8:20PM - Phillies manager Charlie Manuel is awfully fat and old looking. I'm worried he's going to hurt himself while jogging out from the dugout during team introductions.
8:21PM - I'm holding my breath. Run Charlie, run! Only 75 feet or so to go.
8:26PM - Charlie made it out to the infield safely. I can breathe easily.
8:28PM - Holy shit!!!!! Backstreet Boys singing the National Anthem. I thought those guys were dead!!
8:30PM - This is a pretty weird rendition. Harmony is good, voices are smooth and silky. But the rhythm is all off. These guys must be Communists. Like Barack Obama.
8:32PM - Game's about to start. The Phillies better win or I'm going to write something terrible about the Tampa Bay Rays' wives and mothers.
8:34PM - I need to do laundry tomorrow. Just thought I'd write it down before I forget.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
2008 World Series Game 1 - Pre-Game Live Blogging
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Recent Polling Suggests I Have Zero Chance of Winning the Election
Here are some more details:
Population Size: 5
Marjin of Errur: +/- 100%
Results: 0% of respondents will be voting for The Mill on November 4th.
Methodology: I asked one of my neighbors, the mailman, some guy at the pizza joint, a man begging for change outside the local bodega, and myself if anyone would be voting for The Mill on November 4th - for President, U.S. Senator, Congressperson, State Attorney General, Local City Council Rep., Sergeant-at-Arms of the local Freemasons chapter - anything.
More specifically - and for full disclosure - here are the polling questions that were asked of one or more of the polled individuals:
- Hi, I'm a volunteer with The Mill's Presidential campaign. Will you be voting for The Mill on November 4th?
- That's a cool watch, where did you get it?
- Did you just spit on me?
- I'll have a slice of plain and a slice of pepperoni. (Not really a question, I know. But I do recall saying this to someone during the poll.)
- What is your annual household income?
- Why is that none of my business?
- I don't know, who the hell do you think YOU are?
- What? Maybe you should ask your Mom.
- Do you want a piece of this, asshole?
- Is that a real knife?
- Officer, can I press charges?
- Is the ambulance on its way?
Monday, October 20, 2008
A Poem for Palin
Ladies love many things in this world – chocolate, babies, puppies, and diamonds come to mind immediately.
But perhaps more than anything else, ladies love poetry. And recognizing this indisputable fact, I decided to write a poem for Alaska Governor Sarah Palin - as the McCain-Palin team hurtles towards irrelevance. I figured she may need something to cheer her up in the weeks and months ahead, especially during those long Alaskan winters.
Sarah's Smile:
Oh Sarah, your smile shines so bright like the snow.
Track, Trig, Bristol, Piper, and Willow.
Those are your kids’ names, a sense of humor you have.
During research for this poem, I learned a baby moose is a calf.
Evolution is bad, but abortions are worse.
I think you once said that Russia’s a curse.
You’re referring to Putin, and not Russia itself.
Please tell John McCain, “Leave those nukes on the shelf.”
This point though is moot, you two likely will lose.
Recent polls show 80% of Americans love your shoes.
That’s a really great thing, you should be very proud.
Nice shoes, pretty hair, and folksy words draw a crowd.
But it’s time to look forward to twenty-sixteen.
In the meantime stay friendly, not crotchety and mean.
Like McCain that old hero, gunning for President for years.
I can see why he’s mad, he should drink many beers.
And whiskey as well, to drown out the sorrow.
For your votes he will steal, lie, beg or borrow.
So will that other guy, Barack something or other.
John McCain still has to report to his mother.
She’s a hundred and ten, or something crazy like that.
The oldest known lady to wear a Budweiser hat.
Given to her by Cindy, who’s the calmest of calm.
I’ve never seen her blink, and I’ve never seen her Mom.
But who cares about that, Sarah? ‘Cause this poem’s all for you.
And sweet Todd’s in the kitchen, preparing moose stew.
So even if you lose, you’ll still be fed and full.
Doggone it, shucks, Joe Six-pack, wolf hunting and home school.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Phillies Phorever
Check it out. Just two short weeks ago I congratulated my hometown Phillies for making it into the playoffs. For details, see here.
And if you don't feel like reading this previous post of mine, let me just say that I predicted the Phillies would win it all this year. And at that point, the odds of them winning were a staggering 6 to 1. Or thereabouts - maybe a little higher when you consider the fact that the Cubs will never win, and the Red Sox have to deal with the Curse of Manny the Asshole.
Clearly, I am an oracle.
My powers of precognition far exceed those of this lady. But she bakes a much meaner cookie, and has met Keanu Reeves - so I guess we're equally good oracles. They beat the Dodgers last night to clinch a spot in the Fall Classic. And at that point I lost consciousness from pure elation. You won't see me jumping up and down and shouting when my favorite teams win. Quite the contrary. You'll see me lying quietly on the floor, or slumped over in my chair.
All I ask is if you see any blood coming from head or ears, please call for medical assistance. I probably just banged my head on the way down, but better to be safe than sorry.
Anyway, it's quite obvious that the Phillies are destined to win the World Series this year. And when they do, I'm going to do one or all of the following:
1) Upon 3rd out of 9th inning, instantaneously pass out.
2) Immediately hop in my car, race down to Philly and join in the rioting and looting.
3) Sprint into posh Brooklyn Heights, flip over some cars, light some shit on fire, and start my own riot up here in New York.
4) Get a Phillies tattoo. On my forehead.
5) Continue sleeping because I was too tired to stay up and watch the end of the game.
Although I'm certain the Phightin' Phils will win the Series, I'll probably continue to pray to the baseball gods continually - day and night - until they officially wrap it up. In the meantime, feel free to dump a ton of money on the sports books in Vegas - Phillies to win the World Series, straight up. And tell them The Mill sent you.
It's a sure thing - as good as a government-sponsored bailout.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
A Sign of Things to Come?
What does it mean when 3 frozen yogurt stores open within 2 blocks of each other, all within the span of about a month? And what if this occurs, not in some posh, fully yuppified and Starbuck-ified area of New York like Tribeca or SoHo, but in the heart of downtown Brooklyn?
Would you think the End of Days is upon us?
Would you assume we must be pulling out of this nasty recession?
Well, if you haven’t guessed already, this isn’t some hypothetical, LSAT-style scenario. There will be no written essay. Besides, your theory as to why there are 3 frozen yogurt stores along a couple blocks of Court Street near Atlantic Ave. would be as wrong as mine. Or anyone else’s for that matter – except perhaps the owners of said stores. Only they know why this area has suddenly become the primary front in the New York City Fro-Yo Wars.
You might think now would be a great time for me to give you my review of all three fro-yo joints. A taste test. A comparison of the interior designs. A rundown of the employees’ level of malaise.
Well, I’ve only tried one of the stores – the one I’m familiar with from its other New York locations – Red Mango. It’s a great frozen yogurt experience. Even better than Pinkberry, if you can imagine that.
The other two stores along what I’ll dub “Frozen Yogurt Row” are Yogo Monster and Yofiore. And they’re relative unknowns around these parts. Apparently, there are 6 Yofiore outlets in Queens, and several more in surrounding states. There’s another Brooklyn Yogo Monster in Park Slope, and one in Forest Hills, Queens. This is all news to me, but I don’t spend my time scouring frozen yogurt message boards for the latest store openings.
Rather, the story of my discovery is as follows. I was on my way to The Downtown Bar and Grill in Cobble Hill to watch the Eagles game this past weekend. I did a double take as I passed Yofiore. A minute later, I passed Yogo Monster – slowing down to let my brain absorb and digest the information. Then, mere seconds later and about 20 feet further down the block, I saw Red Mango.
My mind just couldn’t wrap itself around all of this fro-yo. I was struck dumb. I may have wet my pants a little bit. I’m pretty sure I blacked out.
Three frozen yogurt stores where there had just been zero?
When I regained consciousness, I stood up, brushed myself off, and looked around. 123, 115, and 32 Court Street. Red Mango, Yogo Monster, Yofiore. The new nexus of the frozen yogurt universe. What does it all mean?
More to follow.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Yet Another Letter to my Fantasy Football QB - Week 6 2008
(I can't help it. I try to keep these letters to my fantasy quarterback somewhat few and far between - only when absolutely necessary to really psyche him up, or tear him down. I can be brutally honest. And once again, something needs to be addressed. Carson Palmer, my disastrous 4th round pick and starting fantasy QB at the beginning of this season, has been struck down by an apparent elbow injury. I need to get to the bottom of this, stat.)
Dear Carson,
I understand your throwing arm is injured. It sounds like it might be hurt pretty bad. Apparently, when you try to throw, it’s like a thousand red-hot serrated daggers piercing your elbow ligament. Otherwise, I’m sure you’d have played this past weekend. Right?
I just wish you’d let me know a little further in advance next time you decide to take a pain-induced holiday – a sick day from football, if you will. You forced me to start JaMarcus Russell of the Oakland Raiders at QB. He was JaMiserable. 150 yards with no touchdowns, one interception, and one fumble lost. I think you could have done better than him had you thrown with your other hand.
Anyway, it’s really just a shame that you decided at the last minute to sit out. All I’m saying is, if my elbow hurt when I threw a football, you’d still see me at the office. And if I didn’t show up, I’d give at least a week’s notice. “Hey boss, I plan to not be feeling well enough to work a week from today.” Something like that.
I’m sure your elbow really hurts. And I’m also sure you use that elbow to propel the football at many miles per hour toward your intended target during your NFL games. See, I understand these things. I know what it’s like to be a football player. Carson, I know how to fix your elbow – just like John McCain knows how to fix our economy. Send me the MRI.
Here’s my advice. Maybe you could let up on the velocity a bit, and just throw a bunch of soft touchdown passes to Chad Ocho Cinco? That would help our team out the most, because I’d get fantasy points for Chad’s touchdown catches, and for your touchdown throws.
Think about it.
Of course, as I began writing this, I saw that you weren’t even in uniform on the sidelines, and that some Harvard kid is starting in your place. This is, perhaps, the most disturbing development of all. You let some snot-nosed. Ivy League, elitist douche bag start haead of you? Against the mighty Jets of New York? I bet Harvard was your safety school.
It’s an outrage. I don’t care if you had to underhand soft-toss that ball to an offensive lineman on every pass play. You should have been in that game. Shoot your elbow up with novacaine and get out there next week, for God’s sake.
Don’t keep me guessing as to your elbow’s condition for next week’s game. Give it to me straight, and give it to me soon, Carson. I can and I will deliver that novacaine to your doorstep, but it may take me a little while to get there.
As always.
Hoping you’re not too terribly injured to play.
And that you can suck it up and sling that ball like a cowboy next week.
Your fantasy football manager and freelance medical advisor,
- The Mill
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Halloween 2008 - What to Wear?
Year after year, I seem to find myself in the same position. Mid-October, the end of the month hurtling towards me like a meteor. And guess what? I’ve got no idea what I’m going to wear for Halloween.
It’s a real nightmare.
This year is no different. In the recent past I’ve come up with some fantastic ideas, if I do say so myself. The costumes were timely, generally tasteful, and flawlessly executed.
Along with my Halloween partner in crime, Greg, we’ve been Venus and Serena Williams (I was Serena, obviously). We’ve done the Ambiguously Gay Duo. And we teamed up as the communist trio - along with our friend Dan - as Fidel Castro, Che Guevarra, and yours truly as Kim Jong-Il.
I’ve also dressed up as Matlock - the lovable, elderly TV lawyer; a kissing booth - complete with coin slot; and The Flash - aka, the fastest man alive, and a great excuse to wear a pair of red tights. And then there was my Borat costume – 2 years before the movie came out. I am a true trailblazer. And a maverick.
A few others that have worked out well: The Incredible Hulk. A dog. A magician. A bearded lady. Although truth be told, I dressed up as a bearded lady a few weeks BEFORE Halloween. That’s a story for another time, perhaps.
Immediately recognizable, and totally entertaining for everyone involved.
So in the past, I’ve been able to pull something together within the final days and weeks before Halloween. But this year, I’m just not sure.
To give you some sense of my troubles and frustration, I think my best idea so far is a naughty Catholic schoolgirl. I’m a size 12 or 14, which would be one awfully big schoolgirl.
I'll need to work out 15 times a day to have any hope of squeezing my fat ass into this sexy outfit.
Jaimi and I also discussed dressing up as McCain and Palin. I guess she would be Sarah Palin. But I have a couple reservations. First, won’t there be like hundreds of Sarah Palins walking around that night? And secondly, how the fuck do I get my hair to look like McCain’s? He’s not just bald, and he’s not just gray. He has a terrible Biden-like combover. How do you simulate McCain Hair accurately, without spending hundreds of dollars for a professional job?
It’s true that I have 3 weeks to come up with something. Many of my previous costumes were thrown together at the last minute - so if I have an idea by, let’s say, 6pm on Halloween, then we’re still good.
Any ideas? If I end up wearing something you suggest I promise to take pictures and post them on the site. So maybe this should just be called the “What Do You Want to See The Mill Wear?” competition.
Provocative. Seductive. Humorous. Regal. Athletic. Revealing. Fabulous. Anything goes.
Your help in making this Halloween the best one ever is much appreciated.
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
"The Grapes of Wrath" - Required Reading for Troubled Times
With the stock market dropping about 500 points each day, it won’t be long before the only entertainment any of us will be able to afford is a good book. Yes indeed - those lame, papery, non-glossy, word-filled things that you used to flip through in high school. And maybe college, if you were some sort of liberal arts major.
In any case, it’s very likely that one of the last books you picked up – way back in high school - was “The Grapes of Wrath” by John “Becks” Steinbeck.
How appropriate for today’s time – a story about life during the Great Depression.
And it was with this in mind – and also, so I could write this post – that I picked up “The Grapes of Wrath,” and gave it a good read.
If you don’t remember one of the greatest American novels ever written, the story focuses on the Joad family from Oklahoma. The eldest son, Tom Joad, recently released from prison, serves as the story’s main protagonist.
The family’s land has been taken back by the bank, and with no work to be found in their home state, they decide to head to California. The book chronicles their journey. Not to give away too much, but all the feeble grandparents die along the way.
I mean, I really read the shit out of that book. It never knew what hit it.
But Steinbeck hit me flat in the face with his richness of advice and multitude of smart tips about scraping by - and also where to find work during a severe economic downturn.
It all rings true today - except for maybe the need to crank your car by hand, any mention of President Roosevelt, and the book’s position that bacon grease is a healthy food.
Otherwise, this work of literature is timeless.
Here’s what I learned.
1) If you don’t have a job, prison is great because they feed you and put a roof over your head. So go ahead and kill a guy in the heat of passion, and do your 5-7 years while this whole economic crisis blows over. You’ll probably get used to all the rape and jail yard shankings.
2) Don’t take your elderly grandparents on cross country trips with no food and little water - especially when you have to drive your rickety truck across the Arizona desert, and the grandparents are sitting in the truck bed under a pile of the family’s belongings. They might die. It’s not good for the grandparents, and it’s emotionally damaging to the grandchildren.
3) If you need work, head west. California’s a mighty big place, and there’s bound to be something you can get paid to do out there. The Joads stuck mostly to peach and cotton picking, with a little ditch digging thrown in for variety. Comparable California jobs nowadays would be a low-level production assistant at a Hollywood studio, or a software engineer in Silicon Valley.
4) Rent is crazy, even in California. Find an abandoned railroad boxcar to live in. These boxcars are sturdy, dry, dark, and dingy. But they’d also be a cool place to throw a rave – at which you could charge admission and sell ecstasy to partygoers. Business idea!
5) Don’t punch a cop even if he shoots at you. This sent Tom Joad back on the run soon after they reached California. He was breaking parole by leaving Oklahoma in the first place, so any questionable interaction with law enforcement could have meant a trip back to prison for young Tommy. Don’t let this happen to you. It’s perfectly fine to break parole, but just make sure you hide from any police, like a mouse hiding from a housemaid.
6) Save your money while you still can. The Joads had, like, twenty bucks to live off of during their journey west. If they had saved up even 50 or 60 grand, they could have lived comfortably for months, through even the toughest economic downturn. But no, they had barely enough to buy corn meal. Don’t make the same mistake. Forget about buying that new Mercedes. Downsize to a 42-inch plasma. Go out for sushi less than 4 times a week. The money you’ll save could come in handy when you get laid off from Morgan Stanley.
Depending on how the stock market does today, I may need to flip through “The Grapes of Wrath” once again, in order to glean some more tips for you, my loyal readers.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
VP Debate Recap and Analysis
Joe Biden did not say “fuck.” Sarah Palin did not breast feed her baby while on stage.
All in all, the event was a success for both candidates.
I offered both the good Governor and the slick Senator a few words of advice in last week’s posts, here and here. Generally speaking, they followed my recommendations rather closely. Palin did end most of her sentences with the word “also,” even though I had warned her not to do this. It’s poor sentence construction, and sounds too hockey mom-ish for my tastes.
Joe Six-pack might approve, but The Mill is a twelve-pack or mini-keg kind of guy. That means I expect more than the average voter.
The winks were a nice touch, but kind of creepy.
Despite my disapproval of her grammatical negligence, Sarah Palin celebrated her relatively strong debate performance with her family and close advisors – at the local Dairy Queen. She ordered a Wonder Bread Blizzard, which had to be specially prepared for this maverick from Alaska.
As for Fightin’ Joe Biden, he seemed to leave the anger and fury at home or in the hotel room. Rumor has it that Biden really tore up the St. Louis pub scene on Thursday night – drinking his way through about 15 college bars. He lost his shirt at bar # 7, his shoes at # 11, and his final drop of inhibition at bar # 14: The Man Hole.
The rest of the night is a total blur, according to campaign staffers – Biden forced everyone in his entourage to throw back shot after shot.
Biden is still missing.
The VP debate met many of my expectations - 90 minutes long, live audience, questions asked and answered in English - but also left something of a gaping abyss deep within my soul. This wasn't a debate so much as a 1.5 hour commercial for each campaign. Palin didn't even answer half the questions, for God's sake. And Biden stood there smiling like a Crest spokesmodel - with bad hair.
Where was the direct confrontation? The challenging of one another's policies and opinions? The name calling? The tears?
And we don't even get to see a rematch. The more I think about it, the more of a monumental disappointment this was in terms of pure entertainment value.
The American people wanted a circus sideshow, and the VP candidates gave us a high school physics lecture.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
The Phillies Are My Phavorite
The Wall Street meltdown/bailout, Presidential election, Hurricane Ike, war in Iraq, iPhone vs. Google phone, Tom Brady's knee, North Korea acting uppity again, impending recession/depression.
This isn't a verse from a Billy Joel song. No, it's all going on right now.
And all of these calamities have almost made me forget that my phavorite baseball team is in the playoffs: The Philadelphia Phillies. They're playing the mighty Brewers of Milwaukee right now in a best-of-five divisional series.
After that, they'll play the winner of the Dodgers-Cubs series, and then head to the World Series - where they'll mop the floor with either the Red Sox, White Sox, Tampa Bay Rays, or the Angels. It's a foregone conclusion. Mark my words, Red Sox bitches.
Of course, they can't choose their World Series opponent. But they can choose how badly they're going to beat them. You see, the 2008 Philllies are a group of all-powerful man-gods - sort of like Hercules., but with better endorsement deals.
I believe they'll show a bit of mercy, and win the Fall Classic in 6 games. Phillies closer Brad Lidge will likely dial down his fastball from 1,200 mph, to a more hittable 97 mph, and maybe even walk a few batters to make things interesting. First baseman Ryan Howard will only hit a home run with nobody on base. And he won't be using a bat - just his fists and forearms - to hit his mammoth, towering moon shots.
These guys have a strong sense of honor and fairness, after all.
I guess if I were as good as the Phillies, I'd have trouble not crushing my opponents like so many ants. I'd run up the score. I'd embarrass them. Things would get ugly.
Maybe that's why the Phillies keep ignoring my yearly draft eligibility notices. If their management is reading this:
I'll be declaring myself eligible for the 2009 MLB amateur draft. Your consideration is always appreciated. I'd make a kickass utility infielder. Or I could sweep up the bullpen after the games. I'd be honored to be part of your super-sweet organization.
Anyway, I'll be watching my Phightin' Phils as my tear their way through the post season - I'll flip back to CNN during commercial breaks.
They'll make it look easy, because it is for them. Mets fans, don't lament. You were beaten by a far superior race of baseball players.
Go Phils!!
