All my apologies for the unscheduled two-week hiatus me and this not-blog have been on. I know many of you have far more treacherous and ongoing weather conditions so it seems nervy to complain about some rain, so I won't. What I will do is mention, just in passing, that the SoCal rains caused some pretty serious flooding in my writing studio. A friend's LP's that were being stored for "safe-keeping" in my studio sadly got the brunt of it: they were directly in the line of fire... er, water.

But since then, said LP's (for you youngsters out there, LP = Long Playing, which is not a sex term, but just the length of a record which is an archaic, although superior form of sound recording and playback. Google it or read it on Wiki or whatever it is you do) are stacked on my desk, my chair, my filing cabinet making working in there far too difficult while furnishing me with a valid excuse for said non-planned hiatus.


So, last week when it was pouring, I opened the door and offered to hold my neighbors across the way's FedEx package so it wouldn't get drowned. I even left the neighbor a note saying I have it just in case it was important, timely. But this morning, when the DHL guy knocked and asked if I would sign/hold a package for the neighbor next to me I told them I don't speak with her, which is true. Me and Thurman are grudge-holders of the 9th Order and that bitch's stupid bitch of a dog (I really blame the owner but there is collateral damage) took a chomp out of Thurm's noggin when he was still a tiny kitten, so yeah -- no neighborly favors.

Still working on the cover of "Rose," waiting to get in the editing room for "To Begin Again," and still waiting to sell even a single T-shirt.

I'll try and get the studio cleared out and dried out and then see what's back there to share with you. Y'all were probably enjoying xmas and stuff and weren't even looking here anyway...

My apologies to ALL of you who checked in yesterday to find out the second difference between at&pee and Metro-PCS outside of the obvious less than half the cost and who cares about that: I know you’re all addicted to your I (am not actually a) phone, but I can actually make a call with my new one. Crap! I may even call you now.
Here’s the second thing I noticed immediately: When my new phone was fully charged, it beeped and told me that I should unplug the adaptor/charger to conserve energy. Now, I cannot speak for each and every at&pee model phone – only for the ones that I have had over the years – but when those phones were fully charged they instructed me to shove the free end up my rectum and leave it there. Now, many of you may like that, and by all means, don’t let me try and influence you otherwise, I’m just sharing my observations and now there’s more room for my head up my ass.
So there…

The cover photographs for my short story collection are now in my possession; working on cover design and formatting right now. The rock is still being pushed up the hill, but it’s getting closer and now it’s closer still…

RIP Bob “Rocket Robert” Feller, one of the finest right-handed pitchers baseball has ever seen and a fine, if outspoken gentleman. I recall meeting Mr. Feller at one of the first, big baseball memorabilia conventions I attended as a kid. He took the time to look up at you and talk (so unlike the Say Hey kid) as he signed a baseball or photograph. The starting nine up in Heaven just got all that much better.
Speaking of better, I “suppose” the Phils have done that, poaching Cliff Lee. And most sour grapes aside, who wants a guy who’s afraid to pitch in the heated American League East? Would have liked to have him for the short run, but a seven year contract (the Yankees can afford the money) for a 32 year old lefty who is already having serious back issues could have been quite an albatross. Good luck there, Missus Lee in the City of Brother Love where they spit on the home team’s wives.
But I do hope Andy Pettitte comes back for one more go around; sure do like those crafty, smart lefthanders hurling for the Yanks in the big ballpark in the Bronx.

Rant #1 (vs. AT&T)
So, last week I called AT&Pee to look into lower cost options for my internet and land-line phone from them. I explained my situation and inquired as to what they could do to help keep my business and save me some money. The oh-so very helpful customer “service” representative first told me that I could change my phone to a limited number of minutes (instead of unlimited) which would be slightly less expensive (we’re talking only a few bucks, actually) but she looked at my usage and told me I would be subject to overage fees because of my usage.
When I told her that I had NO choice but to use my land-line because my cell phone (foolishly, also through AT&Pee) doesn’t work in either my home or my office. My actual monthly charge would wind up costing me more and I would have to pay attention to my minutes. Yeah, that’s great. Thanks, but FOAD.
And then I inquire into ways to lower my internet charges from them. I am informed if I cut my speed in half I can save a whopping five bucks a month! Beverly Hills, here I come! But now, here’s the really, really great part of that: Yesterday I received a post-card from AT&Pee hoping that I am loving my shitty service and to inform me that the costs of that service would be going up on February 1st by, hold your breath, that very same five bucks I would be “saving.”
Of course, the customer disservice agent neglected to inform me of that. I mean, why be helpful. So, I’m just gonna jack from the neighbors and tell AT&Pee where they can stick that five bucks in rusty quarters.
Rant #2 (vs. Carrington Property “Service”)
So, as I am in the process of getting rid of AT&Pee, CPS is going to have a time trying to get rid of me. I am done paying rent on an unsafe, insecure unit and have informed them, as well as the bank that actually now owns my home, that (A) I won’t give them another dime and (B) Why—I hung Lynne Brown, my property “manager,” out to dry listing the broken promises, the flat-out lies and the failure to even put in working smoke detectors in my home after seven months.
Part of me hopes that I am still here when they attempt to rent the four vacant units. Rent Strike signs won’t do it – my unit is the first any potential leasee would see upon entering our bungalow complex – so they’ll get treated to my spray-painted window decorations. I’m thinking:
1. Lynne Brown is a liar
2. CPS are wanna-be slumlords
3. I wouldn’t rent from them if I were YOU!

Okay, I am done with this morning’s rants. Tomorrow I will get back to my normally sunny disposition and bitch about why really short guys should not front bands and maybe how there is still time to be the first to buy one of my T-shirt designs (I suspect I may be the only one to sport my “God is Love* *Some Restrictions Apply,” and the first to buy my book, but that’s cool.
And don’t worry—Cliff Lee and his missus shall also face the wrath of my bombast…

Beer, wine, baby?
It used to be when you’re going to a house party, you don’t show up empty-handed. And it used to be that a six-pack or a bottle of red wine would suffice, but no longer. Apparently unless you show up with an infant in a baby bjorn or a toddler toddling about, you have come unequipped; you might as well have come empty-handed and then planted yourself in front of the bar, drinking the best thing out on it.
And I don’t want to say that Nazis or Hawthorne had the right idea, but wouldn’t it serve everyone in attendance all that much better if the moms had to wear color-coordinated tags? A very simple system indicating which of these women are single moms and/or those interested in becoming single moms from the ones who had husbands or baby-daddies at home watching football and drinking their own beer from the ones for whom the very idea of sex brings up dark visions of stretch marks and morning sickness?
Of course, the party the previous evening had its own coding problem. When you show up fashionably late (how late? The game of Trivial Pursuit was already in progress) how are you to know that in the spirit of fairness (or maybe we also showed up too late for the keys to go in the bowl) that the couples had been divided up so that partners in life were not teammates in the game. By the by, the three of us who were single beat the happy loving couples in that most trivial of games which just seems to indicate that single people must be smarter, right?

A Rose by Any Other Name, my “soon” to be published short story collection is still on the shelf just awaiting its cover photo. As I am actually quite a believer that one can actually often judge a book by its cover, this is a matter of no small consequence. I am ready to order the proof save for that one factor.
In the meanwhile, the video projects are slightly slowed as well so I may start lining up the next book to get pushed out of the nest: my novel “Live Fast! (Die Out of Town)” which is adapted from my own screenplay and movie. I think I am going to plunder my own work and novelize a few more of my scripts; if I can’t sell them as movies perhaps I can sell them as books (and not have to collaborate with people who don’t know what the word means) and then when someone (who? I don’t know) turns around and says that the book would make a good movie, I can “write” the screenplay quickly, right?
Or, I could just have a screenplay going out of business sale…

First – what is ready: I have opened a little store on Café Press and made available for purchase a couple of T-shirts (so far) emblazoned with a couple of my favorite sayings. One of them is an original to me, the other I stole off a bank wall in Hoboken, New Jersey so many, many years ago that the statute of limitations has expired and “LIVE FAST! (Die Out of Town”) is all mine, mine, mine. And now, along with “God is Love* … *Some Restrictions Apply” you can get your own shirt at:
www.cafepress.com/RightorWrong1

As for the short story collection, the Sisyphean push up the hill continues. Amusingly enough, I am back at the very place I was about a year and half or two years ago. The copy is proofed, edited, formatted for print (and now, almost for Kindle, too) and I am just awaiting the cover photograph of the tattoo that has always been the “cover to be.”
I really wanted the shots taken of the ink when it was fresh and at its brightest to serve as the cover. Especially since the cover will be representing Tracy Ray’s work and I’d also like her to be seen in her best light, too. But if that can’t happen by the end of this weekend, I will get a new shot taken and just have it cleaned up in photo-shop or something like that.
I have submitted two of the stories from the collection to Jamye Waxman for her next Sexy Tales night at El Cid, in Hollywood on 1/11/11. And although I would prefer to do a spoken word thing, reading from my book – especially if I can have copies to sell that night – makes practical sense so I am listening; hopefully someone in the audience will as well.

I am also trying to push the years old music video for Darren Gaines & The Key Party’s song “To Begin Again” toward completion before the end of this stupid year. After three years of limbo (two of those years being spent by the original editor sitting on his ass and my master tapes before losing them for another year) it’s about time to just make that as good as it can be and move on.

My tarot card reading last night said the Yankees would make me happy and sign Cliff Lee; it was the first time in twenty years of reading cards that someone asked a sports question.

So, “A Rose by Any Other Name: An Alphabet of Tales About a Man & a Woman” is this much closer to being available for Kindle. It’s up there, but the formatting needs some major corrections and the covers and author information still need to be added. But it is a big step further along than it’s been and I’d like to thank Alan Turkus for that. Hopefully soon I will be telling you where you can buy it and read it – or at least – tell me that you have…
And it looks like I will be booked to do a second reading at Jamye Waxman’s Sexy Tales at El Cid on 1/11/11. Of course, the smart thing to do would be to read a story from the aforementioned short story collection and try and sell some books. So then, why am I considering of performing the first handful of pages from the book that I had stolen last year? I suppose it’s probably because I am an idiot who likes to shoot himself in the foot?
Maybe I should call my friend Falling James and ask him how it worked out when he insisted on naming his follow-up to the amazing rock n’ roll album, Kill Tunes, “FUCK.” Walmart sold SO many copies with that big black curse-word over a lovely picture of blue sky and clouds.

Jesus Chrysler may drive a Dodge, but apparently Fannie Mae inspectors drive Porsches. After seven-plus months of trying to get code violations and mandatory repairs handled, how is it that the very same week that I decide to stop caring about it and let that shit go, that they finally show up. Really enjoyed the dude standing in my door lying to me and saying he’s called me four times. He offered to show me his phone; I countered with offering to show him my called ID.
“If you don’t like it, burn it down,” – I think that’s a line from a very old Suicide Commandos song; the SC were, to the best of my knowledge, the first punk band from Minneapolis.

I saw the Future this past Saturday night and it came in a pie crust; actually, it came in 31 different pie crusts. Now, I am not saying or even implying that the Grilled Cheese Invitational has jumped the shark, but when the “important” local media covers it, well, the end is nigh.
So, long live the pie—both sweet and savory. Through one of those friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend last minute kind of invitations I wound up at the 4th annual Baked Pie-Off this past weekend. And although there were no green pies in the competition, the invite mentioned the contact buzz and that was 100% true and stuff.
There were more than a 100 people in the Echo Park house convened around a table with the aforementioned 31 different pies. And all the participants were very serious when it came to their baking. I wasn’t actually taking notes although I told people that I was covering the event so you’re not getting a play-by-play account or even a listing of many of the pies. Them’s the breaks.
I do know there was some German pie that required fruit to be soaked in rum for a number of months; I didn’t get any of the pie, but the baker (who had won the 1st Baked Pie-Off) passed me his flask for a sip of the leftover rum that had had the fruit in it. Amazingly smooth and delicious; you missed something there. There was a Moon Pie and a lot that had bacon and peanut butter and the kicker, which won the Sweet category, was a melon and something else ice-box pie.
Don’t tell ‘em I told you, but if you see me at next year’s you owe me a drink.
******************
Last night I delivered the final edited copy of my short story collection, “A Rose by Any Other Name: An Alphabet of Tales About a Man & a Woman” to a friend at Amazon. With Alan’s help, this book will very soon be available through Amazon and on Kindle--- finally!
The book was written about five years ago and has been completely done and ready for the last three years although there were “valid” excuses for keeping it out of print for some of that time. Alas, I can’t find any more excuses, so the book will be available for purchase soon- maybe even for Xmas.
I will keep you posted.

Well, I sure hope the premiere of “Of Silence” went well…
Yeah.

Yesterday was supposed to be the beginning of the new video project, but somehow the asinine liar who is my rental management company contact saw differently. Gosh, since I am dropping names here, I might as well say what the posters in my window will read once these losers start trying to rent out the vacant units at my bungalow complex.
LYNNE BROWN IS A LIAR/CPS ARE WANNA-BE SLUMLORDS/I WOULDN’T RENT FROM THEM IF I WERE YOU!

Oh, and in other “closure” news, last year’s bullshit project “Kingdom Keepers” and the biggest liar/loser/scumbag Rashit Mousedick (his real name is close enough) are buried and dead. Disney announced their own movie project set in one of the parks and using their own characters and rides is being developed. Throw the dirt on the coffin and I am just very glad that I won’t have to keep checking to see if the afore-mentioned loser is trying to anything with the script I wrote for him.
So, you say you wanna be a Hollywood screenwriter? Maybe it’s time to re-print that piece.

Okay, this time I mean it; this is the last excerpt from “Giving In” that any of us will read before next year. But here you go:

The look in his eyes said all she had to know; he was disappointed in her. Part of her really wanted to let him think whatever the fuck he wanted to think. But…
“I gave him my script,” she said.
He arched an eyebrow. The fucking asshole actually had the cajones to raise one of his bushy, graying eyebrows at her. She should have punched him right in the socket. But…
“And that’s the only thing I gave him,” she huffed.

So, tonight a movie that I ghostwrote a couple years back is having its cast, crew and family premiere screening here in Los Angeles. This will be the second time in a row that a movie I “wrote” screens and I wasn’t invited. The “writer”/director ignored my emails to him congratulating him on completion.
The funny thing is that I have back-end participation in this film so I think he’s probably contractually obligated to keep me apprised. I am in the process of letting shit go, but I am potentially owed a nice chunk of change so I have a vested interest. I should probably dig up that contract and see exactly what it is that I signed, especially in the other matters of non-disclosure: it was “fantastic” reading an interview with the “writer”/director about how he wrote the script and “his” process.
But it’s another great bit for my fringe screenwriting book when I have the proper mood to get back to that one. I was considering sneaking into “my” own premiere; I have done that once (twice, sort of) before so there is precedence…

Today will be the last day I am working on “Giving In” this year. After whatever output I output today, I will print the damn thing out, shove it in a folder and then not look at until after the Epiphany, whenever that is…
Since I got such an overwhelming response to the little excerpt yesterday, I will cut & paste another paragraph down below:

He had a thought and grabbed some brown sugar and dropped a slightly hardened chunk into the center of the pan. This time instead of stirring it in, Bronson just watched as the brown sugar bubbled and dissipated, sending a small, brown cloud – it reminded him of the Los Angeles smog of years past – into the rest of the cooking collard greens.

Watched “The Night of the Demons” re-make a couple nights ago. Outside of the fact that it mostly took place at night, there were demons and the whole “lipstick in the boob” gag it didn’t really remind me too much of the original. It took an extra scene to be able to recognize Edward Furlong, who was the “big” star of the cast; Mr. Furlong, wildly miscast in this, could be well cast as Peter Lorre, at least in looks and that is not a compliment. Lay off the burgers and beer, boy.
And who knows, December blogs may include video pieces I am working on. Maybe…

As it’s Cyber Monday, I should make something available for you to buy here, but I don’t – just yet. Perhaps there will be time to still purchase “A Rose by Any Other Name” on Kindle or Amazon books in time for Christmas 2010. Failing that, and more appropriately, it WILL be available by Valentines’ Day 2011 – mark my words!

As for other literary projects, I hit the 50,000 word mark on the new book, “Giving In” yesterday morning. I used the Nanowrimo.org as the deadline cattle-prod (as Dave Eggers called it in this morning’s pep talk) to help squeeze this book out.
I was asked, again, what it was about this morning. Instead of my normal reply: “It’s about 170 pages,” I said this instead: “It’s about “A Pair of Brown Eyes” as written and sung by Shane MacGowan. But I also jotted this down last week: It’s about a girl who can write the future and the man who tries to stop her.
I’m going to open the document now and cut and paste a random(ish) selection from the book below. You will have read about as much of it as me as this point:

They ate and drank and he even pulled out a couple of Abita Turbo Dogs to add some local beer to wash the Scotch back with. They talked a lot and only some of it brought fuzziness to Bronson’s eyes, but no tears to his face which was good. The beer was gone; the Scotch in real danger of extinction when she asked if she could spend the night. She hadn’t thought it all out: she had rented a car at the airport and driven there, she had had too much to drink, and-

That’s all you get, for now.

December will be spent on projects that will require less time in isolation, less time sequestered in the writing studio; if you see me with a video camera in front of my face that will be a good thing…

So, I’m thinking of maybe having a screenplay going out of business sale. Buy two, get one free kind of thing. No unreasonable offer fused or even refused. Perhaps I can even make them cheaper by the dozen. But when the professionals just lie and screw me over and the personal contacts don’t even read the materials they’ve requested from me, I must be the only one ignoring the words spray-painted on my wall in dripping red, seven and a half foot tall letters.
Point made. Check and check-mate.

I’ll just give in to scribbling, although at this point almost one-hundred and twenty pages into “Giving In” I am really not sure if it will be anything even resembling an English-language book. Not sure if anyone other than a therapist should spend any time with it.

You missed my first professional spoken-word performance, I think ever, Wednesday night at El Cid as part of Jamye Waxman’s Sexy Tales night. I really couldn’t gauge how I did, but I have been asked back so I guess I didn’t totally tank. Thanks for showing up to Paynie & Cupcake.

And I have seen a rough-cut beginning of the animated music video artist Jeanne Hospod is creating for my friend’s Austin-based band, The Boxing Lesson. Looks like I’m going to be featured fairly prominently in this pretty fantastic and more than a little erotic art piece. ‘Nuff said…

Hiding the baseball lead down here on you, but in my less than humble and informed opinion, they didn’t name the award for Cy Young for being a .500 pitcher with a lot of strike-outs and for his ERA. They named the award for the man with the most WINS BY FAR of any hurler who has thrown in the long and storied history of Major League Baseball. Young’s 511 victories are nearly a hundred more than his closest competitor. So, yeah, I am biased toward CC Sabathia, but I believe my point, regardless.
I will be far more upset if the very deserving Robinson Cano gets screwed when the AL MVP gets announced.

Okay, I won’t mention baseball again until there’s really something to mention outside of Robinson Cano winning both the Gold Glove and the Silver Slugger at second base – and very deservingly – bode well for his MVP award.

Nearly 100 pages into the new book – “Giving In” – and although I haven’t read more than a page here or there and I am still not sure if it’s going to wind up an indecipherable, confused and confusing manifesto or something that would interest a 22 year old Canadian girl enough to buy it and tell all her friends to also.
Perhaps I will start putting an excerpt on here from time to time as I scribble away in the writing studio. I know I said I was going to do that with the screenwriting book, so don’t hold your breath.

If you’re reading this from anywhere near enough to Los Angeles to come hear me read as my nom de porn Marco J. Spumante at a Sexy Tales night at El Cid on Sunset. Wednesday, Nov. 17th 7-9pm and I am sure there will be far bigger draws than me.
Speaking of far bigger draws, I just did some modeling for my friend’s band’s new music video; somehow the last couple of sentences are linked, but you know I am nothing if not a gentleman.

Okay, fine, here’s your excerpt:

She told him she loved him for the first time in a foreign language he did not speak. Another She whispered, “I love you,” for the first time so it didn’t count. Yet another She asked him if he loved her, but like any good trial attorney she already knew the answer.
He once had the misfortune of meeting a woman who loved everything about him, who didn’t want to change a thing about him. Thing was, she wanted to change everything about herself the way a snake sheds its skin. He once had a woman tell him she didn’t want to change anything about him other than his address. Thing was, she never did change his address and he had really wanted her to.

ESPN made the first big splash of the hot-stove league by pulling the plug on their Sunday night baseball broadcast team of Jon Miller and Joe Morgan. The former was clearly collateral damage and reports are that he’ll be fine; Miller wasn’t the problem and expect to hear him on ESPN radio still at the very least and on Giants’ broadcasts.
And although I rarely rejoice in someone’s dismissal I will make a major exception in regard to Morgan. If you were an occasional viewer or, and more importantly, if your team played in those Sunday night games you know how awful an announcer Morgan had become. I will give that this was not always the case, but he acts like he has superior knowledge, that he does not possess. Very obvious to me during Yankee games, Morgan would even yell over Miller who broadcasts Giants game on a regular freaking basis and is far more informed on that team than Morgan ever will be. It was especially galling to hear Miller kowtow to Morgan undeservedly.

George and Billy VI? Both Yankee icons are on the Veteran’s ballot for the next Hall of Fame ballot and I defy the committee to send them in together, locked in a duo even after death. I suppose I am biased, but it sure does make sense and it’s the kind of thing baseball is all about. Selig immediately came out with a statement saying that GMSII belongs in the Hall for the astounding changes he made to the game and for his success in winning and in restoring the once great Yankee traditions.

Adrien Brody is Michael Caine in reverse apparently. He keeps showing up in dreck that keeps showing up in my mailbox courtesy of Netflix who, I strongly believe, are out to get me. Last night’s piece of crap in question was called “Splice” and it co-starred Sarah Polley who I have had a crush on for a long, long time. Not as early as Baron Von Munchausen but as soon as she was growed up. Even she couldn’t save this movie that was as stillborn as the “baby” at the center of the plot of this stinking pooch should have been.
I am going to go through my queue and remove any movie with Brody in it. There was a joke on some show about no one going to see his movies and it ain’t no joke. If I were you, I’d save myself the aggravation and delete his movies too.

“I need a fix and a kiss”
Well, at least I have a winter’s worth of the latter. My MLB package is still on and they have pretty much every single game for the last five or six seasons available to watch on archive. My first choice was kind of a doozy: a game picked more or less at random within the guidelines of it being a Yankee game I would not have seen since I would have been out at that thing in the desert on September 1, 2006.
Right off the bat the fact that the game was started for the Yankees by a dead man is pretty off-putting; Cory Lidle was introduced by Bob Shepherd with Bernie Williams not too far from Joe Torre in the bench. It was a rainy night in the Bronx at the Old Yankee Stadium and the opponent was the Twins so the Yanks win was actually a foregone conclusion in many ways.
Lidle tossed six shut-out innings and the pen protected an 8-0 lead into the 9th when a guy named TJ Beam who I swear I don’t recall in the least, gave up one run. There was also a Guiel (Aaron) wearing Andy Pettitte’s number and playing first base…

I am giving in to “Giving In” and knocked nearly 15,000 off the marble block in the first full week of Nanowrimo. I’ve been pretty much doubling up my efforts with my regular morning writing session followed by an evening one while my brain is in a different place altogether than when I first get going.
As soon as I can afford to replace the hot/cold water dispenser in my writing studio I’ll be able to stay in here for longer spells of time without any interruption. I’ve gotten into a few good rhythms out here, but none so strong that I have had to use Thurman’s studio litter box … yet.

So, it’s about one-hundred days until pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training. 99 days on the wall, 99 days on the wall…
Baseball and the world lost one of the greatest, modern characters Sparky Anderson yesterday. He was about as close a throw-back to Casey Stengel so, even though he led the Reds to my first crushing defeat – the 1976 sweep – I will indeed let bygones be bygone. RIP Sparky…


Spoiler alerts aplenty: Watched “Until the Light Takes Us” on dvd last night courtesy of my weird friends over at Netflix. I am not even sure how this documentary found its way onto my queue and then eventually my mailbox. I think I have to blame Saxifrage.
And I really wish that I hadn’t read the little description on the dvd sleeve. What starts out as one of those music documentaries on a particular scene (in this case, the Norwegian “Black Metal Inner Circle” of the late 90’s) complete with the much-needed competition/bad blood between the two leading bands slowly begins to unravel as something else.
Turns out one of the kids around the scene is a murderer; the bands seem to think that’s neat. And then a very old church gets burned down. It’s more a political move against the Judeo-Christian powers that in the bands’ minds have stolen their culture, disrespected it and instituted its own. Okay, great! But then it quite quickly descends into this Satan-worshipping cult according to the news and before you know it, heavy metal kids all over Norway are burning churches and marking them with Satanic shenanigans.
I have just “ruined” it for you, too… So sorry. Still worth watching. There’s much that I haven’t even touched.


Nano’ing right along; actually did a second evening writing session with a little assistance and wound up turning in a 2400 word day bringing me up to nearly 8500 words after four days.
And much like how I found the major plot point/twist that I needed on Monday, I may have found the novel’s “voice” last night as I stumbled about in the haze. May have to go against my own rules and read what I wrote at some point. Right this moment, that would seem more like an excuse not to move forward than anything else, so I will resist that stalling tactic and move forward into the past in today’s work. It’s time…

Baseball season is done; long live the hot-stove league. I’ll give them the five days that MLB teams now have to negotiate exclusively with their now, automatically filed for free agency, players. I’ll ignore how Yahoo sports twisted Hal Steinbrenner’s comments about the Jeter negotiation saying they could “get messy” was taken out of context. Still it will be entertaining to see if any of the other twenty-nine squads out there will make a run at The Captain or Mo.
Giants’ World Series parade commences down San Francisco’s Market Street in about forty-five minutes.
So far, so good on the new November novel: two days down and slightly ahead of schedule, but still hoping to have some other writers onboard to either serve as pace car or fast-approaching in my blind-spot.
Oddly enough, Netflix sent me two movies that had some things in common with what I am writing. I probably put the movie on my queue because the title was a Wilco song, but the lead from Party Down was very good with a script that, well I think I could have written it. I felt like even more of the cliché than I thought.
Amusingly enough, just when I realized that the theme of “Passenger Side” was to answer, “yes, please.” One of the leads said those very words. By the way, the lead in the movie is a writer, living on the grungy East Side of Los Angeles who eschews many aspects of modern life: no cell phone or even call-waiting or voice-mail on his phone, manual typewriter, tape deck—you get the point. And of course, (*SPOILER ALERT*) he’s stabbed in the back by his brother over a girl.
I followed that one up with “Please Give” which was more the entitled New York version of the indie drama. Very nice cast including Catherine Keener, Oliver Platt, Amanda Peet (who I realized looks like a friend, or vice versa) and the kind of geeky, tall, awkward brunette that I’ve found myself with eyes for.
Finished reading Sarah Silverman’s autobiography, The Bedwetter, and really enjoyed that. Also learned that Winona was born Moskowitz (or something like that) and not Ryder and is retroactively added to the very near top of my Jews I Do list.
Okay, back to the book. It’s called Giving In and I’ll give you the synopsis as soon as I figure that out…

The Giants win the Series! The Giants win the Series! And in such impressive fashion one must really take their hats off to them. This team of studly, crazy starting pitching, an impressive bullpen and squeezing enough from those castaways and wire pick-ups really showed their mettle all the way down the stretch and carried it through the entire post-season.
They were far from the best team on paper, but the game’s the thing, and the Giants took those extra 11 games and took home that trophy. Good on them and their long-suffering, waiting fans. I am sure San Francisco went about as crazy as it’s able to last night.

Dario Argent, long my absolute favorite Italian genre/giallo maestro should really hang it up. I don’t know why I even bother any longer. My expectations were so low for Mother of Tears, the long overdue completion of the Mothers trilogy he started in the 1970’s, that I was able to get some sort of “enjoyment” out of it when it came out on dvd a few months back.
Last night, Netflix deemed me worthy to screen Giallo (yellow in Italian; the genre title comes from the fact that the little nourish thriller dime novels long considered the source for these cinematic excursions into madness had yellow covers) in the privacy of my own home.
And you wonder how Adrien Brody wound up starring in this flick. Or, maybe you don’t; when’s the last time you watched one of his movies by choice? And the movie is utterly predictable from the get-go so even mentioning spoilers seems redundant.
Argento shoots some lovely trademark locations. I wonder if the opera house came decked out all in red or if the director (who has made a number of movies around operas, opera houses and operatic themes; he’s also directed a couple actual operas in Italy) was able to get them to redecorate to fit his needs.
Anway, Brody channels Fox Mulder as the “spooky” inspector from Brooklyn, who works alone from the basement of the police station. Sad to say, this movie and the American-written screenplay, which I imagine came from some Argento fan-boys, had nothing to it—not even one of those traditional, sick and twisted, sexual twist, but I was glad when it ended.

Started the new Nanowrimo novel yesterday and maybe figured out a major plot-point as I was fumbling around in the dark. And although the back story is all ancient history, this tome will look into the future and that’s as pleasant a change as I can come up with.
There’s a nibble on one of the short scripts – the adaptation of “Charlotte’s Web” – but I won’t bore you with details until they are actually details.
And Marco is still threatening to come back to life via the prodding of a waiting audience. Or cash money. More like the latter…

If you need any more proof that baseball is a funny game, I submit Game 1 of the 2010 World Series between the Giants and the Rangers. The world was expecting one of those torturous, hard-fought one run ball games; a pitcher’s duel that would make Harvey Haddix look up and notice.
And it was the Freak who blinked first, pitching in and out of jams that could have been worse (especially considering his self-admitted “little brain fart” when he ran Young back to third, neglecting to make the short throw that would have been an easy second out; perhaps he was still high from his pre-game bowl?), but being 2-0 to Cliff Lee has been a tough row to hoe; a path to a loss.
But, Lee missed his location more times in those 4 2/3 innings than he has in the last three starts against the Yankees over the last two post seasons. And give credit to the oft-anemic bats of the Giants; they took full advantage and piled on the Rangers.
Prevent defense made the final score of 11-7 seem closer than the game was from the 5th on. But, and the Rangers showed me this after the 1st game of the ALCS, don’t count these guys out. Losing with your #1 – and watching the infallible seem all too human – has to sting, but the Rangers are a “plucky” bunch. Matt Cain really needs to stick it to them in tonight’s game 2.


So, with time to kill since there’s only one freaking baseball game – at best – per day ‘til the end, I turned to Netflix last night. “Get Him to the Greek” was last night’s distraction. Stated upfront: I am not a big fan of this entire Apatow, et al oeuvre, but I do like Russell Brand quite a bit so I came at it with as open a mind as I could.
Russell Brand was great as the washed up Brit rock star and Puffy was a hysterical, scene-stealing revelation as the record label head and their two performances nearly held the movie afloat. At least when they were on screen, it was interesting and funny.
And nothing totally against Jonah Hill as the lead, but his nebbishy, fat ass cannot carry a picture. Some of it wasn’t his fault entirely; he’s kind of an unlikeable character. He’s given a job to do, and it’s obvious that Sergio (Puffy, the crazy boss) knows what he’s talking about, but Hill’s character goes along on his own misguided path.
Worse still is the relationship between him and his live-in, too cute for him, girlfriend. I see the whole bait ‘n switch aspect to their relationship as we find it in the beginning of the movie. She no longer goes to the gigs with him that are both his passion and his profession, but fully expects him to give it all up for her. They have obviously grown out of the relationship; someone should end it – and even when they sort of do, it doesn’t help the growing dislike of Hill as he falls into bathroom sex with ho’s etc.
I’m not judging, per se, it’s only a movie and a comedy at that, but this relationship has been set up as the “one that matters” and it’s obviously not. Yes, this is a bro-mance first and foremost and it’s the rare one that actually has the two guys wind up in bed having sex. I don’t think too many of these flicks actually let the bro’s consummate. The fact that the girlfriend is present and accounted for is just to make it “not gay.”
Odd movie.

Well, it’s a little easier to take the World a little less serious when the Yankees are mostly all off hunting and fishing. I don’t see Jeter out for elk or bass, but hopefully AJ Burnett’s got his head somewhere else. And hopefully the seething pain of an early dismissal continues to burn in CC Sabathia’s head and heart. Yes, four or five bad Yankee fans spitting on Cliff Lee’s perky blonde wife doesn’t aid in the wooing of the lefty, but CC can do it.
As for the actual World Series, I’m still going with the underdog Giants and tonight’s match-up of Cy Young winners, the aforementioned Lee and the Freak should make for really excellent autumn baseball. The Giants connection to the Yankees goes well past the face that they shared stadiums in New York back in the old ages.
Brian Sabean, the Giants’ GM, was Yankee-trained and was very nearly Gene Michael’s replacement. As is, Sabean is the dude who drafted Jeter. And he’s brought over such a team of Yanks who were with, or under him in the Yankee organization. The list includes Rags, BamBam Meulens and Roberto Kelly in uniform. But Dirt Tidrow, Joe Lefebvre and, surprisingly, Steve “Bye-Bye” Balboni, who did not eat himself to death, but is an advance scout for San Francisco.
If you haven’t been following or missed the interview with Brian Wilson after the closing of the NLCS, you really, really must. Google Brian Wilson and “the machine;” I promise it will be worth your time.


There’s a chance that Marco J. Spumante will be rising phoenix-like from the ashes of my writing career. I’ll keep you posted or direct you to his blog or site as soon as He has something to talk to you about…

There could be some other projects in the pipeline. The fast approaching end of baseball marks an increase in productivity. I am sure there’s some sort of correlation, but I don’t know what it is.

Having utilized both my head and my heart to make my last round of predictions, I couldn’t have been more wrong. The only thing I got right this time – having been 4-0 in the Division Series – was the fact that the Yanks/Rangers series went six games. Seeing how the Yanks showed up for one full game and a few innings in the opener, they really didn’t deserve to win and they got what they deserved.
Outside of a couple decent starts, some rather effective relief appearances and Cano and Granderson, pretty much the rest of the team didn’t show up; the results were not pretty. I’ll let the Fall Classic close before I talk much about the Yankee hot-stove league save to say that Cliff Lee made himself an awful lot of money so far this post-season. Whether or not he does wind up in pinstripes is still very much in the air, but Brian Cashman will drive the price up, of that be certain.
The Yanks may drive up Carl Crawford’s price, too. They can effectively block Tampa Bay from retaining their pried leftfielder by big bids even if Crawford eventually winds up in Anaheim. Right. I am not talking about what happens this winter; there is still plenty of baseball to be played.
Watching the Giants grab that sixth and final game from the Phillies really showed their mettle. They don’t have enough hitting to win the NL West, the NLDS or the NLCS, or so it seemed. But when the Giants score three runs they’re nearly unstoppable. Lee vs. Lincecum could be one of those epic pitcher’s battles and we may get to see it twice, perhaps, if things get really crazy, even three times...
Prediction: Giants beat Rangers in 7.


Nanowrimo is right around the corner; starts on a Monday this year, which, if I am going to participate, lines up well for me; like having your Number 1 starter on perfect, four day rest to start the World Series. I like starting projects on Mondays, or so I tell myself; it’s probably more of way to procrastinate on the other six days of the week…
Now, here’s the thing: Nanowrimo (which stand for National November Novel writing month) is a great way to force oneself into the chair. A writer requires a semblance of Sitzfleisch (literal translation: sit flesh; for writers more of a: “put your ass in the chair and leave it there…” kind of thing) to commit to the fifty-thousand words in a month goal, but it’s really achievable if you put yourself to it. Basically it breaks down to 1,667 words per day for the thirty days of November. If you’re interested, go to www.nanowrimo.org for information, FAQ’ and to sign up if you’ve got it in you.
I have done it once before to completion (although have never gone back to the novella (50,000 works out to only 140-170 pages) yet) and then there was last year. I was at 47,000 words and heading back to my laptop to finish the last 3,000 words to make the target and on time, too. And what did I find? The friends’ home I had been house-sitting over the Thanksgiving weekend had been robbed in broad daylight. They made off with my laptop amongst the household items stolen.
Thing is: I was planning on backing the book up when I returned from Brooklyn, so I lost the entire thing, save for the first ten handwritten pages still in a notebook somewhere. I still don’t have the heart to re-read those; I won’t be attempting to re-do that book, should I decide over the next few days whether to Nano or not to Nano. You’ll know if I do; you’ll know if I don’t, too.

Had nothing nice to say yesterday, so…
But perhaps a good rain came and swept the Rangers out of the Bronx and back to Texas for the deciding last two games. And the Yankees should have already made the upstarts sweat the flight back home.
How awful was Tuesday’s game’s end? I don’t know; it was the very, very rare occasion that I left the TV set before the final pitch, but I was supposed to be somewhere else. And with the end of the MLB season around the corner of the calendar page, I am going to need something else to vent about on here, so…
I went to a comedy show at Akbar, which is around the corner from me. Knowing that I was damned if I do, damned if I don’t, I got there at the prescribed time and then had to sit through a handful of mostly unfunny comediennes. There was one male, but I stand by my original take on the lineup. And I don’t see anyone with drinks in their hands, or making the back and forth to the bar (except for me that is) but I want whatever else it was that most of the rest of the crowd was imbibing, because they were having a laugh riot.
The closing act, and the reason I was there in the first place, was Mary Mack from Minneapolis. She, on the other hand, was very funny and rather charming and the rare exception of an attractive comedienne. I think you have to have some sort of affection for the Mid-West to get a lot of her act – and it is an act I found out afterwards speaking with her in the bar.
Now, here’s where I tie it all in – because when I informed Mary that I had missed the end of the Yankee playoff game to come see her, she offered to let me use her MLB package sign-in to see the end of the game. Now, seeing how I, a virtual stranger (although we have a friend in common which is how she came to my attention in the first place) and the fan of the team that knocked her team out of the playoffs, this seemed like more than the 20% Midwestern “nice” that I have been told about. The fact that she is a big enough baseball fan to have the MLB package was far from being lost on me.
Yesterday’s Yankee playoff game felt like a rally to restore sanity; at least mine, maybe CC Sabathia’s as well. Backs against the wall and really not wanting to let the Rangers celebrate at Yankee Stadium and in front of the fans, a fourth and final loss was simply not going to be. I knew it even before the Yanks came to bat.
I’ve been updating friends who can’t watch live (stupid jobs!) via text message for years as a matter of fact. But seeing how I’ve been furnishing nothing but bad news, I told a friend in New York that the Yankees were up 5-0 before they had even come to bat in the first. And ok, I got it wrong by six outs, but it’s good to know the powers were functioning at capacity.
Giants downed the Phillies, again, in the nightcap and the guys in pink and their manager seem to have pushed the panic button. My prediction of Philadelphia in seven is still technically possible, but if you’ve been watching the great pitching does seem to be doing in the good hitting and the Phils (like the Yanks) have not been hitting well.
Living in Los Angeles, I came to realize as I was chatting some with the guy in the tattoo shop chair (I watch most of the games in my friend’s tattoo shop as I don’t have the cable TV) who’s a local that the worst thing possible is a Yankee/Giant World Series. And that’s what I’d like to hand them…
Last night I went to see Hugh Cornwall play Stranglers songs at El Cid. And with no respect to the club or its awesome manager/booker Dave Knapp, it was amusing, but not terribly entertaining. Yes, I was prepared for it to be the aged sausage fest that it was, but really old guys? Do you really have to wear old guy t-shirts to see old, old guy play old songs? We get that you’re old and you’ve been cool for a long time, but all I saw were Damned (including my own friend!), Devo and Stooges t-shirts.
Hugh, looking gaunt and tired, opened with “Nice ‘n Sleazy” a Stranglers’ classic, and I do mean that. And I closed my eyes and enjoyed hearing that song played louder than I had probably ever heard before. But by the second song of the first set, I was pretty freakin’ bored. It only went downhill from there. I swear this is true: they made “Always the Sun” which was never a heavy metal classic, sound like a Cyndi Lauper song and I am not kidding.
And all of the old New York punk bias came floating down. The Stranglers were *always* old, they had beards (Cornwall barely has hair on his head these days) and wore corduroy. And the keyboards? They actually could have used some of those. At times it was as if Hugh was trying to re-invent some of the old songs as Killing Joke songs, but that didn’t work for me either until they were joined, albeit briefly, by Frankie Fanti playing a beautiful, green Gretsch hollow-body. I took a picture of that and it was the only picture I took all night.
And to the cute young brunette who I watched worm her way in front of me, felt as she pressed back against me, but when I noticed your Angry Samoans t-shirt and realized it was most assuredly out of your father’s closet it was time for me to back up. I back up well these days…

Well, what do you write about a game like last night? Umm... Andy Pettitte threw the best six best innings of any Yankee starter in the ALCS? Thing is: the little, excuse-me, only with the short rightfield porch homer by Hamilton with one on in the first cast a sense of gloom and eventual doom (for last night) over the Yanks and quieted the fans who wanted something to be raucous about; they got ... zip.

2-0 or 8-0 really didn't matter much if you don't hit. When you don't get too many opportunities against a guy like Lee, you have to make them count. Gardner singles, steals second with nobody out and the heart of the lineup-- Jeter, Swish & Tex -- can't get the speedster past third base is just not going to fly.

Personally, after the game 2 loss I took that as the proper opportunity to change the clothes I had been wearing since the first game vs. the Twinkies on October 6th. And I didn't see it as "panic" as much as "courtesy" but since I have watched nearly every moment of the Yankee playoffs by my lonesome -- mostly by choice; I don't really want to have to talk to anyone during the game -- the growing smell from my feet and nether regions probably wasn't bothering a soul...

AJ goes tonight and he needs to bring his concentration, curve-ball and cajones to the mound at 5:07 local time -- and not 5:10 or 5:30 -- and stick it to all the newspapers, radio jerks and Rangers. Yes, there is a lot riding on tonight's game (unless it's rained out, right?) but even if the Yanks go down, they are capable of winning three games in a row with the likes of CC, Hughes and Andy, but they will have to show up and hit and potentially prove that they can hit Lee.

Speaking of Lee, it became very apparent last night that the lefty made himself an awful lot of money last night in the spotlight. No matter how the post-season winds up, even if Lee doesn't pitch or win another game, he is going to be supremely sought after. Obviously, the Yankees are big believers in the old adage of "if ya can't beat 'em -- get 'em!" theory and will be more than willing to throw New York sized dollars at him. Thing is: you also have to expect Nolan Ryan to try to match those big bucks with some Texas sized greenbacks, too.

And, if anyone has any thoughts for the direction of this blog (an awful word by the way; I think it's the writer's equivalent of "chub" for those chopped meat encased tubes. Those are good for little more than movie props) after the end of the baseball season, please let me know...

Writing these during the playoffs is a horse of another color. First off, I am watching far more intently and working the mojo's to be taking notes for things to point out the following day. On top of that, you should be watching the same broadcast as there's but the one (now, on that I could go on and on, but I'll spare you) so what can I tell you that you didn't get beaten over the head with already?

I am glad that McCarver still thinks he's funny; Buck probably doesn't hear him any longer; I know I don't.

It's "the shadows" fault I have not posted for a while. Those talking-heads gave them undue credit for just about everything else in that game, why not this? Berkman running with his head up his ass rounding first and getting nailed? Oh, "the shadows" for sure.

And with so much press coverage, if you read even a smidge of it, you're going to get more than you want to know. I did "learn" that if, and only if, there is an actual feud ongoing from his Texas days between Tex and Ron Washington apparently it would over the fact that the skipper cursed too much for the firstbaseman's like and he smoked in the dugout.

Now, they try and limit both managers doing that (Pinella was guilty, Leland and a number of the older guys-- who can blame them?) and the TV coverage of it. But this was a new one on me, or, rather, and old blast from the past. I really thought chewing tobacco had been pretty much outlawed in MLB; I imagine the David's sunflower seed lobby was a pretty mighty one and helped send tobacco the way of the original Red Line.

But nope, there's The Freak in the Giants dugout, after he was out of the game, caught by the Fox camera sticking a wad between his teeth and gum. A skoal-dipping man? I had no idea...

So, if the Yankees "tanked" the end of the season to get the Twins (which worked out just dandy) and to avoid Texas and Cliff Lee in a 5-game series, well, that's pretty much what we have right now. Except the next three are at that new big ballpark in the Bronx. Beating Lee, or sticking around and having Andy Pettitte stick with him inning by inning until the Yankee batters can un-nerve the Ranger 'pen tonight, turns the series and gives AJ something to work on the following night. It's as good a plan as any...

Of course, Girardi may have already seen weather reports when he said AJ would be the starter for game 4 and a rain-out would change things...

Okay, kiddies, I have my computer back; can't believe that it took 2 freakin' weeks, but such is life.

So, if you were paying attention, I was four for four in my division series picks. Here goes the predictions for the championship series.

Yanks over Rangers in 5.
Phils over Giants in 6 (sorry).

I will re-start this blog tomorrow. So rest up and go Yankees!

Not so E-Z

Playoff time means scramble time for me who has no crappy cable TV in his house so must rely on other means and places. And the laptop is in the shop, still, so this will be a truncated version yet again...
But if last night's debut of Target Field is any indication, the Yanks still have that ability to turn it on when they have to. Sabathia was far from lights-out, but he kept the Yanks in the game, pitched a quality start and the bullpen bent, but never broke over the last three, scoreless innings.
The TBS anouncers don't seem to add much to the game, but no one in the booth is nearly as annoying as Michael Kay, but the Fox guys haven't chimed in yet; give them time-- I am sure they'll piss me off. I do like the old time way where the game would be broadcast with a member of each team's regular season announcers doing the play-by-play and color commentary. But it's about the money and the networks these days so that won't ever happen again even if it's such a better idea.

Cliff Lee puts Texas up with a dominating start versus David Price and the Rays. I'd be a little worried if I were a baseball fan in Florida.

Same goes for Cincinati with Halladay going one better than just about anyone else. A walk on a 3-2 pitch is all he gave up en route to MLB's only second post-season no-hitter. I say let Doc get it all out of his system now. That said, it sure does look like the route to the NL pennant goes through the city of brotherly love again.

Pitching should dominate in the Giants/Braves series set to start this evening up in AT&T Park. I'll be watching that one right after today's 2nd Yankee/Twin contest.

Go watch some baseball...

What don't you want to hear when you call to see if your laptop has been shipped back and is rady for pick-up: umm, says the geek, one of the parts came in, but they're still waiting for the other. hp service center doesn't have parts to new hp computers?? Yeah, that's just great.

The playoffs have actually started I think, but I have no access as of now. What do I got? I got predictions made with head and a little heart:

Yanks over Twins
Rangers over Rays
Phillies over Reds
Giants over Braves

****

Don't go to Hardly Strictly BlueGrass next year. You won't like it. But you can tell your friends it jumped the shark as your reason for staying away...

****

Laptop in shop; this blog should hopefully be back for the Playoffs...

PLAYOFF BOUND*

Now, really, was there any question? There really has not been. Have the Yankees dragged themselves across this first plateau? Sure they have, but it’s not like the Rays or the Twins look like they are driven to have the best record in the AL and the home field advantage through the playoffs, either.
And yes, Girardi changed his mind and pitched Hughes on Sunday night vs. the Sox and Hughes pitched very well, gained confidence and although he didn’t get the W, the team won and essentially knocked most of the slight breeze out from under Boston’s broken wings.
I did not have problem – at all – with Hughes making the start despite the innings limit that Girardi never actually disclosed anyway.
And last night? CC started, did what an Ace is supposed to do, the bats looked relaxed and the team rode Sabathia’s big-enough-to-carry-it shoulders to a 6-1 win and a clinch of a playoff spot. I would rather look at it this way: the games that Girardi and the team declared they were taking seriously, they won. And even if CC is not set up ideally to start the first game, he’s still going to start it and I have no doubts he will step up like he has since he’s pulled on the ‘stripes.

I am looking forward to those Giant/Phillie soccer matches that could be the NL playoffs road. Even with those big bats of Philly, you really have to expect some really low-scoring games with both teams front line starters being completely capable of shutting down just about any offense* (not the Yankees of course) but that’s getting ahead of things…

In Sin House news, “negotiations” with the company that I want to supply the “talent” for the movie have begun, sort of. I’ll play the cards a little close to the vest as well I should.
Okay, it’s better than it’s been in the studio, but it’s still too warm to be out here long, so th-th-that’s all folks…
*I don’t have permission to use the © images and text on the baseball card, but I worked for Topps once so I’m gonna call it even.

HOW I SUFFER FOR YOU

So far from post-season baseball weather out in LA it isn’t funny and because of stupid MLB package restrictions I am forced, first on Saturday to listen to Sterling & Waldman’s CBS radio broadcast and then yesterday, the insufferable Morgan on the ESPN Sunday night game.
Oddly enough, the Yankees broadcasters spent all game bad-mouthing the home team and wringing their hands loudly and often. Sterling further tarnished my opinion of him by singing a bit of “Candyman” when Curtis hit his meaningless homerun, changing it to “The Grandyman can…” and I’d bet this little ditty of his has caused at least twenty-three car accidents along the way.
Apologies for the brevity of Friday’s post; I had meant to mark the end of summer and then it slipped my mind. The official end of summer was noted in the lower section of seats on the 1st base side of Yankee Stadium. How do I know this? The very pretty, Robin Givens’ doppelganger, who works that very TV-friendly angle had to switch from her sleeveless tops (which I am sure they gave her extra summer combat pay for) to regular sleeves, and then last night, in a showcase of autumn, even into a fleecy pullover. Yes, summer is over; the Playoffs start in a little more than a week. If you watch YES broadcasts than you know of what I speak.
It used to be nice like that up in Toronto. The Blue Jays used to employ only the cutest of little brunettes to work the seats behind the plate; sometimes they could be a little distracting. But perhaps with the switch to the Rogers Centre and all, they’ve let some blondes in and ruined the game…
Joe Morgan must fear this blog as he was noticeably quiet in last night’s broadcast. Or, perhaps he’s afraid of Hershiser? This verbatim from yesterday’s amazing and tense game: “Joe, I think you may be a little bit right.” I’d love to hear Kim Jones says that to Kay.
But Girardi finally looked like he wanted to win a game and shut people up for the rest of the week. Swapping Hughes back in as starter instead of Moseley sent the right signal and Phil responded giving the skipper and the team exactly what they needed.
Of course they still needed some A-Rod and he, too, came through in the clutch with a come-from-behind two-run in the 7th. And yes, that should have been all they wrote, but this is Yankees/Red Sox on a national broadcast no less so figure in blown saves by two of the top tier closers and an extra inning walk-off run-scoring walk to Juan Miranda and the Yanks have essentially knocked the Sox out and secured the playoffs; they will win a game this week even if they don’t actually try. The Sox will lose one, too.

Thelonious Monster on Saturday night at Spaceland sounded great, although that could be nostalgia and too many martinis speaking, but I had a great time singing along. And Bob Forrest afterwards was rather nice. How drunk was I? I did mumble something to my cocktail waitress about buying the solo redhead at the bar a drink. Not sure if she accepted and I didn’t even trouble myself, or, more importantly her, to even say hello. Real smooth move there.
I did ask the cute goth chick to sit down at my table, but I swear it was only because she was pregnant. Yeah, that was the only thought on my mind…

YOU CANNOT LOSE IF YOU THROW THE RACE

Getaway day game with the Mariners and Jays and King Felix proves the point that he’d make a good Giant, but if he was a Yank, he’d have 20 wins. And yes, I agree that most of the stats are very impressive, but how do you give the Cy Young award to a .500 pitcher? You can’t in my book…

Thames two-run shot off Price put the Yanks up and was about as good as it got all night. Thames, by the way, is having a really great season off the bench and when used sparingly, and he’s doing it quietly; definitely one of the better off-season acquisitions.
Perhaps it’s not the quiet, but the fact that Swish is just really loud. He K’s in the 3rd; I hear, “Fuck!”
And it looked pretty good up until the 6th with CC holding a 3-1 lead over Price and then Sabathia does an Ivan Nova impersonation and just falls apart. Joba comes in and puts out the fire with gasoline.
And then Ed Whitson--- oops, I mean Javier Vazquez? Well, he did something I had never seen before: hit three guys in a row. The line for the first six guys he faces in the 7th is as follows: BB, HBP, HBP, HBP, SF, BB—it’s more little league than race for the AL East Championship. Javy makes a real good case to have himself left off the Playoff roster.
Girardi leaves Javy in for the last three innings, sucking it up for the bullpen. The other eight in the field behind him are like something out of a Spring training game: Thames, Golson, Curtis, Moeller, Pena, Nunez, Miranda and Russo.

Maybe it’s me. I watch the Giants and they’re a soccer team; I miss their game and they score like a football team while still having that insane pitching. Although the Phils really seem like the team to beat, a series between those two teams could be something else…

Caught a little getaway day ball from Oakland; looked like a pretty day, wish I had been there for the $2 tickets and the $1 hotdogs although the most interesting thing in the “contest” was Oakland’s September call-up pinch-running in the 9th. Guy’s last name is BE AZA and it mostly just looked like a letter had fallen off the back of his uniform and no one cared enough to notice or tell him. If the Giants can misspell their city, why can’t the team across the Bay misspell a player’s name? Works for me.
Obviously a very crucial game between the front-running Yanks and Rays. How could I tell? After the 2+ hour rain delay knocked AJ out again (second time for a rain-shortened start for him recently) Girardi has to turn to his bullpen in the 1-0 game. Or, rather, should I say he turned to Scranton Wilkes Barren’s pen with Ring, Moseley, Gaudin and Abeladejo coming in succession.
At least Berkman finally got his first Yankee homer which put us back in the game briefly.
I know I am biased, but I swear it sounds a lot as if both color-man John Flaherty and sideline reporter Kim Jones are both sick of Kay’s shit and can’t wait for the season to end.
George Hendrick, the Rays’ first base coach, is generally the most chill of all of them. He won’t flinch at balls hit toward him, he will never even attempt to pick a foul ground ball coming his way. But he sure was forced to hit the ground when a line drive was heading right for him. His helmet flew off, exposing his ‘do rag and a smile as the Rays’ bench gave him a standing O.
So quiet later in the Stadium after the long rain delay and the Yanks down and looking like coming back was not an option. Swish pops up and, clear as day, you can hear his: “Awwwww shit!” Not quite Dave Winfield’s “That’s bullshit, Jerry” in regard to a called strike, that I recall as the first time I could clearly hear a ballplayer curse on TV.
I wish I had a friend in the 5th row last night that I could have called to konk the bald guy in the 4th row in the head and tell him to stop fuckin’ waving. You’re not six years old. Leave that kind of obnoxiousness to the kids, right? I mean, I was thirteen (and I still think within my rights) when I spent quite a bit of time during the pre-game of game 6 of the 1981 World Series from the left field bleachers at the old Yankee Stadium heckling the previous night’s starter, Jerry Reuss. I think it was probably about the twentieth time that I bellowed, “Hey Jerry – you’re really fooled Bobby last night!” that he ducked out from under the bullpen awning, located me and flipped me the bird.
I must admit a good point in regard to Hamilton over Cano for the MVP. He was so valuable to Texas that he was able to propel his team to such a commanding lead in the weak AL West that even though he’s missed pretty much all of September his team has such a lead that they can’t blow it. I suppose that is also a very valuable player, but I think if Cano stays hot, gets to 30 homeruns, that it could be a very interesting two-man race.
During the Yankee rain delay, I turned to the Giants/Cubs match – watching the WGN broadcast to maybe change things up for the Bay Area squad. And although I will admit the Cubbies’ announcers are pretty entertaining, and Buddy Guy singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” was swell, the Giants still couldn’t score. And the useless Dodgers did nothing to help them out vs. the Padres; I swear I read Donnie Baseball’s lips as he spoke to Mr. Torre in the dugout, I swear he said, “Take me with you.”
Yahoo podcast interview with Boomer Wells is worth tracking down. First fourteen minutes he just talks baseball, but then Mr. Torre’s name comes up. Apparently, David is not a fan. First he calls him a “coward” for having pitching coach Mel Stottlemyre tell him he wouldn’t be pitching in the 1st round of the 1997 playoffs, and then he really lowers the boom. Although Boomer was wrong about the Yankee fans reaction to the former manager when he showed up for The Boss’ monument unveiling; it was the biggest cheer of the night and not the boo’s that Boomer predicted. But he is right about the whole manager vs. pitching coach thing about chain of command.

Yanks score five in the first, make James “No More Big Game” Shields throw over forty pitches and even score four of those five on two-out hits and still, nothing close to the laugher we could use. The Rays start chipping away at Hughes, who’s good, but not great with five walks, with single runs in the 2nd and 3rd and before you know it, the tying run is at the plate. And it’s Dan Johnson who took Hughes deep twice in his previous start, but this time he gets him.
It’s a bloop to left, but here it does look like a line drive, and Cano plates two more later in the game to put Yanks up 7-3. Deep breaths. And you know it’s a game that Girardi really wants. How can I tell? He puts Javy Vazquez in.
And Joba pitches out of some of it in the 8th, and comes back for the 9th and picks up the save, 8-3.

Holy crud! First there was Miguel Olivo who passed some stones and then went right back out and caught the rest of the game. Yesterday word hit that Jerry Hairston had been playing with a broken leg for two months; he had just thought it was shin splints.
And there’s Bochy feeling he has to pull his starter for a pinch-hitter again. It irked me a few days back when he yanked The Freak; personally I’d be pissed if I went to the game to see Lincecum pitch, only to have him pulled after five good innings because the team simply can’t score runs.
Last night it was Cain getting the same treatment: pulled throwing a 2-hit shut-out after six innings pitched. I’d fathom a guess that Cain could’ve grounded meekly to first like pinch-hitter Ishikawa.
Cody Ross could steal second base a lot if it were only fifty feet from first base…
Fortunately for the Giants, Posey puts one out to dead center and the Giants win the match 1-0


So, after being so far back on the burners that the pot will never boil, perhaps “Sin House” is heating up. I had been seeking a solid production staff to back me so that I could just direct the picture and maybe, just maybe, I have found that- and in the weirdest of places.
I never cross the streams of Burning Man friends and work, but I have been recently told that I am a fool for not doing so.
New year, new tactics: and perhaps in one fell swoop maybe I have found the staff and a route to the funding (and more than I ever considered but enough to not only do it correctly, but also to get paid some upfront so that I can be available to do so) and even a line toward distribution.
And yes, the above is peppered with quite a lot of “maybes” and “perhaps” but I learn those lessons the hard-freaking-way, so I remain cautious always, but can still be optimistic. I’ll keep you posted as Sin House percolates…

IS THAT A HUGE MONUMENT or: ARE YOU JUST HAPPY TO SEE ME
Oddly enough, thirty years to the day that the New York Yankees unveiled a monument out in centerfield to their fallen leader, Thurman Munson, a seventh one was presented in honor of George M. Steinbrenner. I had already left my own out in the Temple at TTITD, so there.
And I was pleased that YES and the MLB TV package included yesterday’s pre-game ceremony; it was a pretty impressive line-up. Yogi lead the way with Reggie, but Stick, Roy White, Boomer, Tino and Lee Mazzilli did a great job of representing the former players and managers. And the Yanks did the right thing by inviting both Don Mattingly and Joe Torre who flew in from Los Angeles just for the ceremony (and for the well-deserved cheers they received). Need more proof of let bygones be bygones? Billy Martin’s widow was present and accounted for, as well.
As for the monument? It is freakin’ huge, dwarfing the ones for the Babe and the Mick. But that’s George’s way; even in death. There were some great moments spied by the YES cameras: Posada gripping and squeezing Mr. Torre’s shoulder was one, Mo staying out long past the rest of the current players just gazing intently at the monument; that left me with the thought that Mr. Steinbrenner did something for Mo that we don’t know about. When it came to GMS’ stand on charity, he was a very good Jew…
West Point Color Guard showed up in tribute and held the flags as Frank Sinatra Jr. performed the National Anthem, quite poorly I have to say. When he wasn’t missing notes, he was attempting to mimic his dad, like a bad Vegas impersonator. And apparently, not only do me and Michael Kay not watch the same game, we don’t listen to the same one, either; the big-headed bastard called the performance “amazing” and “stunning.”

As for the game, the Yanks took a 4-0 lead early, the big blow a 2 run shot by Granderson for his 20th, and Nova was cruising until hitting the wall again. He blew up in the 6th and took the pen and the lead with him. Not sure what’s wrong with this kid. The stuff and his poise are great up until the point it all crashes down on him. He has that “one bad inning” and it doesn’t seem that anyone can put their finger (not even me) on what his deal is.
And then there’s Gardner on first in a tie game and Cervelli comes to the plate looking to move him up with a bunt. And I’m talking back to the TV because when you’ve got one of the leading base-stealers on base, let him run, let him swipe the bag and then if you want Cervelli to get him to third with a sac bunt that’s a whole other matter.
Fortunately the count got in the Cisco kid’s favor and they executed a perfect hit ‘n run, moving Gardy to 3rd with no outs. And Granderson’s second dinger of the game, a 3 run shot, pretty much put the game out of reach considering that most of these games vs. the Rays go down to the last pitch.
Tex back in the lineup looked like he could use some more time off. If I were Girardi, I’d rest him a week and see if the toe and thumb don’t respond favorably before the post-season.
I cannot believe I missed one of my all time fav’s as an answer to the Yankee trivia question. Name the 4 Hall of Fame pitchers who played for the Yanks during Steinbrenner’s tenure? I got Catfish and Goose easy, but totally blanked on Phil Niekro (even thought I know I went to at least one, perhaps two games trying to see him get his 300th win) and Gaylord Perry. Shame on me…
Speaking of shame: I swear I don’t hear the announcement before the singing of “God Bless America” during the 7th inning stretch, but really, do you need to make that song your own? Do you know whose rendition is played most nights at this point in the game? Kate Smith’s if you don’t know. But this was awful! Right? And then Kay comes back gushing over a “superb performance” and it’s revealed who he’s kissing up to—George’s granddaughter – but I’m thinking “The Boss” would’ve fired her.
At least Frank Sinatra Jr. didn’t attempt “New York, New York.” By the way, they did play Frank’s “My Way” during the monument ceremony which was more than a little appropriate. And the Yanks won 8-6, moving a game and a half on top and Yankee fans in attendance got “New York, New York” anyway…

STILL ON TOP, BUT…
Accentuating the positive and it’s a really big positive: Andy Pettitte returned from his 2-month stint on the DL and pitching the Trenton Thunder through the first round of the AA Playoffs and looked like the very same, on top of his game hurler he was when he went down with an 11-2 mark and throwing as well as he ever has.
Pettitte shook off some rust and gave the Yankees exactly what they had hoped for: 6ip, 3h, 1r all in the allotted 79 pitches. He left with a 3-1 lead that should have been bigger; again, the Yanks left far too many men on base, failed in numerous attempts to widen that gap.
But can’t blame my MVP candidate, Robinson Cano who knocked in the first run in the opening frame with a two out single for his 102nd rbi. Wish I could say something similar about Lance Berkman. Yes, I wanted him since June, but unlike Swisher (who I campaigned for) the Puma, or should I say Fat Elvis, has about as much clutch in him as a Dodge Vegematic. Showalter is obviously aware of his failures too: he walked Jeter & Tex intentionally to face the switch-hitter with the bases loaded in the 11th. Fat Elvis obliged by bouncing into a tailor-made DP.
And yes, Wood gave up one, but was able to strand the tying and go-ahead runs in scoring position. But Mo has been less-than-lights-out on this road-trip and gave up the tying homerun leading off the bottom of the 9th to Luke Scott.
The failure to get Nunez in from 3rd with nobody out was a ball-crusher leading to another walk-off, extra inning loss for the Yanks. Feh.
Of course, the Yanks loss meant the Giants would win and even score a week’s worth of runs after another of my scoldings. Thank me, Giants fans…
Of course, Joe Morgan couldn’t come out and say it, but at least Orel Hershiser said that he thought both the AL MVP and Cy Young award winners could both be NY Yankees this year.
Speaking of Yankee/Dodger connections, Mr. Torre steps down and Donnie Baseball slides into the manager’s chair in Los Angeles. Hard to root against either of them and glad it’s not in Boston, but seeing either of them in Dodger-blue is just plain wrong.
What’s not wrong is that both of them are supposed to be at the new Yankee Stadium this evening for a ceremony honoring George M. Steinbrenner III and for the unveiling of the monument to “The Boss.” But, if Yogi and even Dave Winfield could accept George’s apologies, Misters Torre and Mattingly should as well, and seemingly have. If he was still alive, and not managing those Redsox, I’d bet good money that even Billy Martin would have accepted apologies from Steinbrenner, too and that would have been sweet to witness. Not quite up there as the top secret Old Timer’s Day announcement of Billy’s eventual return, but these are calmer days than those.
Yanks/Rays four game series starts tonight in the Bronx and could very well help determine the AL East winner. Then again, they’ll probably split, each game decided by a run, a few of them in extra innings as the beat goes on…

WEEKEND EDITION

This is the sick-on-the-couch edition; watching lots of baseball, but you’re getting short-shrift on news.
Yanks have taken the first two games from the O’s – as they should – but the Orioles are not the same team under Buck Showalter as they were earlier in the season. Having just swept the Blue Jays, the O’s were looking good.
On Friday, AJ has enough to keep it close, even with the black eye that he says is not baseball-related, but won’t talk about, and then it turns into the A-Rod show. A long ball earlier in the game, but he saved the dramatic shot for the 9th. With two out, two on and two strikes, Al took a close pitch that had a few players in the home dugout jumping over the rail in celebration of a victory. But the next one was what A-Rod was looking for and he drove it out, leading to Mo closing it out for the 4-3 win.
Saturday was CC again looking for his 20th victory of the season and this time the Yankee bats ensured he got it, 11-3. As I trumpet Cano for MVP, I knew that Guthrie was getting tired and was going to leave one up for Cano, who turned a 4-2 game into a 6-2 one and CC and the pen sailed from there.
And yes, again I must show my bias and the fact that I get to see him play day in and day out, but how can Cano not be the frontrunner for the 2010 AL MVP? Bautista and Cabrera are having monster seasons, but for .500 teams that are 4th and 3rd in their respective divisions. On the Yanks, you have Jeter and A-Rod having subpar seasons, Tex has been so streaky all season and Posada and Swish have been banged up. Cano, hitting in the 5th spot has been consistent all season, carrying the team from time to time when it’s been needed and playing a remarkable second base. I know there’s an anti-Yankee sentiment and the World Series ring is the thing, but Cano and CC (for Cy Young) have got to be first and foremost in the award discussions.
So, how are no homeruns and one run batted in “a good month” according to Kay? I am all for Berkman, but hitting a weak .300 is not what you want from your number three hitter even if he’s only subbing for the broken-toed and slowed Tex.

I suppose I should rag on the Gigantes’ bats more often. After comparing them to a soccer team, they showed me and the Dodgers by putting up a ten-spot, but after that, the Cerveceros came to town and turned the home team’s bat to the Whiffle variety. You score one run per two games, you’re not going to win any and the Rockies and the Braves will score.
Even though Scioscia pulled out all the stops – as in 5 guys in the infield – the Rays come back on them in the 9th to tie it and then win it in the 10th on a throwing error. Big win for TB to keep within a half game of the Yanks.
This kid named Henry Rodriguez comes out of the Oakland pen to face the Twins and Mauer in the 7th yesterday and his first seven pitches are clocked at 98, 99 (5 times) and 101. Watching the rest of his frame I have to say this: He throws 99mph consistently…

No Yankee game on the schedule yesterday as they travel from Tampa to Baltimore; a perfect opportunity for Girardi to rest the guys without getting anxious reports from the New York beat writers. So, I scout the Twins vs. the Chisox for a little while.
The Twins are throwing “their ace” Carl Pavano, and yes, I am biased against the now-mustached pitcher, but really? He’s their ace? Would you want to see him up against Sabathia, Price or Lee in the opening game of a playoff series?
And then – holy shite – Pavano hits Konerko in the face with a pitch. And Guillen and the trainer are out there and the trainer’s trying to pull Konerko away from the plate and toward the dug-out and the big, badass just won’t go. He does permit the trainer to retrieve a towel, but Konerko stays in the game.
And it proves my point about Pavano right off the bat: let’s put it this way: do you think if you got hit in the face by a pitch thrown by Sabathia, are you going to be able to stay in the game? Are you even going to want to? CC hits you, you go down and you stay that way…
Oh, Manny looks so good in Chicago. Two weeks in the windy city and the dumb thug doesn’t even have an extra base hit yet. He doesn’t have a single run batted in. Things may be awful with the Dodgers, but at least Mr. Torre doesn’t have to deal with Manny being Manny any more.

“Machete,” the new Robert Rodriguez flick that had started out as one of those kick-ass trailers from Grindhouse, is a whole lotta fun and I have to recommend seeing it. Pulling chunks of pages from QT’s book, Rodriguez fills his cast with a bunch of older actors (okay, and Lindsay Lohan who only seems young; she doesn’t really show much in the chops department (and at least one of “her” scenes comes straight from the trailer and isn’t HER in the role (the LA Weekly took a shot at Rodriguez for this, but I think it was just fun)) but she does show off her chest far more than you’d expect) like Don Johnson and Robert DeNiro and it’s the first time in a long time that I could get through a movie with DeNiro and like what he’s doing. See it for a good, action-packed, time…

Got tickets to see Thelonious Monster next Saturday at Spaceland; it’s been ages since I have seen that beloved band. I think more people know Bob Forrest from his part in that Celeb Rehab TV show. No, he’s not a patient, but an adviser to the doctors and staff as he’s been through it all. Occasionally (in the couple episodes I watched) it would come up with some of the famous rock n’ roll fuck-ups that Bob was one, too in his day. The one time I recall seeing T. Monster – and this was a long time ago at a LA invades NY show featuring TSOL, Red Hot Chili Peppers and the Monster that the Peppers were the opening act) he fell from the high stage. It took me and about 2-3 other guys to haul his dead-drunk weight back onto the stage. It was impressive in the way that really only Shane MacGowan could do. I love Lucero and I appreciate Ben Nichols’ claims to his drunken spirit, but compared to the aforementioned singers, Ben is just a pischer, but I am still looking forward to seeing Lucero at SFO’s Hardly Strictly BlueGrass Festival October 1-3.

FLIP-FLOP
Maybe Cano is the only person actually reading this blog; he seems to be listening to my take on what he needs to do to garner the AL MVP. His personal high 99th rbi gave the Yanks a 1-0 lead before Berkman bounced into a rally-killing double-play. Could’ve used another one of those early runs or two…
Early on, Kay is beating the whole Crawford-getting-nailed-at-third thing like the dead horse rider he is. Broadcast highlight for me is when Kay’s trying to get to the bottom of it – trumpeting his own opinion on Maddon as he does – when sideline reporter Kim Jones, who usually kowtows to the big-headed one, says, “Beg your pardon, but Michael you’re wrong.” She had been the one who interviewed the Rays’ skipper so she should know better. Of course, Kay gets his revenge by offering to let Kim do play-by-play for the middle innings of an upcoming game vs. the O’s if she would get into the fish tank from where she was reporting. She smiled and laughed, but I would have called him – again – on his bs.
Kay mentions that Hughes is “perfect through four” which, of course, leads immediately to a hit followed by a 2-run shot. All I want is a roll of good duct tape perforated into Michael Kay mouth-long strips.
Al Leiter makes a very good point about shaking off catchers that I’ll share here when I have a little less to say for myself. If you really want to know: ask.
It seems very clear that the YES cameramen and announcers have been instructed to treat Don Zimmer as a non-entity. They never even mention him and the cameras rarely find his very familiar mug. I’d like to believe that by game 3 in the series, Zim had figured that out and moved to a spot in the dugout that got him some New York TV-time. He obviously has just too much Torre-cooties on him…
Jeter sold a HBP in the 7th like an Oscar winner. The ball hit the knob of the bat, but Jeter cried out in pain, spun away (eyeballing the ump to make sure he was paying attention) and even got Gino out to check on him. Jeter also got Maddon out – as in tossed out – for arguing the play. That Jeter scored the tying run on Granderson’s laser shot to the right field seats only goes to underscore just how many ways the Captain can and does help the Yankees win.
But Hughes’ second gopher-ball to Dan Johnson put the Yanks down 4-3 and that was how it ended.

Sorry, but watching the SF Giants is kind of like what I think watching soccer is like. And I don’t like soccer and I thank God that I was born a Yankee and AL fan. But at least the Giants were able to pack the park unlike those Rays.
Joe Montana, freezing his ass off next to his bitchy-looking blonde wife, answered the poll and stated that he thinks his neighbor, Aaron Rowand, should be leading off for the local team. It’s kind of like the choreography of a sex scene in a porn flick when you’re asking a retired QB to make your lineup decisions.
“THIS IS ACTION!” screams the Giant announcer on a double, which was the “drive of the game.” Soccer. But the Giants actually score 2 whole runs and win 2-1 after Brian Wilson gives up the insurance run in the bottom of the 9th. Oh, and there was this “kid”, a September call-up named Lindsay who pinch-hit for the Dodgers. Lindsay, a la Balboni, is something of a minor league homerun hero who had spent sixteen freaking years in the minors before this call-up.

** I meant to write about "Machete" today; see it tonight so I don't spoil it for you tomorrow... **

BACK ON-TOP
WWOR broadcast means Kay’s back assaulting my ears, insulting my Yankee acumen. What I want for Chanukah this year is a button to just turn him off; I will gladly accept that particular gift early…
Yanks hang a 4-spot on the Rays in the 3rd for what looks like some breathing room. Singleton, who’s been threatening this since the 1st pitch is finally able to say, “Someone’s gotta pay,” which is what he said the Yanks would be thinking/saying following the 12 inning shut-out the previous night.
Cano’s 2-run shot, the big blow in the inning, is headed for the wall and I’m starting to think about the AL MVP again. I think the big award is open to whoever gets hot and carries his team down the home stretch. Cabrera’s got the numbers – for certain – but he’s doing it for the go-nowhere Tigers. Hamilton is in the running, but not if he’s hurt and not playing. Who else, then?

Nova’s cruising along, 1 hit into the fourth, when he either gets those young guy 5th inning blues when they see a W on their record or just runs out of gas. He doesn’t seem to yet be a distance guy. And although it was obvious that Pena talked Girardi into letting Nova face one more batter in the 5th frame, trying to let the kid get the victory, Nova can’t nail it down. Logan comes in and gives up a 3-run dinger which wrecks Nova’s line, is the first run Logan’s given up in a while, and there went the breathing room as well as the lead.
But, the catch Granderson makes in the right-center field gap to close out the bottom of the 9th still tied at 6 is “Holy Cow” worthy. And as I hand out that new award, another goes to Hip Hip Jorge, who came off the bench to lead off the 10th and blasted a solo shot far over the centerfield wall, for what turned out to be the winning run.
The last “Holy Cow” goes to the kid in for defense in right, Greg Golson. Flat-footed he sends a laser to A-Rod at third nailing Crawford attempting to tag up. End of game as Crawford violates that cardinal (see Yanks; see Rays) sin of making the 3rd out at 3rd base – and to end the 1-run game. Thanks Carl!
Yeah, he gave up 2 runs in 5 innings pitched, but still – how freaking unfair is it to make the AA Playoffs only to wind up facing Andy Freakin’ Pettitte? Yeah, he’s only the man with the most W’s in MLB post-season history. Take that Altoona…
The Rays can’t sell out their joint for this series? Pathetic! It really is. Rays fans stay away in droves (crowds of 26-28K) and watch on their televisions…
Poor Giants. They hold the dread Dodgers to one freakin’ hit, but lose 1-0 on Uribe’s error back of second. Much like the Yanks the night before, you have to score a run at some point or you are going to lose; it’s how the game works…

PENNANT RACE?

Neither Girardi or Maddon will say it, but I will: taking the Wild Card has some distinct advantages over winning the mighty AL East outright. With Cliff Lee looking like the one who dominated for the Phillies last October and November, they have become the team you would rather not face in the shorter, first round of playoffs. Not taking anything against the Twins, who are more equipped for a longer series, they just don’t have that Number One Ace who can be a major difference maker.
The Yanks have faced Lee and David Price back-to-back and made them both look like, well, Lee & Price. Twenty innings and one run, you cannot expect to win too many games that way. CC Sabathia and Price hooked up in one of those pitchers’ duels match-ups like two of the top CY Young candidates they are.
And even though the Yanks dropped their 4th in a row for the first time all season, and are the last team to have a losing streak of that length, I didn’t have to hear Michael Kay babbling in my ears about it, so that was a positive.
The first “burst” of action didn’t come until the 5th inning when Jorge tried to surprise the Rays and steal second. It’s not an awful idea, but he’s nailed.
The “awful” idea came later and by the brain and feet of Gardner. He pinch-runs for Berkman, who had pinch-hit and reached via a base on balls. And yes, Gardy does have forty steals this season, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why he stands there for a few pitches as Posada flies out on the second pitch. Gardy swipes second on the first pitch to Kearns, setting up a runner in scoring position—even if it’s now two outs. And I suppose I should’ve just left him alone, because there goes Gardner trying to steal third and he’s nailed for the third out, breaking that old cardinal sin that stands true for the other twenty-nine ball clubs, as well.
And someone had to score. Girardi leaves Robertson, Joba and Mo in the pen as Mitre gives up the walk-off dinger in the 11th; these walk-offs against the Yanks are getting old…
Watched the end of the Padres/Rockies game, scouting for the Giants and it was funny to hear the San Diego announcers intone “Troy Tulowitski” as if they were saying “Derek Jeter.”


Tried to watch a low-budget thing called “Several Ways to Die Trying” that Netflix sent my way. I could only get through about 45 minutes of it, and only a couple ways, before the whole thing became trying. Am I really supposed to take a high school student’s novelist aspirations seriously? I shake my fist and mumble, “Grow up,” and press the eject button, slipping it into the red envelope to return with a sneeze…


New Ted Leo cd is out; hope that means they’ll come back and play Los Angeles again; I’d be down for that. Hoping somehow that a Pavement/Sonic Youth ticket comes my way for the Hollywood Bowl, although I may already be bound for San Francisco and the Hardly Strictly Blue Grass Festival where I shall get my fill of guitar rock ‘n roll.

This blog is now officially off hiatus and as prepared as possible for keeping you up-to-date on what matters to me (and what should matter to you) down the home-stretch. If you have to know: I spent the last few weeks preparing, participating and recovering from TTITD. This was the first time in 9 years that I checked my email while out there; I also checked the AL East standings twice, too and with good results.
The movie “Kick Ass” really is and was, yet again, more evidence that Hollywood can sometimes make a good, entertaining, not-for-kids movie and still have no idea how to sell it to us. The posters and ads that I recall from the theatrical release made me think this was a piece of fanboy, fluffy comic book entertainment.
I suppose I am supposed to say: “Some spoilers below; jump to the next section if you haven’t seen “Kick Ass” and intend to.
What it really is is a pretty dark and quite violent, odd little movie masquerading (due the tone the ads sent) as something else. I wonder how many parents walked out with their little ones when the lead kid gets stabbed quite realistically and then run over. Worse still: I wonder how many parents stayed in their seats as the movie quite possibly got far more intense than what should be handled by young children.
I remember seeing some piece of crap horror thing (A Haunting in CT, maybe?) at the Uni-shitty multi-plex (free, though) and there were some young kids sitting near me. As the movie got scary to an 8 year old, I can still clearly hear the kids crying and begging to leave. The parents’ reply? Shut up and sit down. Sure wish I had the button and those “parents” seats were wired like in William Castle’s “The Tingler.” I would have given them something to remember; I would have made it rather difficult for them to “shut up and sit down.”

There shall be no further updates and no further kvetching* about Furion Entertainment Group or their representatives Georgie George or Lisa Wilson. I gave them the opportunity this past week to put up or shut up. After more than half a year of having smoke blown through every open orifice, of being strung along and treated completely unprofessionally, I employed the old salesman trick of the “take away.” I would say that about 10% of me was hoping that it would be “successful;” that they would respond with the long delayed check and contract.
But I was more than equally prepared for the “best of luck with your career” voicemail that my fuck off and die, “put all my materials in the shredder” email I sent on Friday at the close of business elicited. Good riddance to more bad rubbish! On to the next…
*excluding references made, excerpts posted from the fringe screenwriting book.

Yes, the announcers were all aflutter about this past weekend’s Yankees/Rangers series as being a “playoff preview.” And it very well may have been that and there was playoff-like intensity for some of it, especially with Ron Washington using his expanded (bloated?) bullpen for match-ups like it was a game 7. But here’s the thing: had this actually been the playoffs, Girardi wouldn’t have rested Jeter, A-Rod and Swisher for a game a piece over the three.
And although the Rangers came at the Yanks with their top 3 frontline starters, the ones in the gray uni’s countered with Vazquez, Burnett and Moseley (aka known as numbers 5, ? and 7 in the Yankee starting pitcher depth charts) who are not exactly the Murderer’s Row of arms.
Picture-in-Picture WIN! Saw the Jay’s Adam Lind’s walk-off two run shot of TB’s stud closer Soriano as Thames was batting vs. Lee in the Yankee game.
Holy crud! No worse sight in MLB than having to watch David Eckstein playing in those Sunday Padre fatigues…