October 2003 Archives

So for all both of you who read this blog on a regular basis, you've no doubt noticed that I'm blogging on a more regular basis. I was just looking at the little calendar thingy at the top of this page and realized that I had a two-week empty block that roughly corresponds to the Red Sox-Yankees ALCS and the ensuing period of mourning. And as glad I am that the Yankees lost the World Series - at home, no less - and as disappointed I am that the yahoo Boston fans basically forced Red Sox ownership's hand in letting Grady Little go, I think it's a good sign that I'm blogging more. Y'know, moving on with my life.

Because I've realized over the last week or two just how little time I've spent on the stuff that usually takes up more of my time - taping and converting shows, working on my web site, even watching regular, non-postseason TV. I think my computer was on less than an hour a day this month...and that's saying something. Ok, so it's probably saying something that I shouldn't be admitting to, but oh well...

So yeah. It almost feels like a return to normalcy. Weird.

So around these parts there was a big flap in the news about last night's episode of Law & Order, which dealt with a ficticious night club fire that, of course, was patterned on the tragedy that happened at The Station in Warwick, Rhode Island barely 8 months ago. I guess there was a big question of whether to show it or not in various New England markets, especially Rhode Island, despite the fact that - as far as I know - all television sets sold on the planet possess an "ON/OFF" function.

But what bugs me is the whole "ripped from the headlines" thing. It seems to me that this is just screaming out to the world that their writers can't come up with good ideas and plot lines all by themselves; that they need to hew to real-life stories to be able to hang their episodes on. How is "ripped from the headlines" a good thing? I mean, if I went to the networks and claimed that I had an idea for a show where every episode was a tweaked version of events that happened in real life, they'd laugh me out of the building. (Unless, of course, I was in FOX News headquarters, in which case they'd hire me on the spot. But I digress.)

The other part that confuses me is that despite the fact that they bombard our eyeballs with the fact that everything is "ripped from the headlines" (almost as much as I'm repeating that phrase in this blog entry, come to think of it), they then claim that it's a work of fiction and doesn't represent or depict any particular event or people. That just makes no sense. You can't have it both ways.

On the other hand, it's fun to listen to these ads and talk like the announcer does. My favorite word in announcer-speak has to be "murder" (mmuhrduhrrr). And speaking of announcer-speak, the laugh of the day:

Walking through the grocery store this weekend and I passed through the "seasonal items" aisle. The first thing I did was reel in shock from seeing all the Christmas decorations. It's not even Halloween yet, people! What's the deal with having shit for sale two months in advance? Hell, for all I know, it's fourteen months in advance and they have this stuff up for NEXT Christmas at the rate they're going.

So while idly rolling by the Christmas 2007 decorations, I see a couple of boxed dolls that are labeled as "collectibles". And of course, that got me to thinking. Isn't *everything* collectible? I mean, can't you collect little jars of lip balm? Or ketchup packets? Or dust bunnies? Is there really a need within the doll industry to hit us over the head with the fact that dolls are collectible... and more so than anything else? It's like a store labeling something "purchasable" (purchasible? purchase-able?). Who doesn't realize this?

In reference to my previous blog entry, lemon juice is also a bad thing to be handling when one has a paper cut. The Caesar salad tasted much better, though.

Cantaloupes were not made to be bounced.

If I'm ever on "Inside the Actor's Studio", and James Lipton asks me which job or occupation I would not want to attempt, I would say, whoever has to choose and listen to the music they play in supermarkets.

The new version of "The Practice" pretty much sucks.

Life lesson #78635: If you have recently given yourself a paper cut, it's not the best idea to eat spicy finger food less than 30 minutes later. Paper cut + taco sauce = very bad words.

It all started with staying up until 2:45 on Thursday morning, to have our hearts broken once again by a bad bullpen. As Bill Simmons once quoted his friend in a column, "In honor of the Sox bullpen, I'm gonna go take a leak."

Thursday afternoon, well, more of the same. The best thing I can say about Thursday afternoon is that it was Thursday afternoon, so I actually missed part of what ended up being the most boring game of the series.

And I can live with that only because of what happened the last three nights.

Saturday Viv and I were fortunate enough to get tickets to our first-ever postseason game, thanks to the generosity of my friend Chris and his parents, who own Sox season tickets. They offered the Saturday game to us to ensure that we would actually get to see a game. So the least we could do is cheer as hard as we could to get to a game 4, so that his parents could go to the Sunday game. So to prepare for the game...we drove down to New Jersey and back that morning/afternoon. After a quick stopover at home to change after, oh, eight hours of driving, we hopped back in the car and made the hour-long drive down to Boston. The gigantic mass of humanity outside of the gates almost made us late for the game, but we sat down just as the first pitch was thrown. We weren't in our normal seats - they were taken by the weekday season ticket holders - and were instead plunked ignominiously in the middle of section 38, almost under the center-field JumboTron.

We were the most popular people in our section because Viv had had the forethought to bring a Walkman to listen to the broadcast, just in case something weird happened. How prophetic. After some of the sloppiest play ever and a few of the most bizarre plays we've ever been witness to (and this includes the game I saw in the 1986 season that saw Steve Lyons and Marty Barrett BOTH end up at third base, followed by Rangers' right fielder Gary Wright throwing the ball into the third-base dugout, scoring both runs for a 6-5 win) we settled in for a long night after the A's tied it up mid-game. Runners were stranded left and right until the 11th inning when a sore-legged Trot Nixon stepped to the plate with a runner on base and blasted one into the bleachers. It was right in front of us, but we honestly couldn't tell it was out until the crowd exploded. I was high-fiving everyone in sight and jumping around. First playoff game ever and it was already an instant classic (and our second walk-off homer of the year; we saw Nomar hit one early in the season).

As soon as the game was over, I called Chris to celebrate and tell him how glad we were that his parents would get to go to the game after all, he said that Viv and I might just have to go to game 4 after all, since we've been good-luck charms all season long. Except for the Sox-Yankees game on August 31st, the Sox have won every game we've been to on their tickets (they did lose once, a gruesome loss to the Marlins, but I gave those tickets to my brother for his birthday). Once the Sox took the next game the writing was pretty much on the wall for what happened tonight, though as a Sox fan it should have been clear from the beginning that nothing - NOTHING - ever comes easily.

As much as I hate to say it, I'm glad the Yankees wrapped up their series today, just so we could see the game at 8pm instead of the 4pm time it was scheduled for had the Yankees lost yesterday to force a game 5. Of course, we would have preferred a game 5 just to make everyone a little more tired, and to have them have to pitch Mussina in the deciding game, but if I'd missed any of this game it just wouldn't have been worth it. Besides, it's just a little bit sweeter to get the chance to play the Yankees again.

Viv and I did our house chores early and then watched a replay of "Alias" before the Sox game, and as she brought out dinner at precisely 8pm (she's really treated me SO well during the playoffs...made dinner for me and Matt between the game yesterday and the REM concert we saw last night, just letting us boys be boys) the game started. We were already shouting at the TV even before the game started, with all this boola-boola crap about the curse and Kevin Kennedy barking about the team he was fired from after two years of abusing the pitching staff...gah. Don't get me started. I won't give the game blow-by-blow but once again, just like last night, Chris and I were on the phone for the last half-inning, suffering through every pitch. Cursing every ball, cheering every strike, and of course, not able to fully enjoy anything until the last called strike three crossed the plate.

And then, the realization - this is just the first round.

See you at Fenway on Saturday...we'll be back in Section 38...

6.08
The batter becomes a runner and is entitled to first base without liability to be put out (provided he advances to and touches first base) when:
(...)
(b) He is touched by a pitched ball which he is not attempting to hit

Emphasis mine. Last night's game should have been over in the 9th.

An actual conversation overheard at work today, between my boss and her five-year-old son. Translated from Spanish, and with names changed to protect, um, nobody really, because almost everyone who reads this knows who I'm talking about.

5-YEAR-OLD: [Singing the same verse of "Caterpillar, Caterpillar" over and over at the top of his lungs, which he learned a week ago in kindergarten and has not stopped singing since. At this point it is not apparent where in the office he has chosen to raise hell thusly.]
MOTHER: [Proudly, to the employees in her office] Listen to the vocal cords on that kid, singing in the bathroom while he's pooping.
5-YEAR-OLD: [Still singing, still loudly.]
MOTHER: Come on son, finish up that poop, we need to go soon.
5-YEAR-OLD: Okay! [He resumes singing "Caterpillar, Caterpillar".]

[30 seconds pass.]
MOTHER: Come on son, finish up that poop, we need to go soon.
5-YEAR-OLD: Okay! [He resumes singing "Caterpillar, Caterpillar".]
MOTHER: [Proudly, to the baby's FATHER] He sure can sing.
FATHER: What, is he pooping?
MOTHER: Yes.
FATHER: Oh, I forgot, I need you to take a look at something.
[Exeunt MOTHER and FATHER, to FATHER's office.]

5-YEAR-OLD: Mom! I'm done! [MOTHER cannot hear him.]
5-YEAR-OLD: Mom! I'm done! [MOTHER cannot hear him.]
5-YEAR-OLD: Mom! I'm done! [MOTHER cannot hear him.]
5-YEAR-OLD: Mom! I'm done! [MOTHER cannot hear him.]
5-YEAR-OLD: Mom! I'm done! [MOTHER cannot hear him.]
[etc.]
MOTHER: Okay, okay, you don't need to tell everyone in the office that you're pooping!

[Exeunt omnes.]