I promised Matt Benjamin that I'd write him a poem. This is it.
ODE TO MATT(RESS) BENJAMIN
Oh, what space-age magic is in you, friend
that you conform and comfort, relax and mold
around the contours of my body?
What mad god crafted you from the loam
and illicitly shared you with the world?
What thaumaturgy forged your spongy edifice?
What alchemy yielded your potent soporific?
The range of my dreamscapes nor the eyes of my lover
compare
to your sympathetic skin.
Whence you came and what you are is clouded in mystery
and yet, I trust your nebulous hands to catch me as I
fall and
cradle me in your generous bosom.
Even now lying here, your siren song echoes in my skull
and I am confronted with the inferiority of my station.
And while your memory will be impressed upon by scores
of admirers,
I have only one special memory of you.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
I got I got I got the Remedy. Ugh.
As far as I'm concerned, there is no greater substance on earth than Nyquil.
I love the way it tastes and I love the way it makes me feel. It has a slightly sharp metallic taste to it, but if you wash it down with a beer, it goes down smooooth. I'm joking. Really.
I would never ever take Nyquil unless I were sick, though I'm sure it would be helpful. Just as Dayquil would probably be beneficial to a totally healthy person. What's wrong with preventing coughing? So you don't HAVE a cough - who cares? Be proactive!
I just took my dosage for the night and I cannot wait for it to start working. I love anything with a slow, creeping soporific effect. It's like the post-Thanksgiving feast food coma. Or the late Sunday night football games (the ones that start at 8:30PM[!!]) in Atlanta and end at 12:30AM. In LA, the midday nap happened around the middle of the second set of NFL games on Sunday, right around 2:45-3:00PM. And what a glorious nap it was. Glory. Us.
Nyquil sleep is pretty extraordinary. I could sleep on a fence. Nyquil makes any body arrangement, any awkward neck angle comfortable - or at least bearable. It's a pretty special tonic. I admit, I have a very small desire to take twice the required dosage just to see what the hell would happen. I've heard from reliable sources that drinking an entire bottle results in some serious mushroom-trippy shit, and I've had enough of that experience in my life. That's not the goal.
Both of the quils have attributed to my slow rise to health again, along with a ridiculous amount of honey, tea, hot water, random juices, and most recently, oregano oil. I was told by a friend of mine that oregano oil is the cure all (I really thought that was one word - cureall - but it's not. Weird.) for sicknesses, so I endeavored to try it out. It tastes very strongly of oregano. I don't know why I didn't assume it would be strong, since it's basically extracted from the really really small oregano leaves, but I was shocked when I sipped my tea and it tasted like an italian sauce. It took some getting used to, and it could just be good timing, but my health has improved since adding the oil into my diet.
There's a pretty definitive way to tell how far along my healing is going. I figured this out today, driving home from my late class. Of the last four days, not including today, I basically spent 72 hours worth on the couch or in bed sleeping or trying to sleep. When in the car, either going to class this morning, or going to the grocer's several days ago for the quils, I play music. Usually, if I'm sick, it's slow music, like Cat Stevens or a good Jason Mraz mix. (I say "good" Jason Mraz mix, because it's just his live stuff. I abhor his studio shit. It actually makes me mad. I sort of hate him since he's a sellout and makes awful music now, but I can't part with his live stuff from Java Joe's. It's THAT good.) So anyway, the one thing this music has in common is that it's all singalongable. If I feel like shit, the last thing I want to do is speak to anybody, let alone sing along to songs. Well, today, I started slowly, but I sang along to some Cat Stevens and Mraz. So that is a clear sign that I'm getting closer to 100%. Once I'm belting out Hootie again, I will be free and clear from this dirty old disease.
I do not like being sick. It's impossible being creative because I require energy to be creative. I don't want to jinx it because I'm not free of the mucus monster yet. A few more rounds of the quils and I should be good to go.
I love the way it tastes and I love the way it makes me feel. It has a slightly sharp metallic taste to it, but if you wash it down with a beer, it goes down smooooth. I'm joking. Really.
I would never ever take Nyquil unless I were sick, though I'm sure it would be helpful. Just as Dayquil would probably be beneficial to a totally healthy person. What's wrong with preventing coughing? So you don't HAVE a cough - who cares? Be proactive!
I just took my dosage for the night and I cannot wait for it to start working. I love anything with a slow, creeping soporific effect. It's like the post-Thanksgiving feast food coma. Or the late Sunday night football games (the ones that start at 8:30PM[!!]) in Atlanta and end at 12:30AM. In LA, the midday nap happened around the middle of the second set of NFL games on Sunday, right around 2:45-3:00PM. And what a glorious nap it was. Glory. Us.
Nyquil sleep is pretty extraordinary. I could sleep on a fence. Nyquil makes any body arrangement, any awkward neck angle comfortable - or at least bearable. It's a pretty special tonic. I admit, I have a very small desire to take twice the required dosage just to see what the hell would happen. I've heard from reliable sources that drinking an entire bottle results in some serious mushroom-trippy shit, and I've had enough of that experience in my life. That's not the goal.
Both of the quils have attributed to my slow rise to health again, along with a ridiculous amount of honey, tea, hot water, random juices, and most recently, oregano oil. I was told by a friend of mine that oregano oil is the cure all (I really thought that was one word - cureall - but it's not. Weird.) for sicknesses, so I endeavored to try it out. It tastes very strongly of oregano. I don't know why I didn't assume it would be strong, since it's basically extracted from the really really small oregano leaves, but I was shocked when I sipped my tea and it tasted like an italian sauce. It took some getting used to, and it could just be good timing, but my health has improved since adding the oil into my diet.
There's a pretty definitive way to tell how far along my healing is going. I figured this out today, driving home from my late class. Of the last four days, not including today, I basically spent 72 hours worth on the couch or in bed sleeping or trying to sleep. When in the car, either going to class this morning, or going to the grocer's several days ago for the quils, I play music. Usually, if I'm sick, it's slow music, like Cat Stevens or a good Jason Mraz mix. (I say "good" Jason Mraz mix, because it's just his live stuff. I abhor his studio shit. It actually makes me mad. I sort of hate him since he's a sellout and makes awful music now, but I can't part with his live stuff from Java Joe's. It's THAT good.) So anyway, the one thing this music has in common is that it's all singalongable. If I feel like shit, the last thing I want to do is speak to anybody, let alone sing along to songs. Well, today, I started slowly, but I sang along to some Cat Stevens and Mraz. So that is a clear sign that I'm getting closer to 100%. Once I'm belting out Hootie again, I will be free and clear from this dirty old disease.
I do not like being sick. It's impossible being creative because I require energy to be creative. I don't want to jinx it because I'm not free of the mucus monster yet. A few more rounds of the quils and I should be good to go.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Psychosomatic Addict Insane!
So yesterday I had the opportunity to go to the symphony, this time with Nigel and while I was feeling a little like I was getting sick, I figured fuck it, lets have some fun. It was an amazing time, both in symphonic excellence, food yumminess and most excellent company. Unfortunately, my immune system wants to cash the checks that my body has been writing, and I fear I may have severely overdrawn the account. (I'd like nothing more than to extend the metaphor into including $35 overdraft fees, but I'll just get depressed.)
What typically ends up happening when I start to feel like I'm getting sick is that I focus on healthy foods and tea and honey and other liquids and stuff - which is good. But I also focus on being SICK. Which is not good. I'm attacking this...experience differently this time. I think the more I ignore the phlegmy lump in the back of my throat, the better. Essentially, I need to convince my body that I'm completely healthy. Is it going to work? I doubt it. We'll so how it goes tomorrow when I try to work out and run and sweat it out.
That's part of the reason that I'm writing this blog right now - to NOT focus on my sore throat that's required two doses of tylenol. I've resisted the temptation to say AH and examine myself in the mirror. It's too dark anyway, but inevitably, I'll unsuccessfully try and find the right angle where the light manages to sneak past my teeth. While I write this I am not thinking about the sinus pressure that is slowly creeping up the back of my skull or my narrowing nasal passages, becoming more and more corroded like copper piping. I'm not thinking about the increasing frequency that I am clearing my throat because my uvula feels like it's choking me. Nope. I'm focusing on writing.
I felt amazing last night, during the symphony. It was a packed house because Izhak Perlman was the guest conductor. So evidently, he doesn't have legs. Or maybe he has Polio. This requires Wikipedia. Checking...Yep. Had Polio when he was 4. He walks with supports. I had no idea. I also had no idea that the first piece for the evening was Mozart's 25th symphony, one of my favorites. I listen to a lot of classical music - well, I listen to the same classical pieces a lot - and the 25th is one of them. I'm getting better at making the connection between the "names" of the pieces and what they sound like, so I didn't know at first glance, that the 25th was a symphony that I really liked until it started. It's harder with classical music. "Pour Some Sugar On Me" is easy to remember because they sing, "Pour some sugar on me" about five thousand times in the song. Not so with classical music. Obviously.
Anyway, it was surreal watching one of the most famous violinists to ever live play (and conduct simultaneously) one of my favorite symphonies. It was brilliant.
After the short intermission, in which everyone basically takes extra large wine and champagne shots, they played a Dvorak piece that completely blew me away. It was his "New World Symphony" and I thought it was going to be lame - I mean, how can you beat Mozart?- but it was outstanding. Parts of the symphony sounded like it was from the Native American scale, others like a cowboy movie soundtrack, and others reminded me of High Holiday songs. And yet, it all worked. It was REALLY good. I ended up enjoying the Dvorak more than the Mozart. I couldn't believe it. I still sort of can't. But if you have a moment, download "The New World Symphony" and you'll see what I'm talking about. It's a wonderful piece.
I'm going to do my best to get back to writing the blog more often. It's an important part of my creative experience and it's definitely going to take my mind off of being sick these next couple days. Oh dammit, there I go again. Fuck.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Simplifying Fantasy? Is it Possible? Find out. (It's not.)
The third year of my All-Cute Team is set. That's the name of my fantasy basketball league. The name originated because I thought, and continue to think, that Allen Iverson is a "cute" man. It may sound questionable, but go and find a picture of him. Right now. Seriously. Keep this window open, open another one, and google search Allen Iverson and then click on Images. Done? Okay. Now you have to agree, that is one cute man. Not sexually attractive - unless thuggish is your thing - but cute. Like a puppy. A man-puppy. This led to me to the creation of an all-cute team. What other guys in the NBA have a puppy-dog cuteness to them that is totally NON sexual. I can't stress this part enough.
Creating weird "all-(adjective)" teams is sort of a Bill Simmons thing, but I may have invented the all-cute team before he came up with any of his teams. It's also a fictional team. We can play this game with anything - we can play the all-lascivious president team and put Clinton and JFK up on there for example. It's possible every president would be on there, so maybe that's a bad example. But you get the drift.
So my all-cute team ended up pretty good. While the motivation behind the all-cute team is very real, the actual execution of it, is different - I don't actually go out of my way to draft "cute" basketball players. That'd be ridiculous. Well, unless Iverson were still in the league. He's sort of my spirit animal. So my goal has always been to draft the best group of guys I can. And this year was no different.
This was my keeper league, which operates using an AUCTION format. This is different than the typical draft setup. In MOST leagues, the draft works as follows: Ten team league. Draft order is picked randomly. The first team drafts first (duh), usually the best player in the league (determined by his stats and experts opinions, etc.), then the second goes second and so on until the tenth team drafts tenth AND ELEVENTH - and then the ninth team drafts 12th and the eight drafts 13th, etc.. This is called a snake draft. There's nothing wrong with snake drafts and they work great for all fantasy sports. They are problematic, however, because sometimes, the difference between the top three best players and the fourth through 20th best player is severe, so the teams that lucked out with the top three picks get a huge advantage for no reason. This is SORT of true this year. I ended up with the third pick, as I said, in my other draft and was happy getting Chris Paul. Paul is great and, in fact, finished the last full season he played as the #1 fantasy player, but the first two picks this year were Kevin Durant and Lebron James. In that order, usually. Paul is slightly worse, statistically, than both Durant and Lebron. Nobody would take Paul over either of those guys. Ever. At the same time, at the 3 pick , I could have gone with Chris Paul or Dwyane Wade or Dirk Nowitzki or a handful of other guys. I would say that the 4 pick might be the hardest because Paul could STILL end up the #1 guy if he plays as well as we know he can but Dirk or Wade have a low shot at it. So the #4 pick has a greater chance of fucking you, essentially.
My ESPN league (my all-cute team) is a KEEPER league. We're pretty serious about it, so I'll only hit on the important rules - at the end of any given year each manager (what you call someone like me who "owns" a team) picks up to 5 "keepers" that remain on the team next year. Usually, after the year is over, all of the teams are emptied and we start all over again - in a keeper league, it's about maintaining your team and/or creating a legacy. I kept 5 players. Additionally, my ESPN league is an AUCTION league. Instead of drafting players based on an arbitrary draft order, managers NOMINATE individual available NBA players and they are BID on. For example, since I kept Kobe Bryant, he's unavailable for auction, so I choose Ron Artest as a player. The bidding starts at $1 and continues until no one is willing to match a bid. That amount becomes that players "salary" for the year. Each manager starts with $200 (FAKE) dollars - MINUS THE SALARIES OF THE PLAYERS HE KEPT.
One of the players I kept was Kobe and he was worth $50 (established from the previous year's draft) so I automatically have $50 less to play with from the start of the auction. Once you take into account my other four players, I ended up with roughly $100 dollars to draft with.
My keeper league does an incredible job of mimicking the NBA and although it can be tedious, it makes for a richer experience. This will be the third full season so we managers had to make decisions whether or not we wanted to sign our players to extended contracts. It works like this:
The first two years of a players contract remain the same. ie. I kept Kobe from his first year into his second season and his contract did not change - it was $50. At the beginning of the THIRD year, if you have players (like Kobe) who will be in their THIRD year, you must decide if you - A) want to keep them until the end of THAT season, at which point they will be released into the FA pool and eligible to be bid on the following year, in which case their salary DOES NOT increase. OR B) you want to SIGN them to a multi-year contract (ANY number of years 1-99), in which case the players salary IMMEDIATELY increases $4 per year. In my case with Kobe, I chose to keep him for ONE more year and release him at the end of the year, which kept his salary at $50. If I chose to sign him to a 2 year contract (this year and next year) he would IMMEDIATELY be valued at $54 dollars THIS year, and at $58 next year. Those totals would then be immediately subtracted from my starting auction bank. If I had a player that had a $1 salary and was in his third year (Brooke Lopez for example, who my friend Andrew has), I could have signed him to a 10 year contract, raising his 2010-11 salary to $5, his 2011-12 salary to $9, and each one thereafter $4 more. For a player that's actually WORTH $40, it's an excellent idea to lock up quality, low cost players for as long as possible.
First year players are designated as A players, second year as B players, third year players who are being released at the end of the year are Z players. Players kept for 1 year are designated as Y players, for 2 are X players, 3 is W etc all the way down the alphabet. Whenever a player is in their "Z" year, it is their final year of the contract. Oh yeah, and all player trades within the league, include their contracts. So if you signed a BAD contract, you CAN dump it off on another manager.
After that BRIEF (seriously) explanation of the league rules, here's what I ended up with: (all keepers will be the guys who AREN'T designated as "A".
The All-Cute Team
PG Rajon Rondo (Keeper - in his "U" year) - $17
SG Kobe Bryant - $50 - Z
SF Danny Granger - $42 - W
PF David Lee - $10 - U
C - Anthony Randolph - $15 - A
C - Andrew Bynum - $8 - A
G - Stephen Curry - $1 - B (kept from last year woohoo)
F - JR Smith - $3 - A
UTIL - Richard Hamilton - $16 - A
UTIL - MIke Miller - $4 - A (He's hurt for 3 months but quality quality guy)
BENCH - Brendan Haywood -$8 - A
BENCH - Andris Biedrins - $13 - A
BENCH -Thaddeus Young - $1 - A
If you do the math I actually screwed up and didn't spend $12. Its a tough thing because you try to save money for the good players at the end of the draft that nobody else saved for. It didn't work out quite the way I wanted. But I'm happy with my squad anyway. Bynum and Mike Miller are hurt so I'll need Biedrins to repeat his numbers from a few years ago and Haywood to step up and give me the boards and blocks that Bynum's absence requires. Also Anthony Randolph is unproven, but if he can stay on the court for 35 minutes, he GOT to be good for at least 8 boards and 2 blocks. The dude's a freak.
Season starts Wednesday. Booyeah.
Creating weird "all-(adjective)" teams is sort of a Bill Simmons thing, but I may have invented the all-cute team before he came up with any of his teams. It's also a fictional team. We can play this game with anything - we can play the all-lascivious president team and put Clinton and JFK up on there for example. It's possible every president would be on there, so maybe that's a bad example. But you get the drift.
So my all-cute team ended up pretty good. While the motivation behind the all-cute team is very real, the actual execution of it, is different - I don't actually go out of my way to draft "cute" basketball players. That'd be ridiculous. Well, unless Iverson were still in the league. He's sort of my spirit animal. So my goal has always been to draft the best group of guys I can. And this year was no different.
This was my keeper league, which operates using an AUCTION format. This is different than the typical draft setup. In MOST leagues, the draft works as follows: Ten team league. Draft order is picked randomly. The first team drafts first (duh), usually the best player in the league (determined by his stats and experts opinions, etc.), then the second goes second and so on until the tenth team drafts tenth AND ELEVENTH - and then the ninth team drafts 12th and the eight drafts 13th, etc.. This is called a snake draft. There's nothing wrong with snake drafts and they work great for all fantasy sports. They are problematic, however, because sometimes, the difference between the top three best players and the fourth through 20th best player is severe, so the teams that lucked out with the top three picks get a huge advantage for no reason. This is SORT of true this year. I ended up with the third pick, as I said, in my other draft and was happy getting Chris Paul. Paul is great and, in fact, finished the last full season he played as the #1 fantasy player, but the first two picks this year were Kevin Durant and Lebron James. In that order, usually. Paul is slightly worse, statistically, than both Durant and Lebron. Nobody would take Paul over either of those guys. Ever. At the same time, at the 3 pick , I could have gone with Chris Paul or Dwyane Wade or Dirk Nowitzki or a handful of other guys. I would say that the 4 pick might be the hardest because Paul could STILL end up the #1 guy if he plays as well as we know he can but Dirk or Wade have a low shot at it. So the #4 pick has a greater chance of fucking you, essentially.
My ESPN league (my all-cute team) is a KEEPER league. We're pretty serious about it, so I'll only hit on the important rules - at the end of any given year each manager (what you call someone like me who "owns" a team) picks up to 5 "keepers" that remain on the team next year. Usually, after the year is over, all of the teams are emptied and we start all over again - in a keeper league, it's about maintaining your team and/or creating a legacy. I kept 5 players. Additionally, my ESPN league is an AUCTION league. Instead of drafting players based on an arbitrary draft order, managers NOMINATE individual available NBA players and they are BID on. For example, since I kept Kobe Bryant, he's unavailable for auction, so I choose Ron Artest as a player. The bidding starts at $1 and continues until no one is willing to match a bid. That amount becomes that players "salary" for the year. Each manager starts with $200 (FAKE) dollars - MINUS THE SALARIES OF THE PLAYERS HE KEPT.
One of the players I kept was Kobe and he was worth $50 (established from the previous year's draft) so I automatically have $50 less to play with from the start of the auction. Once you take into account my other four players, I ended up with roughly $100 dollars to draft with.
My keeper league does an incredible job of mimicking the NBA and although it can be tedious, it makes for a richer experience. This will be the third full season so we managers had to make decisions whether or not we wanted to sign our players to extended contracts. It works like this:
The first two years of a players contract remain the same. ie. I kept Kobe from his first year into his second season and his contract did not change - it was $50. At the beginning of the THIRD year, if you have players (like Kobe) who will be in their THIRD year, you must decide if you - A) want to keep them until the end of THAT season, at which point they will be released into the FA pool and eligible to be bid on the following year, in which case their salary DOES NOT increase. OR B) you want to SIGN them to a multi-year contract (ANY number of years 1-99), in which case the players salary IMMEDIATELY increases $4 per year. In my case with Kobe, I chose to keep him for ONE more year and release him at the end of the year, which kept his salary at $50. If I chose to sign him to a 2 year contract (this year and next year) he would IMMEDIATELY be valued at $54 dollars THIS year, and at $58 next year. Those totals would then be immediately subtracted from my starting auction bank. If I had a player that had a $1 salary and was in his third year (Brooke Lopez for example, who my friend Andrew has), I could have signed him to a 10 year contract, raising his 2010-11 salary to $5, his 2011-12 salary to $9, and each one thereafter $4 more. For a player that's actually WORTH $40, it's an excellent idea to lock up quality, low cost players for as long as possible.
First year players are designated as A players, second year as B players, third year players who are being released at the end of the year are Z players. Players kept for 1 year are designated as Y players, for 2 are X players, 3 is W etc all the way down the alphabet. Whenever a player is in their "Z" year, it is their final year of the contract. Oh yeah, and all player trades within the league, include their contracts. So if you signed a BAD contract, you CAN dump it off on another manager.
After that BRIEF (seriously) explanation of the league rules, here's what I ended up with: (all keepers will be the guys who AREN'T designated as "A".
The All-Cute Team
PG Rajon Rondo (Keeper - in his "U" year) - $17
SG Kobe Bryant - $50 - Z
SF Danny Granger - $42 - W
PF David Lee - $10 - U
C - Anthony Randolph - $15 - A
C - Andrew Bynum - $8 - A
G - Stephen Curry - $1 - B (kept from last year woohoo)
F - JR Smith - $3 - A
UTIL - Richard Hamilton - $16 - A
UTIL - MIke Miller - $4 - A (He's hurt for 3 months but quality quality guy)
BENCH - Brendan Haywood -$8 - A
BENCH - Andris Biedrins - $13 - A
BENCH -Thaddeus Young - $1 - A
If you do the math I actually screwed up and didn't spend $12. Its a tough thing because you try to save money for the good players at the end of the draft that nobody else saved for. It didn't work out quite the way I wanted. But I'm happy with my squad anyway. Bynum and Mike Miller are hurt so I'll need Biedrins to repeat his numbers from a few years ago and Haywood to step up and give me the boards and blocks that Bynum's absence requires. Also Anthony Randolph is unproven, but if he can stay on the court for 35 minutes, he GOT to be good for at least 8 boards and 2 blocks. The dude's a freak.
Season starts Wednesday. Booyeah.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Halloween Sucks. But What it Stands for is AMAZING.
I always look forward to this time of year. The stifling heat of the summer finally subsides to cooler winds and gray skies and the nakedness of the trees. Plus, I like wearing jackets. Let's face it, it was hard to wear jackets in Los Angeles unless it was raining or it was a suit jacket and I was going to Nobu. Even though I'm not crazy about Halloween, the tail end of October and the opening of November is one of my favorite parts of the year. There's a special feeling in the air - it's not quite Christmastime yet and it's not quite Thanksgiving, but the smell of nutmeg and roasted turkey is in the air. And every sport is going - the important ones, anyway - Football in the meat of the season, the world series is starting up, hockey has just started and the great basketball egg has been cracked right onto the sizzling fantasy skillet. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, fantasy basketball is BACK.
I have two leagues this year, a far cry from the previous years with 4-5 different teams, and I have a good feeling about them. My keeper league draft commences tonight at 10pm and I drafted my other league yesterday. Here's my insights after my first rotisserie draft: (9 categories - fg%, ft%, 3s, pts, boards, dimes, steals, blocks, TOs [negative cat.])
Every year there is a lack of a specific category. It's usually blocks. Ever since I started playing back in my Sophomore year of college blocks were the holy grail of categories. If you were winning blocks, you were probably winning the league. That's during Garnett's prime and Duncan and Nowitzski's emergence as top five players in the league - like 2002ish. At time time Garnett was putting up insanely gaudy numbers - 24, 15 and 6 with a steal and block and a half. Something like that. He was the consensus first pick for years. Which is why it was weird seeing him go almost undrafted yesterday, in the 11th or 12th round - and that's across the universe of webspace not just in my league or in the US. Shawn Marion is another good example of an old powerhouse who inexplicably cooled. Cooled isn't even the word. More like froze to death. Marion was the guy who always was drafted top 3 or 5 by the guy who had a plan and was really competitive. Guys that drafted Marion knew the secret math behind fantasy success before the roto-nerds invented the algorithms used to analyze players' individual fantasy contributions and value. In my leagues, my friend Eric always drafted him and I always passed on him. I prefer explosive players. I like my players to be exciting and provocative. I like Kobe (in real life and in fantasy.) Marion was boring but was a fantasy monster, never hurting your categories - always helping in multiple ones. One particularly ridiculous year (2006-2007), Shawn Marion won the distinction of having more three pointers, blocks and steals (in each of those categories) than total turn overs. In other words, he averaged 1.2 threes, 2.0 steals, and 1.5 blocks a game while averaging just 1.0 turnovers. Insane statistic. And he did all this and still managed incredible percentages, 17 points and 10ish rebounds a game. He came close to this feat MANY times but only accomplished it this one year. Insane. Anyway, Shawn Marion went undrafted this year in my first league. Mostly because he's now on the Dallas Mavericks where great players go to die. I can't think of one player off the top of my head that got BETTER once he went to Dallas. Not one. But I digress...
So as I was saying - there's always a category that's hard to find, and this year, I think it's three pointers and, to some extent, points scored. A couple years ago, it was impossible to find guys on the waiver wire that could contribute to your point total. Not one of the players scored more than nine points a game. It was crazy. This year I don't think it's quite as bad, but I think it will be challenging to stay competitive in points if you draft a more than two players who don't score very much, like Marcus Camby or another low scoring center. Ben Wallace used to be the ultimate example of the valuable low scoring center, (he never averaged more than 10 points a game) but has averaged 10.2 rebounds and over 2 blocks a game over his 15 year NBA career. So while he used to be a huge help in a few categories, he murdered you in a bunch of others.
So other than points, I noticed a lack of threes out there in the draft pool. It used to be that I looked for certain categories from certain positions. For my rebounds, blocks and fg%, I draft my centers. For my points, assists, steals, ft%, I draft my guards. And my forwards do everything else. I remember during one my first years playing, my friend Kyle had a team that was last place in assists and threes. He made a bunch of (suspicious) trades - his good forwards for all of the guards in the league - and within a few weeks he was leading the league in three pointers and assists. It was that easy.
Nowadays its a little more complicated. Just as the advertising world is starting to expect Designers who can Art Direct or Programmers who can Design, etc., the NBA has evolved over the last decade. Players like Lebron James (heard of him have you?) basically play every position. Magic Johnson did it for one game - Lebron does it EVERY game - at least statistically. Troy Murphy, a forward/center now on the nets used to be known as a pure rebounder. Now, he hits two threes a game playing the 5. Conversely, there are guards in the league that are known purely for their passing and driving ability. It started back in the day with Steve Francis who averaged good boards for a point guard (5.5ish) and nominal assists (7-8) but never shot the three. He was still an amazing fantasy player, but if he shot the three he could've been elite. Tony Parker has has attempted 1.6 threes per game over his 10 year career. Of those attempted, he makes roughly half a three per game. Rajon Rondo, an up and coming point guard on the Celtics attempts .6 a three per game. Pretty interesting, considering that the majority of guards in the league DO shoot the three and LOVE to do so. Rondo is even more provocative of a player because he's proven he CAN shoot the three - as evidenced by the terribly directed HORSE competition during this year's All-Star Weekend in which he and Kevin Durant (arguably the best player currently in the NBA) traded 15 back to back threes from the top of the key.
Don't get me wrong - there are threes available out there in the free agent pile, but none of the available players are worthwhile because while they average in points what they make in threes - and that's bad.
Okay keeper league draft starting. ..
I'm planning on doing a rundown of the teams for this NBA season this week - I'm going to try to be less confusing in the posts to follow. I think I confused myself with this one.
Madness, indeed.
I have two leagues this year, a far cry from the previous years with 4-5 different teams, and I have a good feeling about them. My keeper league draft commences tonight at 10pm and I drafted my other league yesterday. Here's my insights after my first rotisserie draft: (9 categories - fg%, ft%, 3s, pts, boards, dimes, steals, blocks, TOs [negative cat.])
Every year there is a lack of a specific category. It's usually blocks. Ever since I started playing back in my Sophomore year of college blocks were the holy grail of categories. If you were winning blocks, you were probably winning the league. That's during Garnett's prime and Duncan and Nowitzski's emergence as top five players in the league - like 2002ish. At time time Garnett was putting up insanely gaudy numbers - 24, 15 and 6 with a steal and block and a half. Something like that. He was the consensus first pick for years. Which is why it was weird seeing him go almost undrafted yesterday, in the 11th or 12th round - and that's across the universe of webspace not just in my league or in the US. Shawn Marion is another good example of an old powerhouse who inexplicably cooled. Cooled isn't even the word. More like froze to death. Marion was the guy who always was drafted top 3 or 5 by the guy who had a plan and was really competitive. Guys that drafted Marion knew the secret math behind fantasy success before the roto-nerds invented the algorithms used to analyze players' individual fantasy contributions and value. In my leagues, my friend Eric always drafted him and I always passed on him. I prefer explosive players. I like my players to be exciting and provocative. I like Kobe (in real life and in fantasy.) Marion was boring but was a fantasy monster, never hurting your categories - always helping in multiple ones. One particularly ridiculous year (2006-2007), Shawn Marion won the distinction of having more three pointers, blocks and steals (in each of those categories) than total turn overs. In other words, he averaged 1.2 threes, 2.0 steals, and 1.5 blocks a game while averaging just 1.0 turnovers. Insane statistic. And he did all this and still managed incredible percentages, 17 points and 10ish rebounds a game. He came close to this feat MANY times but only accomplished it this one year. Insane. Anyway, Shawn Marion went undrafted this year in my first league. Mostly because he's now on the Dallas Mavericks where great players go to die. I can't think of one player off the top of my head that got BETTER once he went to Dallas. Not one. But I digress...
So as I was saying - there's always a category that's hard to find, and this year, I think it's three pointers and, to some extent, points scored. A couple years ago, it was impossible to find guys on the waiver wire that could contribute to your point total. Not one of the players scored more than nine points a game. It was crazy. This year I don't think it's quite as bad, but I think it will be challenging to stay competitive in points if you draft a more than two players who don't score very much, like Marcus Camby or another low scoring center. Ben Wallace used to be the ultimate example of the valuable low scoring center, (he never averaged more than 10 points a game) but has averaged 10.2 rebounds and over 2 blocks a game over his 15 year NBA career. So while he used to be a huge help in a few categories, he murdered you in a bunch of others.
So other than points, I noticed a lack of threes out there in the draft pool. It used to be that I looked for certain categories from certain positions. For my rebounds, blocks and fg%, I draft my centers. For my points, assists, steals, ft%, I draft my guards. And my forwards do everything else. I remember during one my first years playing, my friend Kyle had a team that was last place in assists and threes. He made a bunch of (suspicious) trades - his good forwards for all of the guards in the league - and within a few weeks he was leading the league in three pointers and assists. It was that easy.
Nowadays its a little more complicated. Just as the advertising world is starting to expect Designers who can Art Direct or Programmers who can Design, etc., the NBA has evolved over the last decade. Players like Lebron James (heard of him have you?) basically play every position. Magic Johnson did it for one game - Lebron does it EVERY game - at least statistically. Troy Murphy, a forward/center now on the nets used to be known as a pure rebounder. Now, he hits two threes a game playing the 5. Conversely, there are guards in the league that are known purely for their passing and driving ability. It started back in the day with Steve Francis who averaged good boards for a point guard (5.5ish) and nominal assists (7-8) but never shot the three. He was still an amazing fantasy player, but if he shot the three he could've been elite. Tony Parker has has attempted 1.6 threes per game over his 10 year career. Of those attempted, he makes roughly half a three per game. Rajon Rondo, an up and coming point guard on the Celtics attempts .6 a three per game. Pretty interesting, considering that the majority of guards in the league DO shoot the three and LOVE to do so. Rondo is even more provocative of a player because he's proven he CAN shoot the three - as evidenced by the terribly directed HORSE competition during this year's All-Star Weekend in which he and Kevin Durant (arguably the best player currently in the NBA) traded 15 back to back threes from the top of the key.
Don't get me wrong - there are threes available out there in the free agent pile, but none of the available players are worthwhile because while they average in points what they make in threes - and that's bad.
Okay keeper league draft starting. ..
I'm planning on doing a rundown of the teams for this NBA season this week - I'm going to try to be less confusing in the posts to follow. I think I confused myself with this one.
Madness, indeed.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Magnetic Poetry Madness II (MPM 2)
In addition to be being a source of nutritious food for my body, my refrigerator also is an inspiration-generator. Those little magnetic words do wonders to get my mind kick started. I have noticed that a lot of my poetry ends up sounding like a sci-fi haiku that Jorge Luis Borges would write.
Enough delaying, here goes:
I thought she was beautiful.
Emotion never lets me go. Why?
The Idea is more correct.
The pleasure was in my head
and the girl is soon translucent.
_______________________________
Here, write a genius book.
Release a compelling play.
Publish a breakthrough ending.
Pour a strong story.
Understand love.
_________________________________
Life is a finite experience.
My lines end in perfect Rhythm.
I am a cliche.
I dream of breaking my curse -
A certain word releases me.
Maybe I have never slept,
instead my brain bleeding.
___________________________________
Bam.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Symphony - the Finale: Like Jeffrey Eugenides
The Berg done, we walked into the foyer of the enormous complex and after a quick pee, had a glass of wine and talked about the music thus far. We both agreed that the Berg wasn't our favorite but we could see the validity in his work and appreciated its musical merits.
I furtively looked around and concluded that I was underdressed for the occasion. A rubber suit would have been better. I was told that I could wear "fancy" jeans as long as I wore a sports jacket, and went with that because all of my slacks are ill fitting and I prefer to be comfortable. To be fair, I had just come from Los Angeles, and people there get away with wearing pretty much anything to special events. Nonetheless, I felt a little embarrassed and so treated myself to another drink to steel my nerves.
Fifteen minutes later we were back in our seats anxiously awaiting Brahms and the return of the concert master - replete with the unnecessary clapping - and the conductor. From what I knew about Brahms, I wasn't expecting much. I thought that he may have been in the classical era if not slightly later. I'm a Mozart lover, and anything that doesn't sound at least a little bit like him, can become dull. I'm glad I tempered my expectations for Brahms because he completely blew me away.
The piece was fantastic. During the intermission the symphony grew by a dozen violins, several more cellos and a few brass here and there. The piece moved quickly and had a body to it that resonated with me and gave me goosebumps more than a few times during its 45 minute run. Between the second and third movements someone in the balcony starting clapping - such a novice. I caught the first cellist roll his eyes right before he pulled back his bow and fired away on the third and final movement.
The Brahms piece came to a close in my favorite of fashions - with a resounding, repeating finale. The audience could barely hold their applause - what with their predilection for clapping, I'm surprised they did - and as soon as the last cymbal clash dissipated, we erupted in applause and continued for five minutes.
Of the many things I learned during my first symphony experience these stand out: I need to buy better fitting slacks for special occasions, I may also need to buy a rubber tuxedo, and Brahms definitely does not suck.
I furtively looked around and concluded that I was underdressed for the occasion. A rubber suit would have been better. I was told that I could wear "fancy" jeans as long as I wore a sports jacket, and went with that because all of my slacks are ill fitting and I prefer to be comfortable. To be fair, I had just come from Los Angeles, and people there get away with wearing pretty much anything to special events. Nonetheless, I felt a little embarrassed and so treated myself to another drink to steel my nerves.
Fifteen minutes later we were back in our seats anxiously awaiting Brahms and the return of the concert master - replete with the unnecessary clapping - and the conductor. From what I knew about Brahms, I wasn't expecting much. I thought that he may have been in the classical era if not slightly later. I'm a Mozart lover, and anything that doesn't sound at least a little bit like him, can become dull. I'm glad I tempered my expectations for Brahms because he completely blew me away.
The piece was fantastic. During the intermission the symphony grew by a dozen violins, several more cellos and a few brass here and there. The piece moved quickly and had a body to it that resonated with me and gave me goosebumps more than a few times during its 45 minute run. Between the second and third movements someone in the balcony starting clapping - such a novice. I caught the first cellist roll his eyes right before he pulled back his bow and fired away on the third and final movement.
The Brahms piece came to a close in my favorite of fashions - with a resounding, repeating finale. The audience could barely hold their applause - what with their predilection for clapping, I'm surprised they did - and as soon as the last cymbal clash dissipated, we erupted in applause and continued for five minutes.
Of the many things I learned during my first symphony experience these stand out: I need to buy better fitting slacks for special occasions, I may also need to buy a rubber tuxedo, and Brahms definitely does not suck.
Symphony II - Ian McEwan Style.
Just as the conductor dropped his wand, the hall was filled with music. The first piece to be performed was a very famous waltz by Strauss. If you were to think of a waltz in your head, the one that came to your mind would most likely be that very waltz.
Now, as I have said, I am a Classical music lover - my favorite being the Baroque - and having only heard it reproduced electronically, the first thing that occurred to me was the clarity and quality. I don't know how long I had been doing it, but at some point during the second movement, I realized my mouth had been agape, and I shut it promptly. But I couldn't help from nodding my head and tapping my foot to the gentle lilt and the calm, sweeping rises and declinations of the waltz.
When the piece was over, I clapped vigorously, perhaps too much so, but I was caught up in it.
After a short two minute break that the symphony used to reset and add and remove instruments, the concert master reemerged - to more unjustified clapping - and then the conductor, who mounted the podium, turned to us and began to speak!
First, he introduced the violin soloist, who may or may not have been famous in symphonic circles. The soloist came out to a great roar of clapping, and I was drawn to his shiny tuxedo. Instead of a traditional cloth tuxedo, his was made of black rubber. I'd never considered the option of rubber for a tuxedo material. My friend glanced over at me and I saw in her eyes that she too was delighted by the soloists rubber outfit.
I tried to listen to the conductor as he gave an informative, insightful speech about the piece to follow but the rubbered soloist was quite distracting.
Soon, the piece started and the soloist substantiated any claims he may have been making with his tux and played a masterpiece on his little violin.
The piece itself was composed by Alban Berg in the early 1930's and elicited images of thunderous battlefields and war. Being a European, Berg saw the troubles ahead and incorporated these themes into his piece. Even though the soloist was fascinating and shiny, the piece was difficult to listen to and, ultimately, I was happy when it was over.
I was truly excited for the next piece, written by Brahms...
Now, as I have said, I am a Classical music lover - my favorite being the Baroque - and having only heard it reproduced electronically, the first thing that occurred to me was the clarity and quality. I don't know how long I had been doing it, but at some point during the second movement, I realized my mouth had been agape, and I shut it promptly. But I couldn't help from nodding my head and tapping my foot to the gentle lilt and the calm, sweeping rises and declinations of the waltz.
When the piece was over, I clapped vigorously, perhaps too much so, but I was caught up in it.
After a short two minute break that the symphony used to reset and add and remove instruments, the concert master reemerged - to more unjustified clapping - and then the conductor, who mounted the podium, turned to us and began to speak!
First, he introduced the violin soloist, who may or may not have been famous in symphonic circles. The soloist came out to a great roar of clapping, and I was drawn to his shiny tuxedo. Instead of a traditional cloth tuxedo, his was made of black rubber. I'd never considered the option of rubber for a tuxedo material. My friend glanced over at me and I saw in her eyes that she too was delighted by the soloists rubber outfit.
I tried to listen to the conductor as he gave an informative, insightful speech about the piece to follow but the rubbered soloist was quite distracting.
Soon, the piece started and the soloist substantiated any claims he may have been making with his tux and played a masterpiece on his little violin.
The piece itself was composed by Alban Berg in the early 1930's and elicited images of thunderous battlefields and war. Being a European, Berg saw the troubles ahead and incorporated these themes into his piece. Even though the soloist was fascinating and shiny, the piece was difficult to listen to and, ultimately, I was happy when it was over.
I was truly excited for the next piece, written by Brahms...
Symphony Part I - In the style of that Raymond Carver guy.
I'd never been to the symphony before last night. I listen to classical music and I know a little bit about classical music, but I never really even considered going to the symphony. It helped that I was invited.
A friend of mine that I recently met in Atlanta invited me to the symphony two weeks ago. I don't remember how the conversation went when I was invited but it may as well have gone like this:
"Hey, I have season tickets to the symphony," she said.
"That's wild," I said, "the symphony. I like Mozart." And then she invited me.
So the last two weeks I've been wondering what to expect. You know, thinking about the space - will it be in a stage like a theater or a stage like at a concert? Will there be stadium seating? What am I going to wear? I asked myself a bunch of other questions too.
I got to the place a little earlier than she did and helped myself to a drink. She came a little later and she showed me where the restaurant was. We were supposed to meet in the restaurant, but I couldn't find the thing. It ended up being hidden around the corner. We had another drink there.
The stage wasn't a theater space nor was it a concert space and there was not stadium seating. I will try to describe it properly, but I will probably do a terrible job. I would say it was like an auditorium with comfier seats and better acoustics. It was a large space, sitting at least 500 people, maybe more. There was not a center aisle which made getting to our seats toward the middle of our row slow going.
I was told that, before the conductor came out, a man called the Concert Master would come and tune the orchestra. Everybody started clapping when this happened. I was confused because it didn't seem to me like he did anything at all. But people clapped, so I clapped with them. There's an etiquette to these thing and I tried to go with it.
Then the conductor came out and everybody clapped again. He shook the concert master's hand, who was directly to his left, paused, raised his wand in the air, and the whole orchestra readied themselves.
A friend of mine that I recently met in Atlanta invited me to the symphony two weeks ago. I don't remember how the conversation went when I was invited but it may as well have gone like this:
"Hey, I have season tickets to the symphony," she said.
"That's wild," I said, "the symphony. I like Mozart." And then she invited me.
So the last two weeks I've been wondering what to expect. You know, thinking about the space - will it be in a stage like a theater or a stage like at a concert? Will there be stadium seating? What am I going to wear? I asked myself a bunch of other questions too.
I got to the place a little earlier than she did and helped myself to a drink. She came a little later and she showed me where the restaurant was. We were supposed to meet in the restaurant, but I couldn't find the thing. It ended up being hidden around the corner. We had another drink there.
The stage wasn't a theater space nor was it a concert space and there was not stadium seating. I will try to describe it properly, but I will probably do a terrible job. I would say it was like an auditorium with comfier seats and better acoustics. It was a large space, sitting at least 500 people, maybe more. There was not a center aisle which made getting to our seats toward the middle of our row slow going.
I was told that, before the conductor came out, a man called the Concert Master would come and tune the orchestra. Everybody started clapping when this happened. I was confused because it didn't seem to me like he did anything at all. But people clapped, so I clapped with them. There's an etiquette to these thing and I tried to go with it.
Then the conductor came out and everybody clapped again. He shook the concert master's hand, who was directly to his left, paused, raised his wand in the air, and the whole orchestra readied themselves.
First Rule of Fantasy Football is You Don't Talk About Fantasy Football.
I lie on the couch, and crane my head towards the television. I plan to be here for the next seven hours doing exactly this. If I were any less hungover, I'd be very excited for the day ahead.
It's Sunday.
There is football all day long and I'm going to relax. Take it easy, put your feet up. Enjoy the games. Everything is perfect and then my stomach growls.
I don't feel like making any food so I reheat the lasagna I made a few nights ago. It's been frozen but after a quick trip through a 500 degree oven and numerous repeated motions, the lasagna is in my stomach and I feel prepared for the taxing day ahead.
Almost immediately, my fantasy football team start losing. This is usually what happens. It happened last weekend too. My opponent is starting Arian Foster, a breakout fantasy star and I fully expect that he will score at least two touchdowns against me. Inevitably, players break out of their slumps when I play against them. I'm confident in my losing ability.
Halfway through the first set of games my computer tells me that I am in a 40 point deficit. Arian Foster has one touchdown already and is looking to break out of his slump. At least I called it. I am a fucking oracle.
Meanwhile, my players have forgotten how to play football. Two have fumbled, two haven't caught
anything yet and one has apparently broken his back in a dangerous play. Par for the course.
I taunt my opposing team's players.
Only one touchdown so far, Arian? You can do better than that, buddy. Keep those legs churning downfield and find that end zone one more time for daddy. You motherfucker.
There is no sound from the television, only my expectant breaths and the click click click of my mouse hitting the "refresh" button.
I'm a sore loser.
Oh, there you go, yep, another touchdown, I knew you could do it! I had faith that you'd play out of your mind and single-handedly beat my team. Awesome.
I am down 99 to 29 and a loss for this week is all but guaranteed. This will adversely affect my fantasy football standings and my future opponents will think my team is weak and expect an easy when they play against me.
Maybe they're right.
I am excited for next week's games and a relaxing Sunday.
It's Sunday.
There is football all day long and I'm going to relax. Take it easy, put your feet up. Enjoy the games. Everything is perfect and then my stomach growls.
I don't feel like making any food so I reheat the lasagna I made a few nights ago. It's been frozen but after a quick trip through a 500 degree oven and numerous repeated motions, the lasagna is in my stomach and I feel prepared for the taxing day ahead.
Almost immediately, my fantasy football team start losing. This is usually what happens. It happened last weekend too. My opponent is starting Arian Foster, a breakout fantasy star and I fully expect that he will score at least two touchdowns against me. Inevitably, players break out of their slumps when I play against them. I'm confident in my losing ability.
Halfway through the first set of games my computer tells me that I am in a 40 point deficit. Arian Foster has one touchdown already and is looking to break out of his slump. At least I called it. I am a fucking oracle.
Meanwhile, my players have forgotten how to play football. Two have fumbled, two haven't caught
anything yet and one has apparently broken his back in a dangerous play. Par for the course.
I taunt my opposing team's players.
Only one touchdown so far, Arian? You can do better than that, buddy. Keep those legs churning downfield and find that end zone one more time for daddy. You motherfucker.
There is no sound from the television, only my expectant breaths and the click click click of my mouse hitting the "refresh" button.
I'm a sore loser.
Oh, there you go, yep, another touchdown, I knew you could do it! I had faith that you'd play out of your mind and single-handedly beat my team. Awesome.
I am down 99 to 29 and a loss for this week is all but guaranteed. This will adversely affect my fantasy football standings and my future opponents will think my team is weak and expect an easy when they play against me.
Maybe they're right.
I am excited for next week's games and a relaxing Sunday.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Ranting - in the style of Bret Easton Ellis
"I like this guy, here, I like him. I like you." The man is patting me on the back and telling me repeatedly how much he likes me because I'm helping him make photocopies on the store's copy machine. I flinch and shrug and do not say, "I like you too" because I don't know him, that would be weird and I don't like him.
Truth is, he's just like any other schmuck that comes through the door and asks a question that I either wouldn't possibly be able to answer, or one that makes no sense and is ridiculous. Then there's the person that expects us to offer a service that we'd never, in any stretch of the imagination offer, and is furious when they're told we don't. Or, my personal favorite, the customer that is upset when he learns, days after his purchase, that the prices we charge for a service are marked up, as though he expects us to give him wholesale prices at our retail location. "But I went online and saw that it was cheaper," he argues for 10 minutes. "That was wholesale," we say, "this is a privately owned store." Then, "Get out."
I'm a likable person and I try to be helpful, but the free-standing copiers that you see there in front of you? Those are self-serve. As in, use them by yourself. I do not get paid to help you figure out where the paper comes out. I do not get paid to help you zoom and blow up your original image onto a larger piece of paper or darken that image. I do not get paid to show you how to collate and staple. It's all right there in front of you on that little touchscreen. I have just as little idea how to use it as you do.
"Seriously, man, I couldn't have done it with you. He's the best. The BEST." The man is telling the other customers waiting in line. A part of me dies, because now the customers in line expect the same kind of hands-on copy machine lesson. I do my best to give them a nice heads up: "These machines are typically self-serve, but it's no problem at all for me to help out, if I have the time," as though they're listening, as though they'd care.
I ring the man out at the closest register and his total comes to a whopping thirty cents. He's made three copies, with my help, in 10 minutes. He loves me because he's just ripped off the store.
I smile and give the man his 70 cents change and he thanks me again and tells me that he'll definitely be back and I not so secretly pray that he won't.
The next person in line, a woman, comes up to the counter and smiling I say, "How can I help you today?" and fantasize about strangling her.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Recipe for Lasagna and Life - inspired by Irvine Welsh
The idea popped into my head at the market today. Make a pasta. Make lasagna. Make it cheesy and delicious and meaty too. Why not, why shouldn't I have a filling meal to eat? People say
"that much cheese isn't good for you. Do you know how much butter is in that? Have you seen what that can do to a your arteries?"
"How much butter does the recipe call for? Well, I would substitute olive oil. Any sensible person would."
"There's three cheeses in it? Three? Doesn't that seem like an awful lot of cheese? I'm sure low fat mozzarella would be just as good."
It wouldn't.
When I start thinking about making something for dinner nothing can deter me. The idea is planted in my mind like "Inception" and it grows and mutates into Obsession and I will kill murder maim for the ingredients needed for execution.
People think it's hard to make a lasagna so most never attempt it and I understand their fear, I've been there. When you're afraid of starting anything, a recipe, a cut-and-paste collage, any project, you need to think about the origins of your fear. So you don't like the mess it will make: fuck man first of all, why are you so afraid of getting a little dirty? That's what it is after all, isn't it? You've got vegetables: gotta clean 'em up. Now they're cleaned: gotta cut em up. Now you've got little pieces of onion, carrot and celery on the counter top and vegetable juices that's making your counter sticky and now all of your fears have been confirmed - you've made a mess and you're sticky.
And nobody likes being sticky.
All of those negatives, those fears, are momentary. You are sticky for a fleeting moment, and you may for a moment awkwardly flail like a hoisted infant, but after a warm cleansing, disinfecting wash, all is well again. And what's left after you push through your irrational fears? A whole pan of the best fucking lasagna you've ever made that will last you a week or more, if you freeze it. That's what I did tonight and I've gotta say, it could use more butter.
"that much cheese isn't good for you. Do you know how much butter is in that? Have you seen what that can do to a your arteries?"
"How much butter does the recipe call for? Well, I would substitute olive oil. Any sensible person would."
"There's three cheeses in it? Three? Doesn't that seem like an awful lot of cheese? I'm sure low fat mozzarella would be just as good."
It wouldn't.
When I start thinking about making something for dinner nothing can deter me. The idea is planted in my mind like "Inception" and it grows and mutates into Obsession and I will kill murder maim for the ingredients needed for execution.
People think it's hard to make a lasagna so most never attempt it and I understand their fear, I've been there. When you're afraid of starting anything, a recipe, a cut-and-paste collage, any project, you need to think about the origins of your fear. So you don't like the mess it will make: fuck man first of all, why are you so afraid of getting a little dirty? That's what it is after all, isn't it? You've got vegetables: gotta clean 'em up. Now they're cleaned: gotta cut em up. Now you've got little pieces of onion, carrot and celery on the counter top and vegetable juices that's making your counter sticky and now all of your fears have been confirmed - you've made a mess and you're sticky.
And nobody likes being sticky.
All of those negatives, those fears, are momentary. You are sticky for a fleeting moment, and you may for a moment awkwardly flail like a hoisted infant, but after a warm cleansing, disinfecting wash, all is well again. And what's left after you push through your irrational fears? A whole pan of the best fucking lasagna you've ever made that will last you a week or more, if you freeze it. That's what I did tonight and I've gotta say, it could use more butter.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Techno-Gym Story. Inspired by Jonathan Lethem.
I was on the treadmill. The music was pumping, pounding, pressuring my eardrums into submission and I reached into my pocket and turned up the volume louder and louder. I had an itch to scratch and I was clawing at it with razor sharp talons many decibels thick. It was like a line of high quality Peruvian that coursed through my narrowing canals and waterfalled over the top of my insides like a overflowing cistern - the quivering icicles dangling from my skull instantly dissipated into something like memories of a orgasm. Good techno.
I didn't know the artist, or the spinner, or whatever title would be fair for someone who seamlessly transitions one person's music into another's, but whoever it was it was working it was working. I steadily increased my speed from 4.3 Em-Pee-Aitch to a faster clip of 5.2 - DeeJay! Fuck, Deejay, of course! - and wiped my face with gym-supplied towels. I'm not much of a sweater, but I'm very concerned with being hygienic, so I wipe places on my body that might be sweaty soon just to be sure.
It eases my mind to be sweat-free.
So after I got off of the treadmill, I made the decision to do only a few exercises. I wasn't really in the mood to go balls to the wall today and besides, "I'm pretty intense when I work out," I thought or said aloud.
The gym also provides pre-moistened sterilizing towels but they run out pretty quickly and I pulled a dozen - what can I say, I try to keep my temple as clean and protected at all times - you never know what unseen fungus or parasite has detached itself from its old host and is patiently waiting on the inclined bench to incubate in my very soft very clean flesh.
There was a girl on the elliptical machine and she turned her body and her neck to glance back at me - had I been singing out loud again? - and resumed her frantic pace. I would have preferred if she were wearing tighter fitting gym shorts - I love those - instead she was wearing casual looser orange-colored shorts. The pony tail was a nice touch though, I thought, and sat roughly down on the bench with a weight in either hand.
I think the girl saw me see her and felt like she had "used up" the number of times she could look back at me. As the only other person in the weight room, I felt compelled to make some sort of connection or eye contact with her, make a loud noise or quick movement so she'd respond in some way.
I didn't do any of those things, instead.
I didn't know the artist, or the spinner, or whatever title would be fair for someone who seamlessly transitions one person's music into another's, but whoever it was it was working it was working. I steadily increased my speed from 4.3 Em-Pee-Aitch to a faster clip of 5.2 - DeeJay! Fuck, Deejay, of course! - and wiped my face with gym-supplied towels. I'm not much of a sweater, but I'm very concerned with being hygienic, so I wipe places on my body that might be sweaty soon just to be sure.
It eases my mind to be sweat-free.
So after I got off of the treadmill, I made the decision to do only a few exercises. I wasn't really in the mood to go balls to the wall today and besides, "I'm pretty intense when I work out," I thought or said aloud.
The gym also provides pre-moistened sterilizing towels but they run out pretty quickly and I pulled a dozen - what can I say, I try to keep my temple as clean and protected at all times - you never know what unseen fungus or parasite has detached itself from its old host and is patiently waiting on the inclined bench to incubate in my very soft very clean flesh.
There was a girl on the elliptical machine and she turned her body and her neck to glance back at me - had I been singing out loud again? - and resumed her frantic pace. I would have preferred if she were wearing tighter fitting gym shorts - I love those - instead she was wearing casual looser orange-colored shorts. The pony tail was a nice touch though, I thought, and sat roughly down on the bench with a weight in either hand.
I think the girl saw me see her and felt like she had "used up" the number of times she could look back at me. As the only other person in the weight room, I felt compelled to make some sort of connection or eye contact with her, make a loud noise or quick movement so she'd respond in some way.
I didn't do any of those things, instead.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Revisiting the Sad but True, Hemingway Style
After 20 minutes, the waiter brought us our food on a great platter. He put down the appetizers and then both of our entrees, removed our bread plates and left the two of us without speaking.
"I would've preferred to have the starters separately," she said, "I'll have to say something to Jerry on Monday."
I nodded, slid my fork into the murky broth, and stabbed at an unseen mussel.
"Three years," she said, raising her small glass.
The wine was very good and crisp and went well with the food.
Later, Jerry stopped by with a magnum of very expensive red wine.
"What are you doing here?" she asked him.
Jerry tipped the large bottle into another of my girlfriend's glasses. "I'm here with Stephanie. I saw you and had to share this bottle with you." He looked at me and poured some of the wine in an adjacent glass. "It's not on our menu here. I brought it from my house. Let me know what you think, Jamie."
She set down her fork, tines down on her plate and straightened her knife on the table beside it.
She tasted the wine and smiled. "It's delicious, Jerry. The flavors are so deep and satiny. It's wonderful." She glanced at me and took a long sip of ice water and placed it back down beside the wine glass.
I drank mine too.
Jerry put his hand on her shoulder and said, "I knew you'd like it, Jamie. I'm so happy you do."
"Where are you and Stephanie sitting? I didn't see you when we came in," I asked.
"We're just around the corner. Back there," Jerry said. He pointed to the rear of the restaurant, on the other side of the bar. I turned my head.
I had never met Stephanie. There were a few regulars at the bar and the bartender was talking to them quietly and pouring dark liquids.
Jamie lifted another glass to her lips and held it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. She closed her eyes.
Jerry smiled and said, "I know."
After he shook my hand and left with his bottle, I skipped the dessert course and said my goodbye and goodbye and goodbye and drank my water because there was no more wine to drink.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Human Beings are Terrible People.
Evidently, we've discovered 200 new species in Papua New Guinea. Fantastic.
I saw this breaking news on Fox News while running on the elliptical listening to some Collective Soul, so I didn't "hear" the breaking news, but I saw enough to get the gist of the segment which, I believe, was "Hey, look, more species to destroy!"
Among the species newly discovered, there was a guinea pig type creature (must be some connection between Papua New Guinea and guinea pigs, no?) that was awfully friendly, because it was shown sitting on a researcher's arm [quivering in terror].
Growing up, I had a couple guinea pigs. Worst. Pet. Ever. I got two of the things because I thought that one would get lonely. I still wholeheartedly believe that "one-of" anything will inevitably get lonely and sad and ultimately attempt to kill itself. It's why I'm having more than 1 child. Anyway, I was supposed to have brought home two guinea pigs, but one night I went to bed with two in the cage, and woke up with six.
I had inadvertently been sold a pregnant female pig. I think any 12 year old would have been crazy excited to find my number of pets suddenly tripled but I had already come to regret the purchase because I had discovered after just one week that guinea pigs are disgusting.
Seriously. I was keeping them in my room at the time and I don't know how they did it, but they somehow sprayed their urine outside of the cage. My whole room smelled like rancid guinea pig piss within the first week. I hated those little bastards. And now I suddenly had six of them. Well. at least for a day or two.
Several days after the immaculate conception, I awoke to a very quiet very bloody guinea pig cage.
Maybe I wasn't feeding them enough or something, but the surprise female had taken it upon herself to curb the population and eaten one of her young. At least, that's the only explanation that I could come up with. Unless I counted incorrectly the day before and there was a better explanation for the blood. Somebody in the family suggested it could've been an afterbirth thing, which made me sick to even consider so, naturally, I immediately discarded the idea.
Somewhere in the next month or so, the newborn guinea pigs decided it'd be a good idea to start fucking each other and having babies of their own, and that's around the time when I decided I no longer wanted guinea pigs.
I have no idea what I did with them, but I remember the cage looked like it'd been cooked in an 500 degree oven for a month. It was corroded with the foul vermin's piss and shit - and I cleaned it twice a week!
Anyway, I wasn't fooled at all by the feigned cuteness of the Papauian(?) rodent perched on the arm of the researcher when Fox News flashed the "Breaking News" logo and the photo as if we'd finally discovered the cure for cancer.
The next shot was of a crazy looking praying mantis thing.
Incidentally, I have a praying mantis story. I had never seen one of these things in the wild, ever, but there I was, on a shitty par three in Sherman Oaks, about to putt on the ninth hole and looking down what do I see but a crazy green bug on the end of the putter. It was huge. It was a praying mantis. I have a picture of it on my Facebook, I believe. It was mind blowing up close. That's all I have to say about that.
So I don't have issue with the new species of Praying Mantis. I hope we can work slightly slower to not destroy its habitat.
The last picture they showed was of a new species of bat. It looked just as crazy as any other bat I've seen up close (on TV) except for that it was smiling and looked more dog-like.
The whole Fox News report seemed very backwards to me. We, as a civilization are VERY excited when we find a bunch of new species we'd never found before, and yet by this very act of discovery, we severely endanger the well being of the very species we're excited to start protecting from endangerment. You can say the same things about the Discovery Channel's award winning shit they film about the ancient African tribe that has been unchanged for the last thousand years. Uh, I'm guessing that after Discovery Channel brought their fucking thirty person camera crew and gasoline powered generators and portable stoves through their peaceful, unsophisticated, savage village, the tribe was seriously and irrevocably changed. Just a hunch. I feel my Nihilistic thoughts coming on...
I think it's wonderful that we're exploring our planet and looking under every fucking rock for stuff we've never seen before. Great. Unfortunately, that newly discovered adorable, terrified Papua New Guinean rodent has no idea that very shortly it will be living a wonderful life in some 12 year old's room in a very very small cage.
By the way, I'm in no way condemning Fox News for their report or the actions of the self righteous "environmental" group. Fox News is sort of amazing. I'm not sure if I like it because it's hilarious or because it's right 90% of the time. But that's for a whole 'nother blog...
I saw this breaking news on Fox News while running on the elliptical listening to some Collective Soul, so I didn't "hear" the breaking news, but I saw enough to get the gist of the segment which, I believe, was "Hey, look, more species to destroy!"
Among the species newly discovered, there was a guinea pig type creature (must be some connection between Papua New Guinea and guinea pigs, no?) that was awfully friendly, because it was shown sitting on a researcher's arm [quivering in terror].
Growing up, I had a couple guinea pigs. Worst. Pet. Ever. I got two of the things because I thought that one would get lonely. I still wholeheartedly believe that "one-of" anything will inevitably get lonely and sad and ultimately attempt to kill itself. It's why I'm having more than 1 child. Anyway, I was supposed to have brought home two guinea pigs, but one night I went to bed with two in the cage, and woke up with six.
I had inadvertently been sold a pregnant female pig. I think any 12 year old would have been crazy excited to find my number of pets suddenly tripled but I had already come to regret the purchase because I had discovered after just one week that guinea pigs are disgusting.
Seriously. I was keeping them in my room at the time and I don't know how they did it, but they somehow sprayed their urine outside of the cage. My whole room smelled like rancid guinea pig piss within the first week. I hated those little bastards. And now I suddenly had six of them. Well. at least for a day or two.
Several days after the immaculate conception, I awoke to a very quiet very bloody guinea pig cage.
Maybe I wasn't feeding them enough or something, but the surprise female had taken it upon herself to curb the population and eaten one of her young. At least, that's the only explanation that I could come up with. Unless I counted incorrectly the day before and there was a better explanation for the blood. Somebody in the family suggested it could've been an afterbirth thing, which made me sick to even consider so, naturally, I immediately discarded the idea.
Somewhere in the next month or so, the newborn guinea pigs decided it'd be a good idea to start fucking each other and having babies of their own, and that's around the time when I decided I no longer wanted guinea pigs.
I have no idea what I did with them, but I remember the cage looked like it'd been cooked in an 500 degree oven for a month. It was corroded with the foul vermin's piss and shit - and I cleaned it twice a week!
Anyway, I wasn't fooled at all by the feigned cuteness of the Papauian(?) rodent perched on the arm of the researcher when Fox News flashed the "Breaking News" logo and the photo as if we'd finally discovered the cure for cancer.
The next shot was of a crazy looking praying mantis thing.
Incidentally, I have a praying mantis story. I had never seen one of these things in the wild, ever, but there I was, on a shitty par three in Sherman Oaks, about to putt on the ninth hole and looking down what do I see but a crazy green bug on the end of the putter. It was huge. It was a praying mantis. I have a picture of it on my Facebook, I believe. It was mind blowing up close. That's all I have to say about that.
So I don't have issue with the new species of Praying Mantis. I hope we can work slightly slower to not destroy its habitat.
The last picture they showed was of a new species of bat. It looked just as crazy as any other bat I've seen up close (on TV) except for that it was smiling and looked more dog-like.
The whole Fox News report seemed very backwards to me. We, as a civilization are VERY excited when we find a bunch of new species we'd never found before, and yet by this very act of discovery, we severely endanger the well being of the very species we're excited to start protecting from endangerment. You can say the same things about the Discovery Channel's award winning shit they film about the ancient African tribe that has been unchanged for the last thousand years. Uh, I'm guessing that after Discovery Channel brought their fucking thirty person camera crew and gasoline powered generators and portable stoves through their peaceful, unsophisticated, savage village, the tribe was seriously and irrevocably changed. Just a hunch. I feel my Nihilistic thoughts coming on...
I think it's wonderful that we're exploring our planet and looking under every fucking rock for stuff we've never seen before. Great. Unfortunately, that newly discovered adorable, terrified Papua New Guinean rodent has no idea that very shortly it will be living a wonderful life in some 12 year old's room in a very very small cage.
By the way, I'm in no way condemning Fox News for their report or the actions of the self righteous "environmental" group. Fox News is sort of amazing. I'm not sure if I like it because it's hilarious or because it's right 90% of the time. But that's for a whole 'nother blog...
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Magnetic Poetry Madness, or MPM for short.
To be honest, I never thought that I'd ever use the magnetic poetry bottle again. I went through a phase in middle school where I bought every single one of the sets. I had the Shakespeare set with the Olde English words and the semi-lewd word set (mostly containing words like hot, sweaty, juicy, moist, hard, etc.), I had all of them. Of course, it's not like a had a refrigerator to put 10,000 tiny magnets on (definitely a no-no in the house of Blinder) so I went and purchased a big ass sheet of metal from the hardware store. Other than the razor-sharp edges that left gashes in whatever they touched, it worked like a charm. Naturally, I used the damned thing for a total of MAYBE two hours before I grew disinterested. God knows what happened to all of those.
Randomly I found an unopened bottle of magnetic poetry before I moved to Atlanta and now that I have my very own refrigerator, I can use the magnets as they were designed to be used. And I did. And here's some of the stuff I came up with on the very first installment of MAGNETIC POETRY MADNESS, or MPM #1. It's important to note that I TRY to come up with something that 1) makes sense 2) is meaningful and 3) actually good. It doesn't always work out that way. Also, I am adding punctuation in (there's no magnetic punctuation). Some are titled, others are not. I give myself a solid 4.5 out of 10 for my first attempt.
OBSESSIONS
I am compelled to confess
my work is infinitely wrong
and better for it.
____________________________
Sleep boy, she said,
I will love you always.
It is cold, and she is strange.
I understand her.
Soon, I am dreaming
of noise.
The night is cold and silent.
__________________________
People don't think I am funny.
It is strange.
My genius is known only
to the devil.
__________________________
I explored a puppet.
There were
skeleton bones in the investigation.
Using a new soul
I created life
from a dead body.
________________________________
Monday, October 4, 2010
Making It Rain. Wait, what does that mean exactly?
There was a time when I made a bunch of secret promises to the cyber-world like, "I'll never 'do' Facebook'" or "I will never do the 'blog' thing."
I'm proud to say that I currently have over 400 Facebook friends (and I know each and every one of them!) and I'm ashamed that I am proud to say it.
So it is with some trepidation and some self-loathing that I post my very first blog. This is it.
As a kid I used to write in a journal. In fact, I had several journals that I wrote in and I never "finished" one of them. If that's the goal of journal-writing, then I failed. Maybe I wasn't fucked up enough to fill the pages. I wrote some [bad] poetry in one, I remember, and in the other I wrote about a friendship of mine that had self-destructed suddenly. I wrote about sexual frustration, a lot.
My issues with blogging stem from my shortcomings as a wannabe "journal-ist." I couldn't hack it as a journal writing guy, and now, here I sit 15 years later writing in a (digital) journal.
It's partly confusing to me because I never knew who I was writing to in my journal. I understood, of course, that it was meant to be a sort of self-reflective exercise - maybe there was a supposed moment of catharsis that I missed. In that part of my brain that secretly wished I was Inspector Gadget, or lived in the same cave as the Thunder Cats, I presumed that someone someday would find my journal, hail it as a new sacred text, and share my wisdom with the world. I think that's partially why, whenever I continue to accidentally find my old journals I hesitate to throw them out. They remain entombed under various old trophies and teddy bears in a box in my parents house at this very moment.
So I'm confronted again with the same questions and problems - who the hell am I writing this to and for?
One of those questions is easy enough to answer. I'm writing this for myself, as instructed to do so by my new advertising instructor at the Creative Circus. It's a good thing to write, and I like to do it, so why not do it in Blog form?
One of my biggest fears remains to this day to be that my brain will waste away and I, along with the rest of the world, will become more and more stupid. Maybe the Blogosphere has helped to maintain some kind of intelligent life on the planet. I think the world is already basically retarded, but anything to help, I suppose.
So who is going to read this? Everyone, I'm sure. Everyone that I invite. Seems a bit narcissistic, no?
And yet, maybe it's not a bad thing to have a swagger in this 'biz. See, now that I have swagger, I can start shortening words and using "z"'s instead of "s"'s. Now that I have a little 'tude, I can hit up the nearest strip club (uh, there's A LOT in Atlanta) and make it rain.
And to think, all it took was a little bloggin'.
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