past two seasons. However, he has somehow jumped from a late 1st/early 2nd round pick all the way up to the late lottery in many projections. Hold the phone...how is this possible? He never played the point at Kansas and now he's a top 15 pick as a PG? I know being a PG in the NBA isn't as complex as it once was but don't NBA GMs want to try and get themselves a natural point? Chalmers could be very effective on a team like Cleveland where he'll share ballhandling duties and do a lot of spotting up around the arc, but there are only a few teams where he'll be able to fill a role like that. Unless he goes to a perfect situation I can see him struggling mightily to even see the floor for a year or so.
Players most likely to emerge from the stands like our hero: 1. Jason Thompson: Local kid. He has unexpectedly shot up draft boards and now looks like a mid to late first round pick. I've got a good feeling here.
2. Ante Tomic: He's 7'2", Croatian and likely to go in the last 5 picks of the first. Sounds good to me.
3. Joey Dorsey: I wouldn't bet against Joey Dorsey doing anything tonight, including getting arrested at a club somewhere in either NY or Baltimore after the draft.
So, thats it. I'm sure you're bored to tears by now so take a break, grab a nap and meet me in the comments tonight for some hot draft action...
Because a) we're big fans of the Daily Sentence of Dave and b) muffins are part of a healthy Ceai Complet, we bring you today's Sentence in its entirety in flagrant disregard for copyright laws and common courtesy:
"Yesterday, there was a giant spread of junk food in the English office, and as usual, I was drawn to the worst thing on the table-- a box of glazed mini-crullers-- but just as I was about to put the donut in my mouth, some other impulse took hold--DEMONS OUT!-- and I whipped it as hard as I could across the room at the little metal trashcan and, to the surprise of the people in the room, it went in . . . and I think my relationship with junk food will be different now: I have conquered the urge to be a glutton, and my reward is that I am now unerringly accurate (although two periods later I did eat six mini-muffins, and I cut each one in half so that I could have more surfaces to coat with butter)."
The hazy, lazy days of summer brings many pleasures to the team here at G:TB – warm weather, baseball, more daylight hours, sunshine, less guilt about drinking during the day, swimming, fishing, golfing and girls in their summer clothes, to name a few. With the onset of driving season now upon us, many of you readers have recently besieged our inboxes, looking for new tunes to crank in your fuel-efficient vehicles while you cruise the open roads.
We strive to broaden the musical horizons of our vast readership on this fine June day by mentioning a trio of up-and-coming artists whose cassettes have been firmly entrenched in our hi-fi stereos. So sit back (or lean forward), enjoy and seek out some of these artists on iTunes if you are so inclined.
Adam Green – Start with the booming gospel-singing voice of a young Elvis Presley. Mix in a physical resemblance to Phish’s Mike Gordon. Garnish with the stage presences of Tiny Tim and 1970’s Ozzy Osbourne. Mr. Green may be a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, but he is a wonderfully unique and gifted songwriter. You may know him from the Moldy Peaches or from some of the songs in the soundtrack to Juno. His songs are short, weird, humorous and catchy. His live shows are extremely entertaining because his voice is good enough to overcome his schtick, and because his backing band is tight.
Tunes to dig into from Jacket Full of Danger album: Nat King Cole, Drugs Tunes to dig into from Sixes & Sevens album: Twee Dee Dee, Morning After Midnight
Vampire Weekend – The first album from these guys is a gem. Not one fart of a tune amongst the eleven tracks. The songs are all over the map, and we mean that in the best way possible. They pay homage to Peter Gabriel in one tune, echo Sublime in another and even manage to weave a string section into other tracks. They are a bunch of Columbia grads who are receiving a lot of buzz in the US and the UK. They’ll be on the road for a while. Not sure when they come back to the States.
Langhorne Slim – This guy is a folk singer with a great backing band. The songs aren’t heavy, but they’re witty and catchy. Good stuff to enjoy with your favorite summer brew on a nice sunny afternoon. Or sunny morning.
Tunes to dig into: The Honeymoon, Spinning Compass, Rebel Side of Heaven
Last night, the Cincinnati Reds lost to the Toronto Blue Jays 14-1. Not a good showing by Dusty's crew. Especially Mr. Arroyo, who managed to become the sixth starting pitcher in baseball history to give up at least 10 ER while getting no more than 3 outs. Congrats Bronson - now you and Jason Jennings have something to talk about. I think a blow-up like this deserves the batter-by-batter breakdown:
Bottom of 1st: Bronson Arroyo pitching for Cincinnati (I wonder what song I should start my set with at The Java Hut later? Maybe some Clapton? Wow, Marco Scutaro still has a job?) M Scutaro reached on infield single to second. J Inglett walked, M Scutaro to second. A Rios singled to left, M Scutaro to third, J Inglett to second. (Fuck, this is not going well at all. I've never even heard of that Inglett kid. And I think Dusty's sound asleep right now.) V Wells struck out swinging. (Yeah...maybe I'll start with "It's In The Way That You Use It") M Stairs hit sacrifice fly to left, M Scutaro scored. (Dude, not cool.) S Rolen homered to center, J Inglett and A Rios scored. (Ugh. I might hate Rolen even more than LaRussa.) L Overbay doubled to right. G Zaun homered to right, L Overbay scored. (Can someone call down to the pen for me? Obviously Dusty isn't gonna do it.) A Lind singled to center. M Scutaro singled to center, A Lind to second. (Seriously, Scutaro's up again? I wonder if Votto and Bruce will like the silk shirts I got them?) J Inglett grounded into fielder's choice to third, M Scutaro out at second. (Hallelujah. And get me the hell out of here.) 6 Runs, 7 Hits, 0 Errors
Bottom of 2nd: Bronson Arroyo pitching for Cincinnati (God damn it, I don't want to go back out here. Dusty sucks ass. Christ, here comes that anorexic Rios again. Someone feed this guy a sandwich.) A Rios homered to left. (Not a steroid sandwich. Damn it. I wish I had my guitar.) V Wells reached on infield single to third. M Stairs doubled to deep right center, V Wells scored. (I think I'll go with "Pretending" instead.) M Stairs to third on wild pitch by B Arroyo. (Hey, anyone watching? I did that on purpose. Earth to Dusty, get someone out here NOW!) S Rolen doubled to left, M Stairs scored. (Duuuuuuuuuuuude, not cool at all. Wait...wait...is that Gary warming up? Damn right it is. I can't wait to rock some acoustic guitar later.) G Majewski relieved B Arroyo.
And of course Majewksi lets Rolen score later in the inning, giving Arroyo that nice round number of 10ER allowed. The line, once again: 1 IP, 11H, 10ER, 1BB, 1K, 3HR
Arroyo's ERA rose an entire run after this stellar performance (he's still winless in June too). Hit the showers kid...and start packing your bags. You're not long for this Reds team, no matter how awful you pitch. And last night, well, last night was truly atrocious.
Since G:TB just broke through into the mainstream with a mention in one of the nation’s most prestigious collegiate alumni magazines, we felt it appropriate to step up our game...to new heights of ridiculousness. Hark upon the gale, friends.
Man, I use 6 of those 7 on a nearly daily basis, and only my highly developed sense of chivalry prevents me from using the other one. It would be a fitting eulogy if even one major news outlet actually ran that list in its entirety.
This time of the year is known for a number of things in the sports world, one of which is undoubtedly the overhyped and under watched NCAA Tournament finale known as the College World Series. With the College World Series also comes a cadre of second tier announcers employed by ESPN. One of these announcers is former MLB pitcher and world class douchebag Orel Hershiser. Now, you might be asking yourself, what could somebody possibly have against Orel Hershiser? Are you still bitter about the 1988 World Series? No, but my story does begin not long after Hershiser cemented his legacy by obliterating the vaunted Oakland Athletics steroid addled lineup.
Like many of my compatriots here at G:TB, I was an avid baseball fan in my youth. As often happens, this fandom led to me also being a voracious baseball card collector and autograph seeker. I grew up in Florida and spent much of my spring traveling to various Spring Training games as this was often my only chance to see my heroes up close and personal. The famed Dodgertown, located in Vero Beach, was just short of an hour south of my hometown and thus was my most frequent Spring Training haunt. Through my times at Dodgertown I met players such as Pedro Guerrero, Steve Garvey, John Wetteland and many, many more. Yet, none of these players' stature compared to that of Orel Hershiser during the Spring of 1989.
As an autograph hound, I knew all the tricks of the trade. Get to the games early, address the players by "Sir" or "Mr. (insert last name), and when the games are filled with nobodies go out and see if you can find a star or two off the beaten path like, say, watching some of the minor league players on the back fields. This last piece of strategy is exactly what led me to find Mr. Hershiser one fateful spring afternoon.
I couldn't believe my luck as I approached the World Series MVP standing by himself. With pen and ball in hand, I patiently waited for him to finish speaking with a Dodger coach and gently tapped him on the arm with my hands extended and asked if he would sign my ball. Hershiser turned around, looked down at me and said, "Sure, just let me run back to the clubhouse. Wait for me right here and I'll be back soon."
As a naive 5th grade student, I was ecstatic. This would be a day I'd remember forever. "Just wait until I get home and show my old man tonight", I thought. So I decided not to go back in the stadium and watch the game that had just begun, instead choosing to wait as I had been instructed. So I waited and waited and waited. It seemed like all afternoon that I stood out in the hot sun playing catch with one of my friends as we waited for one of baseball's brightest stars and (supposed) good guys. Finally, about 3 hours later, Orel emerged from the clubhouse and started walking in my direction. I excitedly held the ball out towards him and exclaimed, "Mr. Hershiser, I waited for you will you sign my ball now?". Sadly, it was not to be, this arrogant prick stopped in his tracks, looked at me and said, "Uh yeah, I've got somewhere to be right now ". With that, he turned towards the player's parking lot, jumped in his BMW and sped off.
I was crushed. I'd been turned down for autograph's before (Yogi Berra once shot me down three separate times in Spring when he was a coach for the Astros), that was part of the deal. However, I couldn't accept the fact that this asshole had told me to wait for him, and after I had waited all damn day would still not give me an autograph, even though he was no more than five feet from me after he had emerged from his extended stay in the clubhouse.
As I look back on it, this day was the last time I ever looked up to professional athletes. It was, in many ways, the end of my youth. Shortly after this, I stopped seeking autographs and actually gave up baseball altogether. (Though that had much more to do with my Mendoza-esque hitting ability). But there's one thing I'll never give up...and thats my complete and total hatred for Orel Hershiser. Some people like to use the phrase, "I wouldn't piss on him if he were on fire." Well, I hate Orel too much for that. I would piss on him if he were on fire. Then I'd grab some gas and a match and set his sorry ass on fire all over again.
It's seven games and counting for the New York Yankees as they prepare to do battle with the Cincinnati Reds this weekend. As one of two Yankee fans (and the lone denizen of the Dirty Jerz) on the G:TB editorial staff, I felt compelled to throw some love to my boys in the Boogie Down Bronx for coming to life and rattling off some wins against the mighty Houston Astros and Whale's Vagina Padres. There have been many agents responsible for this recent run, so we give thanks and praise to Johnny Damon, Mike Mussina, Alex Rodriguez, HidekiMatsui, Jason Giambi's moustache and Mariano Rivera, among others.
But the purpose of this rambling post, cranked out between the bleary-eyed coffee chugging and occasional loose stool excretions that come when one has too much scotch on their sofa while watching bad TV the night before, is not to laud the famous Yankee veterans.
It is to let the world know that I have come to terms with my man-crush on one current Yankee hurler.
He is neither slim nor shady, but Joba Chamberlain is my Yankee hero.
The wife of Rhymenocerous and I both are infatuated with the chubby former Cornshucker from Nebraska. We welled up at the stories of Joba playing catch with his wheelchair-bound, polio-stricken father, Harlan. Father would catch and throw with his one good arm. If Joba made a bad throw, he would be the one to run down the ball. He forced himself to be accurate. A legend was born. Joba overcame poverty with Harlan, playing with used equipment his father could find at yard sales to help his son pursue his passion. And Joba overcame weight issues, developing from a chubby high schooler who couldn't get the attention of his baseball coach into a fireballer at the community college level who earned a free ride to the University of Nebraska.
After blazing through three levels of minor leagues in early 2007, his first twelve months with the Yankees have been impressive by any measure. He relieved when they asked him to do so. He switched to starting after they asked him to do so. But more impressive than anything else, he has stood up and faced the pressure of being a 21 year-old rookie phenom in New York better than most anybody else. Each stint as a starter has been successively better than the prior one. Joba yet may develop into the first "must-see" young starter in New York baseball since a young man named Dwight Gooden started mowing down the National League in 1984.
So I'll let you Sox fans have your Papelboners. I'm content with my fuzzy lion on the mound.
G:TB salutes you, Joba. Just keep laying off the donuts.
Two meditations on a theme this morning, as part of G:TB’s staff heads to the beach for a hard-earned mini-vacation:
Rob:
Making your way in the world today
Takes everything you've got
Taking a break from all your worries
Sure would help a lot.
Wouldn't you like to get away?
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came;
You want to be where you can see,
Our troubles are all the same;
You want to be where everybody knows your name
No, no, no, wait. I don’t want to go where everybody knows my name. I want to go where I can walk in barefoot, sit at the bar and drink 40 oz. Red Stripes and drinks served with plastic sharks full of grenadine, eat the freshest fish tacos and crawfish bites on the Outer Banks, enjoy the best chicken wings ever cooked within sight of the ocean, then roll my gluttonous self out the back door to play volleyball in the sand. That’s where I want to go.
Whitney:
If it's possible to find a little slice of heaven within the confines of Eden, that's what we've found at Tortuga's Lie. The stretch of coast from Corolla to Hatteras has sea-level high points galore, but we've uncovered nothing to unseat Tortuga's as the jewel in the crown. It serves as the primary (sole) watering hole for our annual pilgrimage to the 252 area code, and this hole is vastly greater than the sum of its parts. Out of this world fish tacos, Red Stripes, surfing videos, reggae music, license plate decor, volleyball pits, and a top-notch staff . . . these are all fine ingredients, but taken on their own, none stands out as a singular draw. Put them together -- and accompany the result with twentysome of your best thirtysomething friends surrounding the bar and holding court -- and it's everywhere I want to be. That it happens but once a year perhaps enhances the image in our minds; that we keep going back again and again without a sliver of letdown reinforces the legacy of the place. I'll be there at some point in the next few days, and my eager anticipation is palpable.
And so, dear reader, if you find yourself in the 252 this weekend and happen to be wandering down the Beach Road in Nags Head around Milepost 11.5 on Saturday evening, poke your head in and say hi.
Everyone's talking about it, so this is nothing revelatory. But Gheorghe needs to address the problem and see what can be done.
Prices of this all-important liquid -- the nectar, the very lifeblood of American society, it seems -- continue to rise, thanks to global shortages of raw materials and the relationship of American big business with those parties in possession of this precious commodity. Somewhere in the mix, the independent businessperson and the American consumer get squeezed, and we're all starting to feel the pinch. You go to fuel up and glance at the price with a wince. You think about consuming less, then realize it's futile. We're all paying more during this worldwide crisis.
What am I talking about? Oil, of course. Well, what Dennis Boyd and his Mississippi ilk call "oil." Beer, dummy.
Quite obviously, the crisis at hand is the global hops shortage. In case you've been living under a rock and are blissfully unaware, a "perfect storm" led to a surplus of hops, prices dropping, and production being cut -- all just before a stretch of bad weather in Europe severely handicapped last year's hop acreage. So we've got a dire dearth of hops available for craft brewers, thanks to long-standing contract arrangements by the Big 3 (A-B, Miller, Coors) to get hops at cut-rates into the future. And that price bump gets passed along to you, the consumer.
On the upside, Bud, Miller, and Coors don't require an excess of hops for their "American light" style of swill. So you Silver Bullet homos connoisseurs are safe to keep sipping your suds at standard market price. But the hops situation is so bad (a 1994-5 Washington Bullets level of bad hops situation), the microbrewers are getting walloped, and inevitably, the price of consuming vast quantities of good beer has risen well beyond strained spousal relationships and the 36 waistline going the way of grunge music and the run & shoot offense. Dale's Pale Ale is $8.99 a six-pack in the local grocery store here in SEVA. I still contend that "I'm worth it" as I hoist a few sixers on the conveyor, but that's getting to be an even more difficult sell to those around me with every few cents the price goes up.
Here's what you can do:
Drink Globally, Think Locally. (Not as funny a bastardization as the Gogol Bordello song, but it works.) Start drinking the products of your local area. For Virginians, this includes Legend, St. George, and now Starr Hill breweries; microbreweries aren't just for the ski towns, hydroponic pot places, and jam band hubs any more, so most states have several. (Mississippi, as with just about everything else, I presume you may be screwed in this area.)
How does this help the hops shortage? It doesn't, directly, but supporting your local brewmeisters, just like your local farmers and vendors, will pay dividends for you the consumer in the end. Helping provide them relief from the hop-drought of '08 will be returned in spades, if not lower beer prices.
Invest in the hops market. Talk to your broker about putting your money in the hops industry. Then, when he stops laughing, have him buy you a $9 pint at Rock Bottom.
Stop drinking Coors Light. It's time to stick it to the man and tell those Holocaust Deniers in Golden, Colorado (a) that their cornering of the hops market doesn't sit well with you, and (b) that you're a good beer drinker with a discerning palate who expects more. Unless you're a 22-year-old blonde girl whose first name ends in "i" or especially "ee"; in that case, press on, dear girl. (Kudos to Coors on using Sam Elliott's voice-over on the commercials, though. Well played.)
Drink loads more pale ale and hop-heavy beers. Show the world that jump-starting production is worth paying more. Drink 12 at a time like it was your job. And do so near me, so by God, I won't have to be the drunkest lout at the party. Cripes, it's getting so that people don't get wasted at baby showers and kids' soccer games any more.
May you and yours see your way through these tough times safely.
In honor of Judas Priest releasing their first album in over three years today (some sort of epic, double-disc concept album about Nostradamus...seriously), I give you this Priest classic, and one of Beavis' all-time favorite videos:
Because I'm gonna end it on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, one of my favorite places. In honor of that impending trip, this space will host an homage to the best local restaurant in all the world in a few days. Until then, though, we'll celebrate a few other things that make me smile, like Robert Trujillo's bassline styling, and Jenny Lewis', well, Jenny Lewisness.
Photos courtesy of Pitchfork's coverage of Bonnaroo.
Now that we've let Mark's inaugural G:TB post breathe for a little while, I felt it was time to share this small screen gem with everyone. It never ceases to amaze me how awesome local TV commercials can be:
Hey, nice place you guys have here. (Puts lit cigarette out on the couch) Sure, I'll make myself at home. Thanks for the invite.
In case you don't know, my name's Mark and I'm the newest member of the G:TB family. Which is interesting, since I've met exactly one of these guys before. What can I say? I'm an overwhelmingly charismatic fella. Women want me...Men want to be like me. Or something like that. Anyway, I figured I'd use this morning to make my debut 'round these parts since I'm sure I'm the only guy who frequents this blog that was actually awake during the Celtics' stirring second half comeback last night. In case you missed it, and I bet you did, here's a quick summary of what it did to L.A.'s title hopes:
You know, the only way I could've enjoyed last nights comeback more is if James Posey had replicated that play on Japanese Beef Bryant. I don't know, I guess its something in me that doesn't care for cold, calculating, manipulative, duplicitous rapists. I'm old fashioned like that.
Wait, where was I? Oh yeah...the game. Well, TJ has been talking about how "Charmin soft" Pau Gasol is for weeks now and last night's second half only served to prove his point (Lamar Odom didn't exactly enhance his rep last night either). Boston played Posey at PF for most of the 4th and he came up huge, hitting a number of tough 3s, further cementing his rep as one of the league's most clutch playoff shooters. Kind of a Robert Horry lite, if you will. Due to the presence of Posey and Eddie House, the Celtics were able to effectively spread the Lakers defense out, which allowed Pierce and Allen to repeatedly drive to the hoop on that weak Laker frontcourt.
Offensively, the Lakers were a mess and Kobe couldn't do a damn thing to save them as Pierce hounded him into a 6-19 shooting night. Somewhere, Shaquille O'Neal was smiling. So thats it, folks. These Finals are over. Not officially. That will happen on Father's Day. Which will be a nice double "fuck you" to the Mamba. I mean, you know those aren't his kids right? Nope. They belong to Karl Malone.
ROME (Reuters) - An Italian couple who were caught having sex in a church confessional box while morning Mass was being said have repented and made peace with the local bishop.
The couple, in their early 30s, were detained by police earlier this month after they had made love in the confessional box in the cathedral in northern Cesena. They were cautioned for obscene acts in public and disturbing a religious function.
Their lawyer said they had been drinking all night and realized they had gone too far.
The lawyer told the area's local newspaper on Wednesday the couple met with the local bishop on Tuesday night, asked for his forgiveness and that he had given it.
Last week the bishop celebrated a "Mass of reparation" in the cathedral where the confessional box incident took place to make up for the sacrilege.
I'm just curious, what was their first sign they had gone too far?
Yes, I have an unhealthyobsession with the luckiest man in the history of the United States criminal justice system. So of course I would know that 14 years ago today, on Sunday, June 12, 1994, Orenthal James Simpson went to the McDonald's drive-thru (in his Bentley) with Kato Kaelin around 9pm (cheap bastard even had Kato pay) and just over an hour later was gruesomely murdering his ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson and her waiter "friend" Ron Goldman.
As Whitney so eloquently put it when we were helping O.J. find "Charlie, the Real Killer", "it's difficult to justify continually making light of a brutal double homicide, but this caricature of a human being warrants tongue-in-cheek mockery at all times." He sure does.
In that light, I present to you this ancient commercial starring today's featured double murderer (and an innocent 1970 Chevrolet Nova), wishing I had the YouTube editing skills to splice in some "Christine" footage (with Rollie Fingers look-alike Fred Goldman happily playing the Arnie Cunningham role):
SHAWNEE, Kan., June 10 (UPI) -- A Shawnee, Kan., man said he evaded serious injury when a rogue nail fired from a nail gun embedded itself in his skull.George Chandler said he was building a lattice with a friend when the nail gun hose became tangled and fired off a nail, KCTV, Kansas City, Mo., reported Tuesday.
Chandler said he and his friend initially did not know where the nail had landed, but soon found the 2 and a half inch piece of hardware had gone into his skull on the top of his head."It was just like a maybe like a sting, bite or something, you know," Chandler said.He said there was no blood around the wound and he was alert when an ambulance arrived and took him to a hospital. He said a doctor requested a very special instrument for his treatment.
"'Does anybody have a hammer, a claw hammer.' I thought he was teasing at first, but then he says, 'No. It went in like that. We can pull it out like that,'" Chandler said.
Doctors told Chandler's family that he could have faced paralysis or serious injuries to his eyesight or ability to speak if the nail had entered his skull a fraction of an inch lower."Well I feel very lucky, very, very lucky," Chandler said.
I'm glad Dr. Nick was so quick to think of a totally safe removal process...using a claw hammer to remove a nail FROM A SKULL. Brilliant.
Yeah, so John Smoltz is done for the year, and possibly for his career. I always liked Smoltz, and in this guy's unqualified opinion here is a first ballot Hall of Famer (it's the 15-4, 2.65 ERA postseason numbers that seal it for me). But of course I'm not here to actually write something of substance about Smoltz - I'm here to bust out the "Separated at Birth" tag once again. It's not as spot-on as Dana and He-Man, but it's still pretty good. Behold:
The Seattle Mariners, ranked second-to-last in the American League in runs scored, batting average and slugging percentage (and dead last in OBP), decided to shake things up yesterday, firing hitting coach Jeff Pentland. Who cares, you say? Normally, not many folks outside the Pacific Northwest, but today you should care, because they brought 71-year-old Lee Elia in to replace him. Here's hoping the Mariners sink even further into an offensive abyss, setting up Elia Explosion 2.0 (if you're sitting in a cube like me, I strongly suggest you keep the volume low for this all-time classic blow-up):
WESTLAKE, Ohio (AP) - A Cleveland-area principal says he's embarrassed his students got proof of their "educaiton" on their high school diplomas.
Westlake High School officials misspelled "education" on the diplomas distributed last weekend. It's been the subject of mockery on local radio.
Principal Timothy Freeman says he sent back the diplomas once to correct another error. When the diplomas came back, no one bothered to check things they thought were right the first time.
The publisher has reprinted the diplomas a second time and sent them to the 330 graduates.
Wait, so they spelled it wrong once, sent them back, and they were still misspelled a second time? Nice printing business.
I was informed by Whitney yesterday that it is our diminutive blogfather's birthday today, so I thought, what better way to celebrate rob's birthday than with a walk down memory lane... with photos of course. (See if you can figure out our little buddy's college nickname from the pictures.)
Awwwww, here's rob nursing the first of many beverages:
As a young child, rob was really (really) into Star Wars. Can you tell?
For a brief moment in time (say, about 5 minutes after Arnold's tour de force performance as John Matrix ended), rob wanted to be a big strong army guy:
Nowadays, rob can often be found chillin' with the boys, some poker and booze on hand (hint: he's the short one):
And, this post wouldn't be complete without the photo rob insisted I post, showing us all how cool he really is on his special day:
************* Kudos to Teejay for rustling up these old photos from Rob's relatives, and a happy 38th to the senior statesman of this endeavor. Here's hoping you retain all of your remaining internal organs in the next year, old man. --W.
Been an odd week here at G:TB HQ. My office has been without power since Wednesday as a result of the "unprecedented" storms that rolled through the D.C. area. I'm feeling oddly disconnected from the world - a not altogether unpleasant feeling.
Because one of our faithful readers is concerned about the Ceai-heavy content around these parts of late, here's a quickly-conceived and poorly executed notion to take you into the weekend. Our friends from the Outer Banks gave us their top 5 macking songs a few weeks ago. Since we don't know from how to score with the ladies, here's Whitney's Anti-Top 5 - the Worst Hook-Up Songs:
5. Prodigy, "Smack My Bitch Up" This works (poorly) on a number of levels - it's an awful sonic complement to tenderly whispered sweet nothings, and very few things say 'I Love You' like domestic violence songs.
4. Metallica, "Creeping Death" See above, but replace "domestic violence songs" with "songs about death".
3. The Smiths, "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others" 'Cause every girl wants to be reminded of her body issues, real or perceived, by a dreamy, moody rockstar she can't have because he finds her repulsive. Y'know, because he's gay, and all.
2. The Rollins Band, "Liar" Subtle psychosis is a proven aphrodesiac.
1. Ween, "Spinal Meningitis (Got Me Down)" Ween's misogyny is underrated. "The Blarney Stone" was in the running here, too.
And, as Whit accurately notes, "Anything by 2 Live Crew immediately goes to the top of the list". Unless you've got a really special lady. Take this list to heed, boys and girls, and go out and enjoy yourselves this sweltering weekend.
I was planning to list 5 as well, but I wanted to get something online before the sun went down. More to come, unless there isn't. Your additions are, as always, welcome.
SANTA FE, N.M., June 5 (UPI) -- Virgin Galactic, a New Mexico space tourism company, said it has received several requests from couples seeking to be the first to have sex in space.
Will Whitehorn, president of the company, said the approach of Virgin's first planned space tourism flight, which is expected to take place in 2009, has led to many curious couples asking the company about sex in sub-orbital zero gravity, The Telegraph reported Thursday.
"We've had a variety of people inquire about it," Whitehorn said of space sex. "One got in touch about a charter flight so they could be the first to have intercourse in space and get in the Guinness Book of Records."
Dr. James Logan, an expert in space medicine, said the zero gravity portion of the first space tourism flights will last only five minutes, leaving very little time for intercourse. He said couples would likely find sex without gravity to be more trouble than it's worth.
"Sex in zero gravity would more or less be a flailing exercise quite frankly," he said. "Sex in Martian gravity might be pretty appealing though."
What have we learned from this? Well, for starters, Dr. James Logan wants us all to know he's a bear in the sack. Five minutes not enough time? I disagree Doc.
I guess the other useful(?) piece of information is that sex on Mars might be appealing? Does Martian gravity make it seem like you're having relations in a vat of jello, cause honestly, I think that would be pretty damn cool. But that's just me.
I hope you can all read the tagline on that "Space Nuts" poster.
Parenting, as those of you raising children can attest, is alternately soul-lifting beyond description and incomparably frustrating. Once in a while (okay, frequently, in my case) it's also amusingly humbling in the way it incontravertably illustrates the flaws and foibles of the parental personality - these little people speak a deep truth, even when they don't know it.
As my friends may be aware, I occasionally work blue. Every now and again, I may use colorful language. Often, sporting events involving the Boston Red Sox are the proximate cause, but equally often, I just don't filter myself very well. It is possible that my children have heard me during one of these infrequent episodes.
Case in point, we had the whole team loaded into the truckster last week, heading home from a Memorial Day visit to my folks. The iPod was on shuffle, and I didn't think much of it when the first notes of Rancid's 'Disorder and Disarray' came on the air. As my wife and I were engaged in a conversation, the topic of which is lost to posterity, my 6 year-old daughter interrupted in an urgent tone:
"Daddy, we shouldn't be listening to this song", she said.
"Why not, honey?"
Her matter-of-fact response: "The man just said 'What the fuck'".
At which point I casually skipped to the next song and stared straight ahead, in full knowledge of the fact that even a glimpse of my wife as she struggled to keep her composure would send us both into paroxysms of laughter, and completely eliminate any chance we had of imposing this particular discipline on our child.
I laughed even harder when I went online to find the actual lyric to the song in question and realized that there's not an f-bomb to be found. And then cried a little bit.
Be it resolved then, gentle reader, that I shall endeavor mightily to refrain from reenacting George Carlin's famous routine, that I'll work diligently on perfecting my use of 'darn', 'crap', and 'crud', that I'll learn the lesson my young daughter unwittingly taught me.
Though I must admit, even as this incident exposed me, once again, as a hypocrite, it was really fucking funny.
I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that if this isn't your first time at Gheorghe: The Blog, you might be okay with what I term "Juvenilia." People falling down stairs is funny. Whenever someone, anyone, says the word "homeowner," you hear "homo" and laugh. When it's time to repair the gaps between bathtub and tile, it's simply yet another opportunity to talk about pulling out your caulk and amusing yourself with an array of related jokes. And it's all really, really funny, even as the mature (emphatically pronounced "ma-toor") people you know grimace and shake their heads in a condescending manner.
If you enjoy such Juvenilia, you will love the August-September 1951 issue of the Batman comic. (Worth mentioning that nothing's been edited for comedic purposes. A strict reprint.) The key panels are highlighted here (worth the full look), but here's a taste:
a. Something added to augment weight or size or fill space.
b. A composition, especially a semisolid that hardens on drying, used to fill pores, cracks, or holes in wood, plaster, or other construction surfaces before finishing.
c. Tobacco used to form the body of a cigar.
d. A short item used to fill space in a publication.
e. Something, such as a news item, public-service message, or music, used to fill time in a radio or television presentation.
f. A sheaf of loose papers used to fill a notebook or binder. g. This post
h. Architecture An element, such as a plate, used to fill the space between two supporting members.
I guess Verne Troyer came up with a fairly convincing retort to Randy Newman's unprovoked screed.
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