......MYSELF ELIGIBLE FOR THE 2008 NBA DRAFT.
For all of you NBA scouts reading this blog - I know you're out there - I promise to sign with any team who chooses me. I won't pull any crybaby prima donna shit and hold out for a better deal. To that, I swear on my neighbor's eyes. You have my word. And you can have his eyes.
So with a little less than 3 months before the actual draft, I thought this would be a great time to give you (the NBA scouts reading this) some of my credentials - the stuff listed on the back of my basketball trading card, if you will.
- I'm six feet tall, about 180 pounds. I have pretty well-defined arches, and can run 5 miles in less than 45 minutes.
Got your attention yet?
- I can do 25 push-ups in a row, and possess a 72-inch wingspan (just a guess).
- I also own a 14-inch vertical leap.
Piqued your interest?
- Not only do I have slightly above-average endurance, but I'm physically stronger than most children - and by children, I mean those under 10 years of age.
- Now that I've got your undivided curiosity, I should also mention that I have four full years of college basketball eligibility remaining - so my legs are still fresh. Incredibly fresh.
- I'm also quite neat, and would keep the area around my locker very clean and tidy.
- I shower quickly, and would thus not be a burden on the local water system of my NBA team.
- I know how to juggle, and would be happy to teach my teammates in order to keep the mood in the clubhouse happy and lighthearted.
- I'm also pretty good at science and math, so I could tutor the coaches' kids, and help them with homework during off days.
- I will happily accept the NBA minimum salary of $442,114 for the 2008-09 season. I will seriously consider a 1 year contract, with no signing bonus.
- I have a very small carbon footprint. Just like the Toyota Prius, you can feel good about buying me because I'll do less damage to the environment than many other humans.
- I have a ridiculous baseline jumpshot.
- When it comes to fighting for rebounds in the paint, I'm nothing but a flurry of elbows.
- And finally, I can bring my own sneakers.
I honestly think the Knicks could use me at Shooting Guard, or Power Forward. But I would also play for the Sixers, Nets, Celtics, Wizards, Hornets, Heat, or any other team in the NBA.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
......MYSELF ELIGIBLE FOR THE 2008 NBA DRAFT.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Some people dream of saving the world, or of curing a deadly disease.
Others imagine themselves pitching a no-hitter in the 7th game of the World Series, or tossing a last-second Hail Mary on 4th down to win the Super Bowl.
And some envision themselves as President of the United States, leading our military in the war on global warming, and enacting tax credits and other incentives to decrease terrorism. Or vice versa.
As for myself, I don’t have any plans that are - arguably - as grand as those listed above. But I do have my own special hopes and dreams.
1) Win the lottery
2) Open a microbrewery
One doesn’t necessarily lead to the other, mind you. For example, if I were to win the lottery, there’s a very good chance that I’d blow all the dough on stupid shit like jet skis, private planes, trips to Vegas, expensive booze, purebred dogs, Ferraris, Porsches, bling, and health insurance.
So there’d be nothing left with which to build a beer business.
Also, I suppose it may be possible for me to open a microbrewery without winning the lottery. But I haven’t quite figured out how that would work.
Where there’s a will there’s a way – as Jerry Falwell and other reverendy guys always say.
And just like Falwell and his fellow fundamentalists, before I start making plans for any microbrew, I need to ask myself – “WHAT WOULD JESUS BREW?”
Jesus would probably brew the most delicious beer in the history of beer-making. It would be hoppy (but not too hoppy), slightly fruity, and have a hint of malt, with a beautiful amber color. The alcohol content would be right around 5%, so you could have a few during the game and then drive home, no problem. Jesus thinks of everything.
But I am not Jesus. That’s for certain. I don’t have nearly as much confidence in my own beer-making abilities.
Despite not being good at making it, I love beer – and not because it makes people fat, drunk, and more stupider. Rather, I love it because of its amazing variety of styles, flavors, and subtleties. The available assortment is astounding.
I could drink a different beer every day for the rest of my life, and not come close to tasting all the different ones out there. Hell, I could probably have six beers every single day and not try them all. And no, I’m not challenging you to test this assertion. Although if you do attempt to taste every beer known to man, please tell me about some of your favorites.
What would I name my microbrew?
- The Mill’s Microbrewery?
- 0% Urine Guaranteed?
- Mill’s Magnificent Malted Barley Brew?
What do you think?
Well you see, that’s the great thing about owning a microbrewery. You can make as many different kinds of beer as you like. And name them whatever you like, so long as you’re not violating anyone’s trademark or copyright - and as long as the bottles contain mostly beer.
The basic idea is that you agree to meet a total stranger, without knowing anything about them, in a bar or other public locale within your city. And obviously, you don't get to see a picture of the person before you meet them.
The main problem is, the service is open to anyone with an internet connection.
This site could be a nice, fun idea - or a terrible, disastrous, frightful, potentially murderous idea.
At best, it's a service by which friendly people - who are bored and a little lonely - get to meet new friends and playmates in their home city.
At worst, it's a nightmare waiting to happen for thousands of innocent, lonely, friendly people - as they're taken advantage of by the predators and madmen/women whom we know are trolling the internet on a daily basis for just this type of opportunity.
That being said, if you already have one of these dates planned, or are hoping to use the service in the near future, I'm sure you'll be fine. Probably. At least a 50% chance of being fine. Or thereabouts.
Anyway, all I can do is offer some advice to help keep my fellow internet surfers safe.
If you go on one of these Crazy Blind Dates, bring a taser just in case. And make sure the date takes place in a well-lit area within 100 meters of a hospital, police station, and taser store (in case your current taser runs out of batteries).
To be honest, the most likely outcome is that the date will be perfectly safe, but he/she won't look nearly as good as you had hoped.
If that's the case, no need to taser your date. Just politely extricate yourself from the situation by claiming you have to go home and clean your hairdryer, or you forgot to leave the oven on, or you need to watch the "Mama's Family" marathon on TBS. Those are all great excuses.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
That would be annoying, right?
On March 2, 2008, the New York City MTA enacted fare hikes, which led to a good deal of frustration amongst the commuting public. One of the major changes was a decrease in the automatic bonus added to any MetroCard purchase over $7.00.
This is old news, obviously. But for those of you who aren’t familiar with New York City transit, a ride on either a bus or subway costs $2. So under the old bonus system, if you bought a $10 MetroCard, you’d get a 20% bonus and have a total of $12 on your card. That would get you 6 rides. Nice and even. Or, buy a $20 card, and get a $4 bonus. That’s good for 12 rides. Totally sweet.
Now, if you buy a $10 card, you’re left with $1.50 after 5 rides. And you can’t take that 6th ride unless you refill the card. Along the same lines, the $20 card will now leave you $1 left over.
This is where things get a little tricky.
First off, I was so used to tossing my old cards after I used that final ride, that I threw out the last one before realizing it had $1.50 left on it. Stupid move on my part.
The second time I had $1.50 left on my card, I thought I’d be smart and add $10.50 to it, so that I’d be back to my old, familiar $12 card.
Wrong again. I got a 15% bonus on the refill as well. Thanks MTA. I now have a $13.58 MetroCard.
What the fuck am I going to do with that extra $1.58?
Complete and total nightmare.
You can see how this could easily spiral out of control.
So, if you’d like to save that last $1 or $1.50 on your card, but don’t want to hold onto the same card for many months and many refills - whether due to superstition, OCD, or similar mental disorder - here’s a quick and easy table of what to add to your card to avoid any remaining balance after the refill, and subsequent mass transit rides.
You’re welcome, fair citizens of New York! Or kind visitors to our magnificent city!
Monday, March 24, 2008
What would you give to have dinner with Obama?
How about none of the above?
I’m not implying in any way, shape, or form, that dinner with Barack Obama wouldn’t be worth one of the numbers above - for most of us, one of the smaller ones. But right now, for a limited time, you can win a chance to dine with Barack “The Change Machine” Obama for any donation to his Presidential Primary campaign. Even five bucks.
Here’s the link:
I find this proposition very exciting. After all, who doesn’t like free dinner. And on top of all that, you get some serious face time with one of the most charmingly approachable, mesmerizingly affable, and bewitchingly adorable gentlemen to ever grace the halls of Congress.
He’s such a vamp.
Seriously though, this guy is way cool. And I bet he’s just as cool in person.
But getting back to the central matter at hand - the free dinner. A few questions come to mind immediately.
- Where do you think he’d take us to eat? Olive Garden? Applebee’s? Please?
- How many beers could I have before the Secret Service cut me off? Six? Twelve?
- What would I wear? Business casual? Power tie/power slacks/power socks combo? Top-hat and jockstrap?
- What would he wear? Capitol Hill Collection suit and tie? Sweatpants and t-shirt? Linen slacks and a blazer, with wife-beater underneath – Don Johnson/Sonny Crockett style?
- And finally, what would we talk about? Politics? March Madness? The new Batman movie?
- Oh, and also, am I allowed to order the surf ‘n turf?
So, admittedly, and as you could’ve guessed from my enthusiasm, I already entered the contest. I made certain that the donation was small enough to ensure a relatively solid return on investment. Even if I don’t win, I can still enjoy some amount of residual excitement during this upcoming week.
And at the very, very absolute least, I bought myself a reasonably timely blog topic.
Of course if I win, I’ll be sure to tell you all about it - and thus, will have bought myself two blog topics.
In other words, I can’t lose. And neither can Barack Obama.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Perhaps you've been to a German wedding before. I've never attended one, so I can't say for sure how typical of a scene this is. Anyway, the big finale of this wedding singer's act is truly astounding, if entirely accidental, and incredibly dangerous. Oh, and also potentially fatal. And probably pretty scary, and doubtlessly quite painful. Enjoy
Jaimi and I went to the Knicks game on Friday night.
We had really sweet seats right near the Knicks’ bench – thank you anonymous season ticket holder!! So close, in fact, that it would have been incredibly easy to storm the court, put little point guard Nate Robinson in my pocket, and run out of there.
Also, I could have gotten Malik Rose’s autograph on my forehead or chest. I’m kicking myself right now for passing that up.
For me, the evening was filled with complex feelings. For one thing, please don’t mistake me for a Knicks fan. I’m a Sixers fan through and through. But on the other hand, I found myself caught up in the home crowd’s enthusiasm.
At the same time, I really hate Isiah Thomas for what he’s done to this poor team. And then, on what I guess would be the fourth hand, maybe the Knicks just suck, plain and simple.
So you can see how these oscillating emotions could leave one totally exhausted – after about 5 minutes.
It was at this point that we got up and headed for the food court.
I never expect very much in the way of food at these kinds of venues. It’s best to have incredibly low expectations ($25 sawdust on a hot dog roll, $15 Dixie cup of brown tap water) and then end up pleasantly surprised when you bite into that perfectly boiled $8 Hebrew National.
As it turned out, I went the healthy route and ordered a constipatingly dry chicken sandwich and a Diet Coke. Jaimi had the chicken fingers, which were delicious.
Total cost – about $20. Not bad at all for dinner at The Garden.
The game itself was exciting at times, although the Knicks were already down by 19 points at halftime. They made a valiant run in the 3rd period, and tied the score. But, it didn’t last long. The mighty Memphis Grizzlies (3rd worst team in the entire NBA) roared back, and won by a comfortable 14-point margin.
In case you were wondering, yes we actually stayed to see most of the game. And yes, the halftime show turned out to be the best part.
Krystal Niu, aka “The Red Panda Acrobat,” amazed and delighted with a unicycle-riding, bowl-flipping extravaganza. It really was pretty amazing. I’m not being facetious. Seriously, this isn’t sarcasm right here. She rode around on a 7-foot high unicycle, balancing a huge stack of bowls on her head. In order to get the bowls up there, she’d balance a number of them on her foot, kick them into the air, and catch them on her noggin.
Maybe you had to be there.
Anyway, if you’re thinking about heading to Madison Square Garden to see the Knicks, you should do a couple things before buying those tickets:
1) Re-evaluate your life – do you really want to see the Knicks in the first place? If so, why? How long have you been off your medication?
2) Check the halftime show schedule, and only go to the game if The Red Panda Acrobat is performing. She’s WAY better than dogs catching Frisbees, or ANY high school marching band on the planet.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Now, I fully realize that anyone entering a Google search for "MARCH MADNESS" won't reach my site until the one millionth page of results, or thereabouts.
Statistical research has shown that during MARCH MADNESS, all workers at all companies are much less productive. Some of this is due to the fact that people are busy watching basketball games during the day, instead of doing work. Also, some people are just really lazy, and use the aforementioned statistical research as an excuse to do even less work than they'd do normally.
Perhaps a more accurate analysis of this phenomenon would be to say that performing research into the loss of productivity during MARCH MADNESS leads to a loss of productivity during MARCH MADNESS.
It reminds me a bit of a favorite old adage: "If a bear shits in the woods, does it make a sound?" or, "If you see a bear shitting in the woods, do NOT disturb him."
In any case, my point is that this whole MARCH MADNESS loss of productivity crap is self-fulfilling. And I might as well try to take advantage of that. Hence, the idea of this post.
If everyone's busy on the internet right now watching basketball, and Googling MARCH MADNESS-related terms, then I should be able to harvest some of that web traffic, and direct it towards this site.
Of course, whatever MARCH MADNESS terms someone may be searching for, they will invariably be disappointed by the severe lack of college basketball-related content on this website.
So to those of you who have ended up here from a Google search, I apologize. But the good news is, you can now waste time reading this post instead of reading about NCAA basketball's MARCH MADNESS tournament - going on right now on CBS.
Ideally, I'll figure out some unique terms that are related to MARCH MADNESS, and get a few more visitors to my site via their Google searches. That's all I'm really after - more cyber-friends. Real friends are too high maintenance. You actually have to talk to them and stuff.
Using a special algorithm (created by myself in my own mind, just this minute) I will combine popular search terms with MARCH MADNESS-related terms - and see if it leads to an increase in traffic. So here goes nothin':
"MARCH MADNESS HILLARY CLINTON"
"NCAA BASKETBALL - IS IT IN YOU?"
"BEAR STEARNS BRACKET POOL"
"BRITNEY MADNESS PARIS HILTON COLLEGE ATHLETES"
"WINEHOUSE CRACK HOUSE MARCH BASKETBALL"
"BILL RICHARDSON ENDORSES BARACK OBAMA MARCH MADNESS BASKETBALL BRACKETS"
"DUKE COACH K BRAD AND ANGELINA ADOPT COLLEGE BASKETBALL PLAYERS"
"BIG EAST GEORGETOWN EMPEROR'S VIP CLUB"
"NASCAR FREE IPOD NCAA TOURNAMENT"
Now all I have to do is sit back and wait for the extra visitors.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
(From my weekly column at The Love Of Sports. I invent - and then examine through a rose-colored lens - an entirely new way of looking at fantasy baseball trades. Please try to enjoy.)
Last year, right around this time, I suggested a new way of looking at fantasy baseball trades. To tell the truth, I propose the same basic idea to my fantasy league each and every year - to no avail.
Now, with a slightly larger audience than the 11 other guys in my league, I’ll throw it at the wall again and see if anything sticks.
What if you could trade real-life goods and services for fantasy baseball players?
Why should we limit our fantasy trades to only include a swap of the imaginary ownership rights of real human beings?
Now, I’m not suggesting we should actually own a fraction of the athletes – although lord knows that’s already been done - but the melding of fantasy and reality is long overdue.
“I’ll give you my watch and Lance Berkman for A-Rod.”
“No way dude, that’s a shitty watch. You give me Lance Berkman's watch, and we might have something to talk about. I was with you when you bought yours in Chinatown last week.”
“Ok. You wanna play hard ball, huh? How about new running shoes, Lance Berkman, a case of beer, and my tennis racket for A-Rod?”
“Done. That’s a totally sweet deal.”
And it’s that simple.
Do you see how we can flawlessly infuse everyday material objects into our fantasy sports negotiations?
There are some lines, however, that we’d be wise not to cross. Here are a couple examples of clear violations of human trafficking and/or prostitution laws (be especially wary if Eliot Spitzer is in your league):
"You give me Johan Santana, I’ll give you my daughter."
"Travis Hafner, Erik Bedard, and Ken Griffey, Jr., for Chipper Jones, Derek Jeter, and sex with your wife."
Also, it’s best to avoid the following scenarios, due to their blatant illegality.
"I’ll give you Albert Pujols and Josh Beckett for Ichiro and 4 ounces of black tar heroin. Or just Pujols for the heroin, straight up, and we can do some right here in my basement."
"You trade me Carlos Beltran and Jose Reyes for Paul Konerko and Orlando Cabrera, and I’ll kill your ex-boyfriend (or current boyfriend, wink-wink) for you."
But with proper knowledge of local, state, and federal laws, and fair negotiating skills, you should be able to stretch your fantasy trading budget further than ever before.
Even if you don’t have much money or jewelry to throw at the other fantasy managers in your league, you may have more to offer than you think.
Can you hold a mop? Are you handy with a shovel? How about a bucket and a chamois?
If you answered yes to any or all of these questions, then you’ve got a great chance to nab a young star like Jimmy Rollins or David Wright.
All you need in order to trade for one of these top guys is a mid-level starting pitcher or an over-the-hill former All-Star, combined with a decent amount of attention to detail and upper body strength.
The hedges could use a proper pruning, after all. My topiary Gene Simmons is looking pretty bad – you can’t even make out his tongue. Anyway, you’ll get Chase Utley and Hanley Ramirez in exchange for Manny Ramirez and 30 hours worth of landscaping.
A couple more examples of quality real-world/fantasy trades:
Magglio Ordonez + 5 car washes + resealing your driveway = Jose Reyes.
Edgar Renteria + 3 months of pool maintenance + 20 hours of babysitting = Miguel Cabrera.
It simply makes sense. And this allows for the most industrious and persistent competitors in your league to do whatever it takes (and I mean WHATEVER it takes) to assemble the best fantasy team possible.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Jaimi and I bought some new furniture this past weekend. Nothing fancy, and just the essentials. We’re not millionaires.
We’re not even McDonald’s Dollar Menu-naires, especially after dropping all that cool cash on a couple sofas, a few chairs, and a dresser.
And when we move into our new place at the end of the month, we still won’t have a dining table or a bed.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – why buy it when you can make it?
I’m sure we’ll find plenty of old newspapers in the basement recycling bin. Just shred ‘em up, and pow! Instant bedding: elementary-school-science-lab-hamster-cage style.
As for the dining table – we may never need to buy one of those. It also seems like the kind of thing that wouldn’t be too difficult to build on your own.
We’ll be living right near the East River, on the edge of Brooklyn Bridge Park. So, not only are there a few trees growing in the park (it would only take one or two of them to build a decent-sized table), but I’m sure plenty of drift wood, or drift “wood,” can be found washed up on the shore.
In fact, I wouldn’t be too terribly surprised to find an entire table amongst the flotsam and jetsam of soda cans, empty Doritos bags, and dead fish.
The truth is, if I had the money, I’d buy a lot more furniture. Including a bed and a dining table. And it would be designer, top-notch, handcrafted shit. No Ikea, or West Elm, or even Pottery Barn.
We would have wall-to-wall Herman Miller, Mies van der Rohe, Eero Saarinen, and Arne Jacobson – just to name a few.
Enter this fantasy apartment of mine, and everywhere you looked, you’d see an icon of modern design.
Step through the doorway, and you’d practically stumble over an Eames Lounge and Ottoman (retail price: $3,500). Take a few steps to your right in order to avoid Mies van der Rohe’s Barcelona Chair ($4,000).
If you kept walking straight ahead, you would smash your shins into the iconic Marshmallow sofa, by George Nelson ($3,000). Believe me, it would hurt more than you’d think.
So, avoid the sofa and continue along the narrow path between Eero Saarinen’s rosewood tulip-based table ($5,700) and a Noguchi Free-form Chaise ($6,000).
Make a quick left at the chaise, but don’t stare at it too long. Its beauty will make you weep.
Finally, take a load off in Arne Jacobson’s Egg Chair ($10,000) – one of the most recognizable pieces in the entire apartment. But don’t sit for long – that chair is worth more than you are!!
Anyway, a boy can dream, can’t he?
While you’re dreaming of fast cars, faster women, and success in your career, I’ll be dreaming of Marcel Breuer’s Wassilly Chair, and the Grande Modele sofa by Le Corbusier - in a comfy do-it-yourself bed of shredded newspaper and pulverized truck tires.
Monday, March 17, 2008
I actually received a response to the ridiculous and obviously fake Craigslist ad I posted yesterday. See yesterday's post for the details.
This completely destroys any faith I had in mankind. Or in this case, womankind - thanks Maureen!!
I used to think we could change our nation and our world. That we had what we needed to to better the future for our children - we just needed to look inside ourselves to discover that force for change.
Why, only yesterday, I was seriously considering voting for Obama. Now I've spent the last several hours (since I received this email response) re-evaluating my life.
Maybe I'll move to Canada.
Anyway, here's the message I received in reference to my fake ad for tutoring:
GRAMMER AND PSELLING TUTER YOU''RE CHILDS (EAST VILLAGE)
** CRAIGSLIST ADVISORY --- AVOID SCAMS BY DEALING LOCALLY
** Avoid: wiring money, cross-border deals, work-at-home
** Beware: cashier checks, money orders, escrow, shipping
** More Info: http://www.craigslist.org
How do I break it to her? How do I let her down gently?
Why would someone respond to my ad? The tutoring service that I'm allegedly offering sounds terrible.
Maureen, my dear songbird - my delicate flower - you need far more help than I could ever offer. You need therapy. You need medication. Hell, you may need a combination of surgery, medication and rehab. I don't know.
All I know is, I can't help.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Craigslist is such a simple idea: Allow the general public to list advertisements for goods and services, with no oversight or editing whatsoever.
If you can imagine it, you can find it on Craigslist.
On Craigslist, you can buy/sell organs – of the internal, human variety.
On Craigslist, you can buy/sell kidnapping services.
On Craigslist, you can buy/sell fully-automatic assault rifles.
Well, maybe there is SOME amount of oversight. It’s somewhat difficult to find any of the items listed above. Trust me, I just checked, and actually there is a list of restricted items including – animal parts, used bedding, and non-packaged food items (HANDFUL OF CHEETOS – 35 CENTS!!! - INCLUDES 2 NAPKINS!!!)
But perhaps the greatest, most liberating thing about Craigslist is that no one will try to tell you where to put your Oxford comma, or replace your “you’re” with “your.”
You can write the most fucked up, grammatically incorrect piece of crap listing, and it will remain on Craigslist for an entire week – as-is.
Case in point: http://newyork.craigslist.org/mnh/lss/608591456.html
This one's too obviously fake (and I should know, because I wrote it), but it just serves to prove my point. For those of you who don't feel like clicking through to the actual site, I've pasted the ad in its entirety below.
GRAMMER AND PSELLING TUTER YOU"RE CHILDS (East Village)PLESE like me now to make you for smarts at read or to write good the English.
I bestest at this. But don't not aks me. Have to ask testemonial, see now:
"Man is good here, will make talks gooder for a child." - William Templeton III, Hoboken.
"He true with good learned. You see why rate tops at list in New York Magazine, on list of best tuters." - Nancy Cohen, Upper East Side.
"My dauhter is need help, and this man learns mine like genius now. What a wonder make him thoughts so smart." - Governor Eliot Spitzer - Albany
So now see with these admires, that I teached to learn all the best, and fastest and cheap.
Gurantee satisfy you.
Anyway, despite the site being riddled with grammatical and spelling errors, I think Craigslist is an invaluable asset, and I'll continue to visit the site whenever a) I need an apartment, or b) I'm looking to buy someone else's used crap.
Alternatively, if you own any used crap that you're looking to sell on the cheap - books, CD's, clothing, mattresses, opened food containers, expired meat, electronics, automobiles, boats, RV's, or anything else - please contact me directly.
I may be interested.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Your leg can’t stop shaking. Your palms are sweaty. Fine sweat beads, like grains of sand, stick to your upper lip. You wipe them away with your sleeve, but they’re back moments later. It’s as though a thousand tiny, leaky spigots are embedded there.
Sound like symptoms of heroin withdrawal? I guess so, but I’ve never been addicted to heroin. What kind of person do you think I am?
But there is a form of withdrawal which I can relate to – that being from one of the most addictive substances on the planet.
Everyone needs it. And everyone wants it, whether they admit it or not. It goes with just about everything: vegetables, fruit, sandwiches, beef, chicken, fish, red wine, white wine, canned wine – breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Why not include candy in that list? Before, I would have balked at the thought. But after actually tasting the Maple-Bacon lollipop from Lollyphile, my life has been changed.
Real bacon. Real lollipop. Real delicious.
Suckable bacon. What could be better?
Admittedly, the lollies are a little smaller than I had hoped (bigger lollipops = more bacon). But the quality of the candy, and the real bacon embedded inside, is outstanding.
These aren’t Bac-os, or similar artificially flavored bacon bits. This is fresh cooked bacon, chopped into small pieces, and surrounded with a mildly maple-flavored clear sugar base.
Even before unwrapping the pop, the bacon aroma hits you in the face like a stiff breeze. Not at all overpowering, but you know right away that this is no ordinary lollipop. The sweet and salty pairing is nice and balanced.
Also, the bacon isn’t greasy at all, and although nutritional information is not available on the packaging, I’d bet that this treat has much less fat and calories than your average piece of chocolate candy, for example.
I’m eating one right now, as I write this. And I’m enjoying it. I ate one yesterday as well, and gave on to my roommate. There’s only one left, and I might give that one to my boss. I guess it speaks to the quality of the candy that I feel a slight sense of sadness in the knowledge that my supply of these bacon pops will so soon be exhausted.
It’s almost too much to bear.
My two complaints – make the pops a little larger., and add more bacon. There’s not quite enough bacon. Too much clear candy. We need to see a few more chunks of the smoky pork stuff floating around in these lollies.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
(Originally appeared at The Love Of Sports as part of my weekly column, this post deals with topics ranging from baseball to illegal immigration, and back again - with underlying themes of ingenuity and the importance of fantasy baseball in today's democratic societies. If you have any interest in sports, freedom, or foreigners, than you should read on below.)
Baseball’s back. And along with baseball, comes – you guessed it - fantasy baseball.
So now’s the perfect time to let you in on a few of my fantasy baseball draft secrets.
The truth is, it’s all about the preparation. Especially when you’re drafting in a keeper league, like mine.
And I’m not talking about simply poring over rankings, and sifting through 2008 player projections for hours upon hours - many weeks and months before draft day. Or memorizing stat lines for every position player over the past 6 years, and calculating your own projections derived from a complex multivariable-calculus-based algorithm.
This data is then uploaded to a server farm in India (via secure satellite transmission), which crunches the numbers and spits out the left-handed second basemen who bat the best against pitchers with more than 4 vowels in their last names – and whose high school mascots were some variety of eagle (bald, golden, screaming, etc.).
Every average fantasy manager does that stuff nowadays.
And I don’t mean traveling to Florida, Arizona, and the Dominican Republic to attend Winter Ball and/or Spring Training games in order to scout the starting position battles, and get a jump on the latest news.
Top fantasy gamers have been doing that for 5 or 6 years now, easy.
If this is all you’ve been doing to prepare for your draft, I’m afraid you need to step up your game, my friends.
In my current league, we’re able to draft minor league players. For example, I drafted Hunter Pence and Jacoby Ellsbury last year before they even played their first game in the majors.
Several years ago, one guy in our league drafted Scott Kazmir…..while he was still a junior in high school. I’m not kidding.
So, if you’re going to keep pace with crazy people like me, or my Kazmir-loving colleague, you need to look at all available avenues.
My suggestions if you REALLY want to win your keeper league?
1) Learn Spanish
2) Book a trip to Cuba (you’ll need to go through Canada, Mexico, or Bermuda).
3) Bring some extra suitcases.
4) Hang around some playgrounds and junior high school ball fields.
5) Evade the Castro regime’s “Policia Secreto.”
6) Take copious notes regarding the 13 year-old with the 102 mph slider and the unorthodox leg kick.
7) Discover the mythical 230-pound, 14 year-old right fielder with a howitzer arm and ability to hit a baseball so hard, it actually vaporizes upon contact with his bat.
8) Marvel at the natural beauty of La Isla Cubana - Make mental note to write congressman about lifting embargoes against Cuba, and allow for free travel to and from the island nation.
9) Gather all relevant personal information on the aforementioned individuals. You’ll need this info on draft day.
10) Find their younger siblings – play catch with them. Maybe hit a few balls around as well.
11) If talented - and small enough - place siblings in extra suitcases.
12) Don’t forget plenty of air holes, and stock suitcases with juice boxes and snacks.
13) Once safely in the USA, send the Cuban youngsters to Prep school and encourage them to play baseball.
14) Wait a few years. Draft. Repeat.
There you have it. You’ll be dominating your keeper league within 10-12 years.
Alternatively, you could follow a similar process in Japan, or Texas. Both of which would be easier on a number of levels - legally, politically, and logistically. But more difficult on several other levels - larger children in Texas = harder to smuggle back to prep school, and Japanese is a really tough language to learn = difficult to convince parents that kids would be better off with you in America, and on your fantasy baseball team, which might be nearly impossible to explain exactly what a fantasy baseball team is in Japanese. They might think you're going to train their children for an "American Idol" spinoff, or something - which could be used as a great cover, come to think of it.
"Hello, Continental Airlines? One ticket to Tokyo please!"
In any case, best of luck in your draft preparations. May you discover the next rookie phenom, and draft him before anyone else even knows his name.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
(Obviously, a current hot topic all over the news. But let's be clear about one thing - Eliot Spitzer spent more money on prostitutes in 9 months than I make in an entire year. Something doesn't seem fair about that, but I'm not sure exactly what. Anyway, I decided to send the former Governor a letter, asking him to explain himself.)
So it looks like you’re in something of a pickle.
You’re out of a job. Fox News is running a non-stop Spitzer mock-a-thon. And pretty much everyone on Wall Street is laughing their asses off.
Walk along the concrete canyons of Lower Manhattan these past two days, and you’re likely to hear numerous and spiteful (and brilliant) Spitzer zingers surging forth from the mouths of the financial community.
That’s right. They’re talking about you when they quote Alanis Morrissette – “Isn’t it ironic?”
However, in your case, there actually is a great deal of irony involved. Those financial behemoths will not soon forget the legal ass-whooping you handed them. You made them your bitch. They paid YOU. Now, it turns out, you’ve been the one paying all along.
I’m sure you can, at the very least, commend your enemies for proper use of the word irony.
But I’m not so sure the irony is what everyone’s really fascinated by.
Sure, you did some illegal stuff. Yes, you were unfaithful to your wife. But $80k spent on nine lousy months of hooker service?!?!?!?
Two or three thousand dollars per hour? One appointment every week or two for nine months? Did I do the math right? Do I really need a calculator for such simple calculations?
What could POSSIBLY be worth 80-large for that amount of time?
Wait Eliot. Don’t answer that. I’ll use my imagination. And let me warn you, this could get pretty wild. But I’m only hoping to gain a better understanding of the value of a dollar. Has it really dropped that much, that fast? Or are you paying for some truly amazing shit?
Are there other things going on behind closed doors, courtesy of The Emperors Club VIP service?
I only hope this letter doesn’t get leaked to the press. Talk about lurid details….
1) The prostitutes were also experienced patent attorneys, and spent much of the time reviewing reams upon reams of documents, and providing legal advice on a wide range of ongoing patent litigation cases. Average billing rate for legal-only services = $900/hr. Legal review plus sex = $1800/hr. Photocopies, reasonable travel expenses, and meals extra.
Ok, that would make sense if you break it down like that. Not such a bad value.
2) The Emperors Club prostitutes were also skilled, licensed plastic surgeons. They performed several procedures during your regularly scheduled appointments. For example: Calf implant procedure = $1500 per leg; Calf implant procedure plus sex = $2400 per leg – or, in different but equivalent terms, $4800 per penis. Also, varicose vein removal = $1100 per leg. Vein removal plus sex = $2000 per leg, or $4000 total.
This is where you really see the power of bulk discounts, Eliot. With all of the prostitutes performing numerous surgeries from Washington, to New York, to London, to Paris, and anywhere in between, everyone gets a screamer of a deal. Also, you get sex thrown in for essentially the price of anesthesia and a few gauze pads.
I defy you to find that kind of a bargain anywhere.
Go ahead, check MySimon.com, or CheapBargainProstitutes.org.
You will NOT find a better deal.
But I’m preaching to the choir here, Eliot.
Obviously, you had some pretty good reasons for risking your political career and family life for what appears to be an incredibly overpriced and illicit service.
So was it worth that much money, whatever it is you actually received? Did each sex session include 5-10 barrels of sweet, Texas crude? Did you get to choose between a Nintendo Wii, Apple iPhone, or Billy Joel tickets - as your parting gift after each visit?
If you don’t offer more details, and clearly outline the value proposition offered by the Emperors Club service, then I’ll be left with no choice but to be very upset with you.
Ball’s in your court, Eliot.
I patiently await your thoughtful response.
Softest, Warmest Regards,
- The Mill"
Monday, March 10, 2008
I couldn't wait to share the news.
Maybe you're already aware.
No, this has nothing to do with Eliot Spitzer's illicit sexcapades.
What you're about to see is much, much tastier. Literally.
The website claims this is the "least Kosher lollipop in the world." For now, that is. (I'm working on a lobster-ham-milk-beef lollipop. In the shape of Jesus on the cross.)
If you haven't figured it out from the name of the web link, it's a maple-flavored lollipop, with chunks of honest-to-goodness smoky, salty, delicious bacon trapped inside. The maple candy serves as a sort of Bacon Bastille - the bacon is just waiting for your saliva to release it from its sugary prison.
Is this some kind of cruel joke? Will I be forced to spend even more time on this god-forsaken planet, without being able to enjoy the undeniable and foreordained union of bacon embedded in pure candy?
I certainly hope not. And if the US Postal Service can get their act together, I should be enjoying these treats within 2-3 business days.
In any event, I hope to receive the bacon lollies soon. And when I do, you can be sure that I'll write a proper review.
Listen, I won't sit here and lie to you. That's not my style. My expectations are sky-high for this product.
After all, we're not talking about simple bacon-flavored candy here. That would be crap. We can already find bacon-flavored jellybeans, all over the internet. And gummy bacon, despite its promising name, is nothing more than strawberry-flavored gummy candy shaped like bacon strips. Again, pure crap.
This product, however, is a miracle of candy-engineering.
Until that package arrives (on Wednesday, fingers crossed), I can only dream of what the experience will be like.
Seeing those bacon chunks confined in a finely-crafted case of translucent, golden candy, only serves to motivate your salivary glands. "Get working!" the bacon calls out, "I don't have all day!"
Go ahead. Lick that bacon to freedom. It will thank you with its savory swine-a-licious-ness.
I'll return to this topic in a few days, God willing, and let you know how it goes.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
It’s March. And that means madness is upon us – in the form of insane, ridiculous, grotesquely exciting college basketball action.
If you’re anything like me, you look forward to participation in the office pool, or March Madness Bracket Challenge. And also, if you’re like me, you feel like you have some sort of magical ability to predict all of the first-round upsets – as if you have a mystical connection to the future, or you’re on a first-name basis with Fate and Destiny.
In other words, come March Madness time, you think you’re a fucking wizard.
Yeah, me too.
The thing is, there’s no way you could accurately predict the outcome of so many of these March Madness games. Final scores often defy any attempt at rational explanation. And to make matters worse, I’ll spend time researching the various match-ups before I make my picks.
Sounds reasonable, right? For example, a team with lousy perimeter defense could have trouble with a team that fires a lot of three-pointers. Makes sense. Maybe that could spell an upset.
Don’t let the logic fool you.
March Madness results have less to do with prior performance, and more to do with team colors, mascots, and physical attractiveness of the cheerleaders, players, and coaches.
Think about it.
Every year in your office pool, someone’s totally ignorant grandmother, who’s never watched a college basketball game in her life (she’s probably afraid of black people, unfortunately) picks the near perfect bracket, and takes home first prize – based upon nothing more than how the head coach combs his hair, or if he has any hair to comb.
Or better yet, another co-worker’s two year old child makes the picks based upon which school’s mascot looks the most like Big Bird, or the Teletubbies. And I’ll be damned if that kid didn’t pick Princeton to beat UCLA in 1996. Or Villanova to win the National Championship back in ’85, barely slipping past mighty Patrick Ewing’s Georgetown Hoyas.
The secret to those picks? The mascots of the winning teams remind kids of cartoon characters.
Bruins and Hoyas? Give me a break. I don't even know what those are, and I'm an adult. How can you expect a kid to know something that an adult doesn't know?
That being said, I’ve always believed the children are our future. Teach them well, and let them make our bracket selections. Show them all the money they can win from sports betting. Give them a sense of pride, to make their picks more easily. And let the children’s laughter remind us how we used to cry ourselves to sleep in the shower after incorrectly picking every single first-round upset on our own.
Anyways, just my two cents.
So this year, things are gonna be different. I won’t be making my picks in the same manner as I have in the past.
There will be no deliberate analysis of this season’s statistics. I will not consider recent performance to be at all indicative of potential tournament performance.
I will not take into consideration injuries to key players. I refuse to factor in strength of schedule.
There will be no need for me to look at tournament seeds.
Rather, I will have Jaimi make all of my picks, based solely upon any or all of the following factors (she will decide the ultimate weighting of these variables):
- Concentration of Starbucks stores on or near campus
- Length of point guard’s sideburns
- Color of mascot’s fur/hair/suit of armor
- The school’s most recent Spring Fling featured band, and the number of years it’s been since they had a hit song (e.g. - The Lemonheads were at my senior year Spring Fling, and even back then it had been 6 years since anyone had heard from them.)
- Who from Jaimi’s high school class went the school, if any
- Average summertime temperature of the school’s main campus
And anything else she feels like considering.
Or, alternatively, none of the above and just pick names out of a hat. That would probably work just as well as anything else.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
(This article of mine originally appeared on The Love Of Sports earlier this week. All I ask is that you don’t confuse me with an actual NASCAR fan. I love cars, don’t get me wrong. And I respect these crazy drivers for flying around an asphalt oval at 200 miles per hour for 4 hours straight. But I really don’t know much about the "sport." And whether you want to call auto racing a sport or not, I don’t really give a shit. I just use the word “sport” for convenience and don’t necessarily confirm nor deny NASCAR’s status as a sport. Let’s just say I abstain from that vote for now.)
They say March comes in like a lion, and out like a lamb.
I have no idea what that means, but the lion reference reminds me of how lions roar. And the roaring of lions reminds me of the roaring of engines. The engine noise reminds me of how difficult it is to sleep when the Hell’s Angels convention is in town. And conventions remind me of the convention center – where the auto show is held. The auto show, in turn, reminds me of cars. And cars remind me of NASCAR, because the word “car” is in the name.
What’s all the hubbub with these hot celebrity drivers anyway? I’d rather focus on the cars themselves. They get so little respect.
After all, they’re literally doing all the hard work – using their powerful engines to propel themselves at speeds of over 200 miles per hour; risking fender and axle, race in and race out; allowing the pit crews to put their hands ALL over their bodies and in every crack and crevice, even though they may not even know the pit members’ names.
Imagine if your co-workers gave you a good, thorough body search every hour or so during your workday.
That’s how these racecars must feel. Humiliating.
Fans spend so much time worshipping guys like Jeff Gordon and Kyle Busch, when it’s their cars they should really be praising.
So, if we’ve accepted the notion that the driver isn’t doing most of the work, then what exactly is it that turns an average car into a perennial winner? Or loser, for that matter.
All of these racing machines are essentially the same size and weight and carry similar engines and other mechanical components. Most of the NASCAR engines vary by less than 10 horsepower. When you’re squeezing 700-800 horsepower out of a chunk of aluminum, a measly 10 ponies won’t make all that much of a difference over the course of a 500-mile race.
What’s the X-factor then?
Answer? The devil is in the decals.
That’s right. The faster the car, the cooler the decals – and vice versa.
Take a random sampling of the current Top 10 drivers and their major sponsors/decal providers:
Kasey Kahne – Budweiser
Kyle Busch – M & M’s/Snickers
Kevin Harvick – Pennzoil
Carl Edwards - Office Depot/Aflac Insurance
All great decals, and each one an advertisement for a top-notch and highly desirable product.
Now take a look at a few drivers from the bottom of the current NASCAR pile-up:
A.J. Allmendinger – Red Bull
Aric Almirola – United States Army
Robby Gordon – Jim Beam
Joe Nemechek – Furniture Row
Basically, these stickers suck. That’s the difference.
Red Bull? Nasty. Try p.i.n.k. vodka instead if you need a boost.
Jim Beam? I prefer Jack Daniels any day of the week.
U.S. Army? I respect these guys, but please don’t try to recruit me during a beautiful Sunday afternoon at the track.
And that’s why guys like Joe Nemechek (Furniture Row) and Kyle Petty (Wells Fargo) don’t have any chance of finishing in the Top 25 this season – unless they swap out their decals.
By studying recent race results, and adjusting for road conditions and weather, I’ve come up with the following calculations:
Budweiser decal = +115 horsepower
M & M’s decal = +77 horsepower
Pennzoil decal = +75 horsepower
Red Bull decal = -30 horsepower
U.S. Army decal = -42 horsepower
Furniture Row decal = -175 horsepower
This is simple math, folks. The stickers are adding or subtracting significant amounts of engine power – by my calculations.
My recommendations to those drivers wallowing in the depths of the NASCAR standings? Better decals.
Try these cool ones on for size:
All guaranteed to add at least 100 horsepower.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
(It’s official. Mike Huckabee’s campaign is down and out. I enjoyed watching him continually pray for more votes. And through it all, and in spite of his supporters and proposed policies, his positive aura and friendly demeanor shined through. I can’t help but like this guy. So I wanted to send him a nice-ish letter to let him know that I think he’s an amiable American gentleman. And I don’t dole out that type of praise willy-nilly.)
Sorry to hear you had to bow out of the race.
I won’t claim to be surprised by this inevitable result - I sure as shit knew you’d exit the primary sooner rather than later. After all, you couldn’t have won the Republican nomination even if McCain had vehemently denounced Jesus, Ronald Reagan, and Strom Thurmond in the same breath – as part of his closing remarks during every single debate and campaign rally.
Be honest with yourself, Huck, just as you’ve been honest with your supporters - and with Jesus, who apparently didn’t support you quite enough to make a difference this time around.
And remember, you’re a very likeable fella, a super churchy guy, and a patriotic American.
I must admit, Huck, that in all seriousness, you seem like a very nice guy.
Let’s go grab a beer and shoot some pool. Or how about beers and bowling? BBQ? Shoot off some fireworks down at the reservoir? I’d be up for just about anything.
Not to rub it in, but the White House would have been the perfect place for us to meet for a frosty brew and a game of darts. Bill Clinton had several night clubs and cabarets installed throughout the Presidential Complex during his 8 years in office - some above ground and open to the atmosphere, and others below ground in nuclear-hardened concrete bunkers with 20 ft. thick walls and their own renewable oxygen supply.
As you may have guessed, the best parties were thrown in these secure, underground lairs - featuring off-the-hook hip-hop, dance and trance, reggae-core, and techno beats, spun by none other than DJ Magic Mike, DJ Shadow, and DJ Senator Tom Daschle.
But enough about the White House’s amazing party facilities.
You’re still a pleasantly charming and prepossessing fine Southern gentleman.
And on top of all that, you have one of the greatest weight loss stories to tell, out of all of this year’s Presidential candidates. Just to put things in perspective, you’ve lost more pounds over the last 5 years than all the other candidates’ shoe sizes combined.
To look at it another way, you’ve dropped far more weight during that span (in kilograms) than the surface area of John McCain’s cheeks, Hillary Clinton’s ankles, and Barack Obama’s teeth combined (in square miles).
Finally, if you really want to view your weight loss through a non-distorting lens, consider that you’ve annihilated more flab over the last half-decade (in troy ounces) than the Straight Talk Express has paid tolls (in dollar coins) during the trip from Newark to Atlantic City, on the Garden State Parkway – there’s like a million toll booths on that damn road.
Huck, not enough regular folks know about your struggle against pie. Your battle with burritos. Your fight for freedom from French fries.
It’s a song that needs to be sung on high. From every purple mountain and across every green pasture.
Sing its praises from the hilltops and from the steeple.
The barnyard and the backyard.
The Physics Research Lab, but not the Stem Cell Research Lab.
The time has come for the people to know:
HUCK, YOU LOST OVER 120 POUNDS!!!
Good work, my friend - and that’s no joke.
Warmest of all possible human regards,
- The Mill"
Posted by The Mill at 11:31 PM
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
......the Guam Democratic Primary on May 8th.
You heard it here first - I've got a man on the ground over there. Apparently, the Guamanians are Obamaniacs.
The Mill also projects Barack Obama wins the 2009 "Crest Brightest Smile Award."
Posted by The Mill at 8:06 PM
Monday, March 03, 2008
Sometimes, a website comes along that is at once fantastic and simplistic. It's simultaneously funny and sad. It commands your attention, and inspires you to spread the good word of its existence.
Consider the offspring if eBay were to have website sex with Wikipedia. Or Daily Puppy mated with Youtube.
The results would be astonishing.
When you'd visit the site, complex emotions, ranging from joy to fear to anger, would all tumble out from your heart and soul, one on top of another - like so many clowns from a Volkswagen.
The following site, however, is just plain funny. You should check it out when you can:
Although I'm not exactly sure why some of these dogs "fail," except for the police dog biting the policeman (that one's obvious), there are a lot of fun pictures here.
Thanks Mr./Ms. FailDog, whoever you are, you goddamn genius!!
Posted by The Mill at 10:30 PM
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Gatorade announced an endorsement deal with Tiger Woods last fall. Finally, the wait is over.
Tiger-flavored Gatorade is now available at your favorite bodega or super market!
Three flavors will eventually be available, although this particular store only had "Quiet Storm" in stock (shown above). Here's my new product review:
The black and white label shows a sort of sepia-toned image of Tiger pumping his fist in victory. I believe this image is the photographic negative of the picture shown below. Gatorade did a nice job of cropping the image so that the shopper is struck by Tiger's energy and emotion.
When you first see the bottle in person, all aglow in the refrigerated display case, it's like a nine-iron to the groin - you're left shocked and breathless for a moment.
I couldn't help thinking, "This Tiger guy's a winner, and maybe, if I drink this product, I will win something as well - and finally be happy."
The murky, purplish-gray liquid is, in fact, a little reminiscent of a quiet storm. It could also be seawater from a particularly algae-rich region of the ocean. Or maybe some sort of industrial run-off. In any case, it’s eye-catching. Again, nice job Gatorade.
The color reminds you of an ominous thunderhead slowly rolling over the horizon on a lazy summer Sunday. The humid air, thick with the heat of July, makes your Tiger Woods Nike golf shirt cling to your chest and back. That’s right, you’re playing golf with your buddies. A passing thunderstorm doesn’t sound like such a bad thing right about now; with it, you know a cooling breeze will follow.
Take a sip of Tiger’s “Quiet Storm” and you can almost feel the first few heavy, cool raindrops plunk off your Tiger Woods Nike golf cap, and roll down your neck. However, walking down the street in Lower Manhattan, I certainly hope that whatever liquid just hit me on the head and neck was indeed water.
The flavor, disappointingly, doesn’t taste at all like Tiger Woods – or how one might imagine any pro golfer would taste. It doesn’t even remind me of golf – metallic, grassy, or sandy. None of these notes are particularly prevalent.
Rather, this particular vintage of Gatorade “Quiet Storm” has a youthful, fruity nose with hints of black cherry, spice, vanilla, sulfur, and eucalyptus. It’s a medium-bodied sports drink with light acidity and good balance. The fruity palate features green apple, peach, and grape flavors, with a touch of gasoline and wet cement. The intense, marine finish comes with a strong alkaline aftertaste of freshly fertilized farmland.
The label describes it as, “A refreshingly focused blend of grape flavors.”
I won’t argue with that description.
I guess I could just as easily describe the taste as “grape-ish.”
In any event, I look forward to more athlete-inspired formulations from Gatorade. And I recommend Gatorade's Tiger Woods "Quiet Storm" flavor.
It quenched my thirst and rehydrated my soul.
Posted by The Mill at 2:40 PM
Saturday, March 01, 2008
This past week’s episode of “Lost” completely blew my mind.
My mind has been blown to smithereens, with figurative bits of the gray, spongy stuff on the ceiling, walls, and my new sweater. Also, there’s a bit of brain on my favorite coffee mug – I was enjoying a hot chocolate as I watched the show.
I really can’t emphasize enough how my brain was liquefied by the intense plotline, and then forced out of my ears by all the mind-bending twists, turns, flashbacks, and flash forwards.
Unfortunately, after the show was over, I can’t say I’m any closer to deciphering the secrets of the island. All I know is that I still have a headache from all the face melting, brain shattering action.
However, I can say for certain that it got me to thinking about time travel – because that’s, arguably, what the entire episode dealt with.
I don’t necessarily believe that we’ll ever build a time machine – and if we do, it won’t be for many, many years (at least 4 or 5).
In any case, if I’m ever sent back in time, it will be either accidentally (trip and fall into a wormhole), or purposefully (as a postal service agent sent back in time to destroy all those “Forever” stamps so that people have to buy the new, $250.00 stamps).
But for now, with no time machines lying around, all I can do is utilize what’s left of my mind to imagine the future – and send a series of possibly prophetic notes to my future self via this website.
“Dear Mill (you legally changed your name from “Scott” in 2016),
It’s you writing to you. The year is 2008, and I’m ready to wow you with some Nostradamus-like predictions.
I’ve always fancied myself a futurist/prophet of sorts. And after you read this, and distribute to a few of the top international media outlets (“ESPN, The 3-D Holographic Retinal Implant,” “Teen People,” “Olsen Twins High Technology Investor’s Business Digest,” and maybe the Republicrat stalwart, “The Newark Metroplex Times”) others around the world will know your name and bow down before you.
By the time you read this, New York City will be underwater. But what might surprise people in 2008, is that we do it on purpose. Nothing to do with global warming – which people continue to ignore for decades, and keep saying they’ll do something about it “next year,” along with finally fixing that leaky faucet, and re-sealing the driveway.
President Arnold Schwarzenegger thought it would be pretty awesome to have a huge underwater city to serve as the largest tourist attraction on the planet.
He’ll be right on that. Underwater New York will be totally kickass.
You see, future-Mill, after all the oil runs out (in 2024), the Middle East will be forced to fall back on another industry in order to support their lavish lifestyles.
Around that time, Dubai gets totally out of control with tourism – an industry they’ve been developing as far back as 2004.
The Dubai-nese - as they prefer to be called, after China buys their entire country in 2009 – decide to build a mountain slightly taller than Everest in the middle of the Arabian sea. The mountain will be completely enclosed in a dome, and covered in snow. Next to this artificial mountain, will be a 15,000 room ski lodge, complete with a hot tub that can accommodate more than 1,000 tired, aching skiers all at once.
You might be thinking that a hot tub filled with 1,000 sweaty humans would not only be incredibly nasty, but also an astoundingly efficient breeding ground for numerous communicable diseases and parasites.
You’d be stone-cold correct on both counts.
The place closes down after 2 years, and 200,000 cases of Gonorrhea.
But during the short lifetime of “Jumbo-Extreme Super-Size Ski Dubai,” a new sort of Cold War begins – the battle to rip-off tourists, in bigger and more creative ways than ever before.
The years between 2024 and 2030 witness a prodigious explosion of development in the tourism industry. “Bigger is ALWAYS better.” That’s their mantra.
Massive luxury resorts the size of Cleveland. Huge man-made islands the size of Kentucky. Wave pools the size of Lake Okeechobee.
It’s ridiculous, but great last-minute travel deals will always be available on Priceline and Expedia - year-round, all across the planet. We’re talking insane deals here, future-Mill.
So enough prognosticating for now. I need to return to the present, and focus on important things like what’s for dinner? And what’s for dessert? And what will I eat tomorrow?
Too many questions, not enough time. I’ll be sure to write back later with some more forecasts of the world to come. You won’t believe how accurate this shit will be.
It will blow your mind. I mean my mind…..I mean….my future mind…..or something.
Whatever. See you later.
- The Mill"
Posted by The Mill at 5:29 PM