Thursday, December 27, 2007
Okay, look...
First, there is no such word as irregardless. Shut up, you asshole. Second, attention everyone: You use the word "apparently" too much. Finally, the phase "Happy Holidays" has been in use longer than Kwanzaa has existed. When I say "Happy Holidays" it means that I wish for you to have an enjoyable holiday season. I am not using it to avoid the word "Christmas" in fear of offending my non-Christian friends. There is not a Jew within a 35-mile radius of where I'm currently standing. Christmas, Christmas, Christmas!!! Merry fucking Christmas!!! I am not afraid to say it. Do not correct me just because Bill fucking O'Reilly told you to, you fucking automaton!! In fact, I take back my "Happy holidays"...I hope you get genital warts.
Even worse than I predicted
Once upon a time I maintained a website where I (and the others on this blog) wrote pretentiously about the shit that I (we) found interesting. Now we do that here. Anyway, the last article that I wrote for that site, over a year ago, was about baseball. In particular, the article was about how stupid the Los Angeles Angels were for signing Gary Matthews, Jr. to a 5 year, $50M contract to be their centerfielder. I argued that Matthews might be an ok player for a year or two (but never worth $10M a year), but in the long run the Angels would regret having him on their roster.
I was wrong. The Angels regretted having him on their roster almost immediately. Gary Matthews, Jr. was statistically the worst player that the Angels played everyday last year. The Angels offense was pretty potent last year, with only two regulars that were below average according to OPS+. Shortstop Orlando Cabrera was 5% below average and Matthews was 7% below average. Coincidentally (or not), Cabrera was traded away this winter. I'm sure the Angels would love to trade Matthews away, too, but no one will take him with 4 years and $40M left on his contract.
Matthews was so bad that the Angels went out and signed Torii Hunter to a 5 year, $80M contract to play centerfield for them next year (I won't go into why that is also a bad deal except to point out that Hunter is already 32 and admitted that he was prepared to sign for less). That means that Matthews will probably move to leftfield (or the bench) one year after signing his big contract, in part, because of his "outstanding" defense in centerfield.
Perhaps this will turn into a yearly post for me, where I can break down the stupidity of the Angels as the sign a new centerfielder to a bad contract each year. Thank you to the Los Angeles Angels for providing me something to write about.
I was wrong. The Angels regretted having him on their roster almost immediately. Gary Matthews, Jr. was statistically the worst player that the Angels played everyday last year. The Angels offense was pretty potent last year, with only two regulars that were below average according to OPS+. Shortstop Orlando Cabrera was 5% below average and Matthews was 7% below average. Coincidentally (or not), Cabrera was traded away this winter. I'm sure the Angels would love to trade Matthews away, too, but no one will take him with 4 years and $40M left on his contract.
Matthews was so bad that the Angels went out and signed Torii Hunter to a 5 year, $80M contract to play centerfield for them next year (I won't go into why that is also a bad deal except to point out that Hunter is already 32 and admitted that he was prepared to sign for less). That means that Matthews will probably move to leftfield (or the bench) one year after signing his big contract, in part, because of his "outstanding" defense in centerfield.
Perhaps this will turn into a yearly post for me, where I can break down the stupidity of the Angels as the sign a new centerfielder to a bad contract each year. Thank you to the Los Angeles Angels for providing me something to write about.
Friday, December 21, 2007
My Turn
Ok, so I am in the mood to keep posting, so here is the beginning of a story that I started writing a couple of months ago. In the same vein as Josh Muselix's story, it is a goal of mine to actually finish one of these stories at some point. Unfortunately, full-time employment keeps me from sitting around and writing all day.
___________________________
Sunday morning. It was raining. Karl wanted nothing more than to pull the covers back over his head and go back to sleep. The steady drumming of the rain on the bedroom window was hypnotic. Karl’s half-asleep brain imagined the sound was actually caused by wave after wave of miniature soldiers marching across the window in their tiny little army boots. For some reason Karl was comforted by the thought of a blanket of inch high Rambos covering his window.
Just as Karl was becoming fully committed to the troop deployment, a bloodcurdling scream from the next room disrupted his jack-boot revelry. Karl was startled and got out of bed to determine the source of the scream. He paused at the pile of clothes on the floor to pick up and put on a t-shirt and pair of shorts. What he found in the next room was his younger brother in frantic activity centered around a video game console.
“What’s going on out here?” Karl asked lethargically.
Karl’s younger brother Todd, who was the classic hyper-active spazz of a 13 year old brother, never looked up.
“My Xbox360 froze! It froze!” Todd was nearly screaming in hysterics, “I was just about to go in the room where the guy is to get the bomb so I could go find the guy with the thing and blow it up and…”
“It’s not your Xbox…” Karl started, but he didn’t really have the energy to argue semantics.
“Yeah, yeah,” Todd said, “has it ever done this to you before? I mean it was just fine last night and it worked all morning…”
“Isn’t it a bit early for all this?” Karl interrupted, knowing that it would be minutes before Todd quit talking of his own accord.
Todd looked at Karl for the first time.
“It’s already 8:30, Ice.”
When Karl was fourteen he had decided that he hated his name. Carl Weathers was the only cool person he could think of that shared his name. And Carl Weathers hadn’t been cool for a long time. So, using the poor decision-making skills that are typical in the average fourteen year old, Karl declared that he wanted everyone to call him ‘Ice’. What could be cooler than Ice, after all? It didn’t take Karl long to realize his mistake, but the damage was done. Three years later, everyone still called him Ice, and always with the gleam in their eye that he saw in Todd’s eye that particular Sunday morning. Some days the name would be enough to make Karl seek retribution physically against his brother, but his mind had not quite wholly returned from the land of the rain soldiers and the moment passed.
Karl and Todd lived with their parents in the suburbs in a small ranch-style house that looked exactly like every other house in their neighborhood. It was the sort of neighborhood where almost everyone took pride in the maintenance of their house and yard because that was the only way to differentiate between them. The day their father installed a small fountain in the front yard, below the picture window in the living room, was a controversial day in the neighborhood. Their father was so proud, but many in the neighborhood thought it was ostentatious. Their father knew that they were all just jealous.
There were a few houses in the neighborhood, however, that didn’t take care of their house or lawn at all. These were the houses that were discussed the most by the neighborhood gossips. Rumors would spread through the neighborhood about criminal activity that would go on at these houses and occasionally law enforcement would show up to prove a rumor or two to be true.
Karl and Todd’s house backed up to one of the run-down houses. Their father complained bitterly and almost non-stop about the house and its perpetual state of disrepair. Several months before that Sunday morning there had been a small fire at the house. When the fire department arrived, they found that a multitude of criminal activity had been going on in the house and the occupants had been led away by the police shortly thereafter. The house had been vacant from then until a moving van had shown up on Saturday.
Karl’s father was convinced that a new passel of rogues would be moving in and he was already in full complaint mode.
___________________________
Sunday morning. It was raining. Karl wanted nothing more than to pull the covers back over his head and go back to sleep. The steady drumming of the rain on the bedroom window was hypnotic. Karl’s half-asleep brain imagined the sound was actually caused by wave after wave of miniature soldiers marching across the window in their tiny little army boots. For some reason Karl was comforted by the thought of a blanket of inch high Rambos covering his window.
Just as Karl was becoming fully committed to the troop deployment, a bloodcurdling scream from the next room disrupted his jack-boot revelry. Karl was startled and got out of bed to determine the source of the scream. He paused at the pile of clothes on the floor to pick up and put on a t-shirt and pair of shorts. What he found in the next room was his younger brother in frantic activity centered around a video game console.
“What’s going on out here?” Karl asked lethargically.
Karl’s younger brother Todd, who was the classic hyper-active spazz of a 13 year old brother, never looked up.
“My Xbox360 froze! It froze!” Todd was nearly screaming in hysterics, “I was just about to go in the room where the guy is to get the bomb so I could go find the guy with the thing and blow it up and…”
“It’s not your Xbox…” Karl started, but he didn’t really have the energy to argue semantics.
“Yeah, yeah,” Todd said, “has it ever done this to you before? I mean it was just fine last night and it worked all morning…”
“Isn’t it a bit early for all this?” Karl interrupted, knowing that it would be minutes before Todd quit talking of his own accord.
Todd looked at Karl for the first time.
“It’s already 8:30, Ice.”
When Karl was fourteen he had decided that he hated his name. Carl Weathers was the only cool person he could think of that shared his name. And Carl Weathers hadn’t been cool for a long time. So, using the poor decision-making skills that are typical in the average fourteen year old, Karl declared that he wanted everyone to call him ‘Ice’. What could be cooler than Ice, after all? It didn’t take Karl long to realize his mistake, but the damage was done. Three years later, everyone still called him Ice, and always with the gleam in their eye that he saw in Todd’s eye that particular Sunday morning. Some days the name would be enough to make Karl seek retribution physically against his brother, but his mind had not quite wholly returned from the land of the rain soldiers and the moment passed.
Karl and Todd lived with their parents in the suburbs in a small ranch-style house that looked exactly like every other house in their neighborhood. It was the sort of neighborhood where almost everyone took pride in the maintenance of their house and yard because that was the only way to differentiate between them. The day their father installed a small fountain in the front yard, below the picture window in the living room, was a controversial day in the neighborhood. Their father was so proud, but many in the neighborhood thought it was ostentatious. Their father knew that they were all just jealous.
There were a few houses in the neighborhood, however, that didn’t take care of their house or lawn at all. These were the houses that were discussed the most by the neighborhood gossips. Rumors would spread through the neighborhood about criminal activity that would go on at these houses and occasionally law enforcement would show up to prove a rumor or two to be true.
Karl and Todd’s house backed up to one of the run-down houses. Their father complained bitterly and almost non-stop about the house and its perpetual state of disrepair. Several months before that Sunday morning there had been a small fire at the house. When the fire department arrived, they found that a multitude of criminal activity had been going on in the house and the occupants had been led away by the police shortly thereafter. The house had been vacant from then until a moving van had shown up on Saturday.
Karl’s father was convinced that a new passel of rogues would be moving in and he was already in full complaint mode.
Internet addiction of the month
Mainly because I was tired of there being no new posts, but also because I have become obsessed with this and I want you all to get sucked in, as well, I give you Word Sandwich.
Luckily that site is blocked at work or I would have lost my job by now.
Enjoy, fuckers.
Luckily that site is blocked at work or I would have lost my job by now.
Enjoy, fuckers.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Kids Say the Craziest Fuckin' Shit
My four-year old daughter was watching Emeril cook something on the Food Network while I worked on my laptop. It had been completely silent in the room for at least 5 minutes. Out of the silence came this conversation:
"Daddy?"
"Yeah Honey?"
"Can Santa see my pee-pee?"
Apparently she's reading The Onion already.
(http://store.theonion.com/holiday-card-set-ho-ho-ho-i-saw-you-masturbating-p-148.html)
"Daddy?"
"Yeah Honey?"
"Can Santa see my pee-pee?"
Apparently she's reading The Onion already.
(http://store.theonion.com/holiday-card-set-ho-ho-ho-i-saw-you-masturbating-p-148.html)
Saturday, December 1, 2007
You know who you are!
I have a friend who toils for Warren Buffett. Ten years ago he accepted a sales position for Geico Insurance for $10/hour. Today he makes $15. In the mean time Warren Buffett kept amassing great sums totaling today up to $52 Billion. My friend is happy to toil away for his pittance. He has no ambition beyond a fridge full of beer and a pack full of Marlboros (I did just learn that he has an iPhone!). He is a political conservative. He has no white guilt. He listens to Rush Limbaugh et. Al and believes them. He thinks that poor people are lazy not realizing how hard he has worked to become one of them. Meanwhile Warren Buffett publicly, and uncharacteristically gave away most of his fortune to the Gates foundation. Buffett Reaizes his responsibility in this trickle up economy. The top 1% of rich people in this world can use their spare change to end disease, hunger and poverty in this world. If the rest of the 99% of us did so, it wouldn’t even scratch the surface.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)