Pioneer Valley Days

My Concession Speech

This is not a political blog, so I will take this post down in a day or so, but this is how I feel right now, here at the closing of the Reagan era.

To Barack Obama: Congratulations. It's not easy to achieve the presidency. I do not share common ground with many of your political and economic philosophies; I believe Americans are at their best when government allows them the breathing room to become so. But as you face the struggles that all presidents must, may you find wisdom and good judgment. The fact of your race is a good thing, and worth celebrating just 40 years after the race riots of the 1960s. Americans have long been ready to shed that legacy, and it's not a controversial thing to say a white man with your ideologies -- another McGovern or Dukakis -- would not have been elected. But Americans are proud of the history they have made today. Please live up to their trust. You ran as a unifier despite having no record of compromise on any issue that might offend a traditional liberal interest group. Can you begin to lead as a unifier now, when actions are more important than words? It will be tempting to join Pelosi, Reid, and your ascendant party in immediately carrying out radical changes to our economic and social landscape. Will you listen to dissenting voices? Will you temper the worst impulses of the extreme left? You have every right to be proud now; humility will help in the years to come. Again, congratulations.

To George W. Bush: History will judge you based on the long-term landscape in Iraq. And I believe it will judge you well. I have screamed about your role as enabler-in-chief as you allowed wasteful spending to go unchecked in your own party. I lament that the fiscally conservative principles of Congress' revolutionary class of 1994 were long ago tossed away in favor of short-term favor, with your help and unwillingness to veto anything. But you made two wise Supreme Court selections, instituted tax policies that produced record-low unemployment for years, and somehow managed, post-9/11, to fight the war on terror completely off our soil. You are not perfect, far from it, but that much deserves credit.

To Congressional Republicans: For eight years, the Democratic party went all-out to dehumanize and destroy the president, to the point of working actively against the success of a war they felt would be his legacy. Don't make the same mistakes. Your lack of principles over time helped to erode your power; you only have yourselves to blame. Don't be the minority of finger-pointing; be better than that. Obama is our president, and he will need unity in difficult times. Fight the good fight on individual issues, but remember that we are all Americans. If Obama and his partymates make a good-faith effort at unity, be big enough to work with them. No one needs a repeat of the toxic politics of the past decade, only with the reds and blues reversed. If you have any conservative principles left, share them and live them. Everything cycles, and for now you are in the wilderness. Be forceful, be courageous, and be decent. Voters will recognize it, in time.

To Sarah Palin: I am proud of you. You are America. I rooted for McCain to choose you months before he did, when few others knew anything about you. I admire your guts, good grace, and common sense. Grow from this experience, learn from your mistakes, and allow yourself to become more seasoned over the next four years. In 2012, I will be proud to vote for you for president, on a day when Americans, once again, make history. Now go bag a moose.

Welcome to the Bay State

Thank goodness for Basegirl:

You know what this is like? This is like that relationship you have that goes on for way too long and you almost break up a hundred times but something keeps you in it. Whether it's the fact that he always saves you the last Tater Tot and knows how you like your coffee or the 100+ RBIs and 40ish home runs. But eventually, that stuff no longer outweighs the fact that he doesn't really like your friends and never remembers to buy toilet paper. So eventually, it ends. And when it does, the only thing you feel is relief. Because you can finally stop babysitting.

And life goes on. Will Jason Bay be a better clutch performer than Manny? No. Jenn and I have always marveled at the way Manny can block everything out of his mind when he's hitting, probably because there's not all that much to block. So, yeah, it'll suck seeing him in the Yankees' lineup next year (come on, you know it, I know it, the American people know it). But it was time. Quirky and charmingly aloof is one thing; pushing down senior citizens is another. And the Red Sox don't deserve you? Um, we've been enabling you for several years now. Why? Because that's what fans and organizations do for their megastars. But, see, I don't want to be an enabler anymore.

Anyway, welcome to competitive baseball, Jason. I hope you find it to your liking. And if we don't make the playoffs, at least everyone in the clubhouse will be a little happier and less glassy-eyed from listening to Man-Ram's latest incoherent rant.

And just to be clear, Manny, we really do appreciate all the clutch hits and your mighty contributions to those two championships. But it was time. Lord, was it time. Say hi to Nomar for us.

Stop These People Before They Breed

So there's a blog today on Yahoo! Sports about the Seattle Mariners doing something pretty awesome, designating two sections peanut-safe on two dates a year. That means banning peanuts in those sections and, more important, cleaning the sections thoroughly before those games. Anyway, the post has drawn hundreds of comments, and after the first rush of staggering idiocy, some commenters started to inform the troglodytes that you don't have to eat a peanut to die from it, that an oily arm rest or dust wafting up from the next row could cause anaphylactic shock, and that, hello, it's just two friggin' sections twice a year. But to locate those posts, you have to wade through dozens like these:

If people are stupid enough to eat something they know they're allergic to then let them suffer the consequences. Why should the rest of us be deprived.

that is the most stupid thing i have ever heard. stay HOME in your peanut free enviroment and let the people who are not whinny bastards enjoy the game.

If you are allergic to peanuts to the point that it can kill you, then maybe we should just let evolution and natural selection take it's course and kill off your sorry, pathetic ass. I'm sick of those of us that are healthy and genetically FIT FOR OUR ENVIRONMENT having to suffer because of some stupid, cry-baby parents and their inferior, unhealthy, genetically retarded offspring. I'd like to see peanuts in the water supply to put an end to this nonsense once and for all.

THAT IS SO STUPID! Why can't they just say no? Why are we becoming a country in which no one is responsible for their own actions anymore? If someone is allergic to peanuts and they knowingly eat them of their own free will, then that's one less dumbass to ruin it for the rest of us.

We've become a bunch of wimps. If you don't like peanuts, too bad, deal with it. I don't like lots of things, and that's part of life. Our nation is sissified to the max. Please pass the peanuts. If you don't like it, too bad.

Hey, morons? Fuck you.

On the Cusp of Excitement

In honor of Peter King, Brett Favre's second-biggest fan (I think Dawn has him beat), here are 10 things I think I think after staying up way, way, way too late last night.

1. That went from being a pretty good All-Star Game to a really good one to the fringe of disaster, but in the end it ranks among the most memorable.

2. Weird game, too. Paps gives up a run (with help from Navarro) in an inning in which he gives up just a single and a flyout and fans two. But then Aaron Cook dances on the fringe twice, first escaping unscathed after loading the bases with none out in the 10th, and then, two innings later, allowing the first four batters to reach base, yet again allowing no runs.

3. Granted, the NL needed two phantom tags to get out of the 12th, but there's not much to argue there. They were definitely fringe calls; both throws beat the runner by a good margin, and the umps don't have instant replay. As Lou Piniella told that ump 457 times last night, you're doin' a great job!

4. Dan, that was uggla. As it turns out, though, the three errors didn't wind up hurting nearly as much as stranding six guys on base, including two separate chokejobs with a runner on third and one out. At least you had company, as the two squads combined to go ... (checking official stats online) ... 3 for 114 with runners in scoring position. Please, someone, anyone, knock in a run; you're infringing on our sleep.

5. Removing Jeter mid-inning: classy. Removing A-Rod mid-inning: classy. Bringing in Mo mid-inning: classy. Actively, loudly rooting against your league in the 8th just to stick it to a guy who basically called your stopper the best (like there's any debate), yet said he'd like to close the game anyway? This after the lovely respect Francona gave your starters, and after Drew tied the game? Um, whatever. Listen, I don't get my entire lunatic-fringe worldview from one-word New York Post headlines, so you'll excuse my confusion.

6. Yes, it's about home-field advantage in the World Series, so I understand if the crowd didn't care who won, but excuse us fans of teams who'll still be playing in October if we take just a fringe of interest in the outcome.

7. I know, I know, it's not a big deal. In a country where a great number of people have long been rooting for us to lose a war in order to win elections, a bunch of drunks rooting against their team's league for one inning is a fringe issue at best. But I still can't imagine Yankee fans of even five or 10 years ago -- you know, when they expected to win in October -- being so petty. I expect that sort of thing from Rays fans. Seriously, when I look back at my old life, I'm so thankful I got saved.

8. Loved Buck and McCarver commenting on how much warmer Youkilis' reception was from the crowd. That's funny stuff. Brought me to the fringe of actually tolerating them.

9. I know no one expects All-Star Games to run 15 innings, and managers always want to get as many guys in as they can. So when the game does run long, there's really nothing you can do about having to stick with your fringe players. But, geez, wouldn't the NL have liked to have Berkman or Pujols around after midnight, or what? And since I've just learned this morning that J.D. Drew has a knuckleball, I'm almost sorry it didn't go longer.

10. No baseball tonight, so I guess we'll be sifting through the lean summer TV pickings. Anyone have any viewing recommendations for the fall? I have no idea what's gonna be on. 

A Duck Is Not a Duck Without His Hat

Tonight, when Jenn asked Nate what he wanted to watch before bed and rattled off the DVR choices, I have to admit I took a rooting interest. He picked Bob the Builder, and I snuck off to the computer for a few minutes. Had he picked Peep, I would have stayed.

Peep and the Big Wide World is a quasi-educational cartoon that teaches kids about various nature and science concepts in a wide-eyed, hey-look-neato kind of way. The emphasis on discovery isn't unlike that of Oobi, except these birds conjugate verbs. But aside from that, the show's just so darn sweet and innocent, and also features one of the great comic characters in all of kids' TV: Quack, a blue-hued duck who looks absolutely nothing like a duck, yet spends his days (a) composing and crooning songs about the general awesomeness of his species, (b) entangling the trusting Peep and the skeptical Chirp in some misadventure or another, or (c) chilling out underwater with a school of fish who idolize him.

Of course, Jenn says I like Peep because Joan Cusack narrates it, but that discounts the show's sharp writing, simple-but-gorgeous animation, and neat banjo soundtrack. Now, I'm not tossing it into my top 50 or anything, because, although I'm taken with the show, it hasn't won my heart in quite the way that, say, Wonder Pets has. (Jenn today, when I mentioned two upcoming entries: "Let me get this straight. Wonder Pets is ahead of The X-Files?") I'm just saying Peep is cool and funny and heartwarming, that's all.

It's certainly better than Barney and Friends, yet another show Nate has recently discovered (thanks, hon), which imparts that everyone is equally special, and has also taught me five very important words: at least it's not Dora.

Kill the Wabbits

I was talking to Jenn today about how many of our Christmas and Easter traditions are pagan in origin, but have become cheerful holiday customs that coexist with the Christian meaning of the holidays. Sort of.

I mean, culturally, the Santa side of Christmas meshes fairly seamlessly with the birth of Christ for no reason that I can explain. It just feels right. Generations of kids have learned about Jesus' birth while waiting anxiously for Santa, and, in most cases, the dichotomy didn't permanently screw up their heads. Easter is trickier. For one thing, most really young kids don't have the experiential maturity to deal with death as a concept (unless they've seen it close-up, which is tragic), and the core Easter message of sacrifice, death, and atonement isn't an easy one to condense into a kid-friendly package. But hopefully not too many parents are plopping their kids in front of The Passion of the Christ, so we let 'em celebrate Easter by watching fare about the staggeringly incongruous Easter bunny. I'm fine with that. Really, it's no more harmful than watching Linny squat into a bush.

Just -- and here is today's message at Pioneer Valley Days -- try to pick something a little higher-grade than Easter in Bunnyland. (What, you thought this was a religious posting?)

I really didn't mind watching this movie, the current Kidtoon Films offering at the local showcase cinema. We go to these 10 a.m. weekend shows because they give preschoolers a real moviegoing experience, complete with the big screen, popcorn, and fruit punch. We've endured two different Care Bears flicks, a Tonka truck movie with more product placement than The Apprentice and Jon & Kate combined, and a My Little Pony Christmas story that buried the holiday under an avalanche of candy and mixed messages. Jenn says the Strawberry Shortcake movie was her favorite so far, which should tell you something about how low we're setting the bar here. Most of these movies are already available on DVD, but when Nate sits there for an hour feeling like a big, important kid, well, I'd pay $3.50 a ticket for that any day.

But, Santa help us, Nate has created sculptures in his Pull-Ups that were more appealing loads of crap than Easter in Bunnyland. This movie centers around three rabbits with extremely annoying voices wandering through a plot that was probably assembled using whatever refrigerator poetry magnets were available. The pinnacle of humor is one of the cringeworthy rat villians calling the Easter bunny "Easter dummy." And can we say low-budget? I noticed footage recycled and reused, and in many scenes with multiple characters, only the character talking moved; others just stood stock-still and unblinking. Yes, Hanna-Barbera used to cut similar corners, but they made up for it with extremely sharp writing. Trust me ... I'm no great scribe, but you had more fun reading this paragraph than you could possibly have at this movie. Once I put Nate on my lap, Jenn tried to get some shuteye.

Roger Ebert and others have rightfully complained about some of the garbage studios put out for kids, knowing they'll make a quick buck off an undiscerning audience. That's true, but they're talking about feature films for bigger kids. As Nate grows up, we'll certainly take him to good family flicks; we already own a library of Disney, Pixar, and other classics on DVD. But right now, it's about the experience, and an hour is about right for any 2-year-old to sit still without getting bored. The truth is, Pixar, Dreamworks, and others have pushed the length of animated films ever-higher; Toy Story runs 1:20, but Cars reaches two hours, which is why Nate's never made it past the halfway point of the DVD. We'd love to check out Horton Hears a Who, but that runs 1:50. Soon, probably sometime this year, we'll take him to a real movie; he is really well-behaved in the theater. But we're not going to tax him with a two-hour running time and ruin what's supposed to be a good time until we think he's ready.

Until then, it's 10 a.m. Kidtoons for Nate, and solo forays to the movies -- and occasional dates -- for Jenn and I when we want to see something else. That's what you do when you're a parent. You do not ruin Jenn's (and everyone else's) viewing of Casino Royale by having a two-hour conversation with your gaggle of toddlers, and you certainly do not (contrary to what I experienced one night) bring your 4-year-old daughter to Apocalypto. Prick.

No, you understand that parenthood means renting movies, accepting the fact that you can't always go everywhere you want to go, and, once in a while, enduring Easter in Bunnyland. Which I hope is running on an endless loop when Apocalypto Dad gets strapped to his Lazy Boy in hell.

This Calls for Some Celery

Did you know I dig Wonder Pets? Maybe it's post-writer's-strike desperation talking (“What's on the DVR tonight, honey?” “Um, looks like Wonder Pets, Blue's Clues, Backyardigans, Thomas, and House Hunters.” “OK, whattaya got for us tonight, Suzanne?”), but I might like it even more than Nate. Heck, I'm not even sure its creator, Josh Selig, likes Wonder Pets as much as I do. So when writing a story for my magazine about a recruiting partnership between two local hospitals, I'm not going to pass up this easy opportunity:

I'm also not going to pass up a chance at a top-10 list. I've seen 49 of the 52 segments that have aired to date, but Little Airplane shows no sign of slowing down production, so I might have to revisit this someday. Until then, here are my favorites:

10. Save the Three Little Pigs
WOLF: “Little pig, little pig, let me in!”
PIG: “Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin!”
TUCK: “His chin isn’t so hairy.”
LINNY: “I think it’s just an expression, Tuck.”
Yeah, they bring the snark in this episode, one of the more wink-wink adventures in the gang’s career (More Tuck: “OK, Little Pig #3, flowers are not gonna work”). But an irritable, fairly edgy wolf with a taste for guinea pig, turtle, and duckling (is that the voice of Ollie the bunny, by the way?) keeps it ever-so-slightly-threatening for the wee ones.

9. Save the Tree
Wonder Pets meets Holmes on Homes. Featuring the most distinctive music in the WP canon — a breezy, jazzy theme that would not be out of place on a ’70s urban drama, minus the singing animals — this redecoration of an abandoned big-city garden attracts a bevy of helpful critters, including two dogs, who clearly took care of their business before the opening credits (see #6). Watch for a priceless, split-second double take from Ming-Ming and Tuck when Linny initially admits she doesn’t know how to save a tree; it’s one of the series’ most subtle moments. I swear, if Linny ever kicks it, the other two will have to find new careers, because they are lost without her.

8. Save the Hermit Crab
Wonder Pets meets Design on a Dime. Sporting a less offensive Mexican accent than Bounce from Miss Spider, this cute little baby crab, suddenly shell-less, is threatening to wither and die from direct sun exposure … and Ming-Ming couldn’t give a baby rat’s ass. Because she’s on vacation. That Linny apparently paid for. The crab eventually gets a makeshift, kitschily decorated shell, and there are touching moments of gratitude and tenderness throughout … but exactly none of them from the duck.

7. Save the Sheep
Normally, I don’t mind the toybox dress-up moments on the way to the flyboat, because the animals-in-trouble-somewhere typically aren’t in seconds-to-live danger. Except these sheep, who are probably less than 50 yards from the edge of a Swiss cliff when the gang dresses up like a clock, cheese, and chocolate … and, later, about a first down away from a horrible, graphic death when Linny has everyone try on, and sing about, lederhosen. If this episode had realistic time progression, that song would have gone:
LINNY: “Let’s put on our led-er-hosen!”
TUCK AND MING-MING: “Led-er-who-sen?”
LINNY: “Led-er-ho—”
SHEEP: “BAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…” *crash*
LINNY: *vomits*
TUCK: "Um ... I need a hug."
If it were the Von Trapp family heading for the edge, I’d say, hey, by all means, keep singing and trying on clothes. But those are some pretty cute sheep, so let's step it up a bit.

6. Save the Puppy
Wonder Pets meets A Bunch of Uptight Parents on the Nick Jr. Internet Forum. So it turned out, anyway. I am not an uptight parent, however, so I totally dig watching a bunch of cartoon animals squat and pee — twice. And as for the “pee-pee, wee-wee, tinkle” line, it’s not gratuitious; it’s just including most of the terms that parents might use when potty-training their own kids. It’s not like they’re telling the Long Island puppy to “drain it, take a whiz, urinaaaaate.” Listen, if you're having too much trouble removing that stick, feel free to switch over to Dora. But even then, I make no promises. (“I HAVE TO PEE! WHERE IS MY TOILET? CAN YOU HELP ME FIND MY TOILET? GRACIAS!”)

5. Save the Mouse
Nate walked around for weeks imitating the mouse’s “squeeeeak, squeeeeak” when we first had this saved to the DVR. I didn’t mind watching it a lot, ’cause it’s funny. Linny’s too sick to work, but he has to provide tech support the entire time while a hilariously helpless (and bickering ... what else is new) Tuck and Ming-Ming blow mouse out of a saxophone in the schoolhouse attic. There’s a lovely meta moment for all of us Noggin parents when Ming-Ming encounters a blue cuckoo in a clock and asks, “Excuse me, is your name Pablo?”

4. Ollie to the Rescue
For my money, Ollie the bunny can make guest appearances as many times as he wants to, as long as he’s a little more brain-damaged with each visit. Not content to get sprayed by a skunk in season 1, this time he dons a cape, launches his own rescue squad, and promptly gets lodged along with a squirrel inside a bird feeder, leading to Ming-Ming’s best-ever line, “This … is … hilarious.” But what puts the episode over the top are Ollie’s inanimate rescue partners, and their own little theme song, which begins, “Ollie, Rock, and Mr. Frog too.” Of course, even that isn't enough to spoil Tuck’s non-judgmental streak (“I think Rock is cute”), which, as we know, he abandons only when Ming-Ming is cheerfully breaking his stuff.

3.  Save the Caterpillar
Kind of an odd choice, since not much happens during this trip to Greece. But this one’s a keeper for one reason, and that’s the lovely, simple song the inchworm and butterfly sing to each other when the latter emerges from her chrysalis. It goes from heartbreaking (“Want to crawl through some mud?” “Can’t crawl … sorry”) to heart-lifting (“I can’t crawl, but I can fly. Wanna go for a ride?”) in a gut-twisting flash. I have to credit whatever child actors are voicing this pair, because they turn this tentative dance of two delicate psyches into something that shimmers. Oh, shut up. I'm not made of stone.

2. Save the Chimp
This is the single funniest episode in the whole series, thanks to the sheer heights of nuttiness scaled by Ming-Ming (“It’s my spacesuit!”), in what I consider Danica Lee’s best voice performance outside of her showcase episode, “Save the Duckling.” Give yourself over to an insane world where launching chimps into space — and losing them there — is apparently a commonplace pastime for NASA, and where bananas stay edible indefinitely. And if you’re not a fan of the overconfident duck, hear your chest thump as she comes within inches of being blown to fuzzy yellow bits by a relentless asteroid. Houston, we have a very special episode. Almost.

1. Save the Pangaroo
I knew this would be high on the list after first catching it a week or two ago, but it hasn’t left our DVR since, and I can’t think of an episode I like more. In this tale of a two-dimensional children’s drawing (part parrot, part kangaroo) who gets stuck in the trashcan, the rescue happens early on, but the gang’s main task is to find the ever-so-pretentious Pangaroo a home in one of the pieces of art on the classroom walls. They eventually paint him a home and, when he’s lonely, a companion: a butterdeer (whose wings are also very delicate). The meeting of the two friends in their new home is very touching, and the music throughout, bouyant and more contemporary than usual, ranks with the most listenable scores in the Wonder Pets canon. But the episode saves the best for last: in a striking bit of animation, all the classroom artwork comes alive to serenade the squad with a lovely, mellow take on the show’s theme song. If it’s meant to evoke childlike wonder, I can vouch that it works, because Nate always stops what he’s doing to gaze softly at the screen and sing along. As for me? I like it. This will certainly do.

Another Five Years

Being a list freak, I first rattled off a list of 50 favorite songs in 1992. In 1997, I revamped it and expanded it to 100 songs. I decided right then that I would update it every five years, which I did in 2002 and 2007. This latest version was finalized in November, but I hadn't thought to actually post it here until now. So, because I'm a pretentious, self-indulgent bastard, I give you my almost-brand-new favorite 100 songs, featuring the usual mixture of classics, 80s alt staples, contemporary folk, 90s angst rock (as my colleague Jac calls it), new songs that have captured my ear, and Christian stuff before Christian radio became glossy, formless, and devoid of character. In other words, this is a pretty nerdy list, but that kinda suits me, no?

1. Tread Lightly (Kirsty MacColl)
2. Clouds (The Choir)
3. She Divines Water (Camper Van Beethoven)
4. Fairytale of New York (The Pogues)
5. Heroin (The Velvet Underground)
6. Ana Ng (They Might Be Giants)
7. Tiger Woods (Dan Bern)
8. Ever After (Terry Scott Taylor)
9. Ring of Fire (Johnny Cash)
10. Cut Your Hair (Pavement)
11. Foot of Pride (Bob Dylan)
12. Scarborough Fair (Simon and Garfunkel)
13. Adoration (Cranes)
14. Faces in Cabs (Mark Heard)
15. Heaven (Squeeze)
16. Tangled Up in Blue (Bob Dylan)
17. Norwegian Wood (The Beatles)
18. How to Grow Up Big and Strong (Ideola)
19. Hate My Way (Throwing Muses)
20. Check It Out (The Nields)
21. All Her Favorite Fruit (Camper Van Beethoven)
22. Mercy of the Flame (Mark Heard)
23. Cloudburst at Shingle Street (Thomas Dolby)
24. Just Like Heaven (The Cure)
25. Insanely Jealous (The Soft Boys)
26. Divorce Song (Liz Phair)
27. Ducks on a Pond (The Incredible String Band)
28. Nemesis (Shriekback)
29. Goodbye Earl (Dixie Chicks)
30. I’ve Been Tired (Pixies)
31. Sacrificial Bonfire (XTC)
32. Madonna of the Wasps (Robyn Hitchcock)
33. Synchronicity II (The Police)
34. I’m Going to Go Back There Someday (The Muppet Movie)
35. Tear My Stillhouse Down (Gillian Welch)
36. Royal Café (American Music Club)
37. Euromad (T Bone Burnett)
38. Democracy (Leonard Cohen)
39. 4th of July (Aimee Mann)
40. February (Dar Williams)
41. If I Had a Rocket Launcher (Bruce Cockburn)
42. Calistan (Frank Black)
43. Million (Servant)
44. Tombstone Blues (Bob Dylan)
45. Speak Soft (The Swoon)
46. The Burning Down (King’s X)
47. Fake Palindromes (Andrew Bird)
48. Mr. Blue Sky (ELO)
49. Moving the Goalposts (Billy Bragg)
50. 75 Septembers (Cheryl Wheeler)
51. Your Mother Should Know (The Beatles)
52. Bodhisattva (Steely Dan)
53. Nightswimming (R.E.M.)
54. When Everyone Wore Hats (Daniel Amos)
55. Red Dragon Tattoo (Fountains of Wayne)
56. The Black Angel’s Death Song (The Velvet Underground)
57. Chi-Baba, Chi-Baba (Perry Como)
58. I Don’t Believe You (Bob Dylan)
59. Video Killed the Radio Star (The Buggles)
60. See How We Are (X)
61. Interstellar Satellite (Crumbächer)
62. Heads Carolina, Tails California (Jo Dee Messina)
63. Suddenly I See (KT Tunstall)
64. 1000 Umbrellas (XTC)
65. The Girl I Can’t Forget (Fountains of Wayne)
66. Subterranean Homesick Blues (Bob Dylan)
67. Strong Points, Weak Points (Daniel Amos)
68. A Mission in Life (Stan Ridgway)
69. Sweet Lullaby (Deep Forest)
70. Everybody Dances (Ideola)
71. Unto the Lamb (Russ Taff)
72. Jerusalem (Sinéad O’Connor)
73. Wrong (The Maggies)
74. Who Can Hold Us? (Adam Again)
75. Eagle Song (The Imperials)
76. Precious Things (Tori Amos)
77. Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm (Crash Test Dummies)
78. My Wandering Days Are Over (Belle & Sebastian)
79. Happier (Jennifer Trynin)
80. Untitled (R.E.M.)
81. Work for Food (Dramarama)
82. If I Had a Boat (Lyle Lovett)
83. I Saw a Bird (Dar Williams)
84. Strike While the Iron Is Hot (Vigilantes of Love)
85. Why Not Me (The Judds)
86. Bruises (Lisa Germano)
87. Ba, Ba, Ba, Ba (The Seventy Sevens)
88. Incandescent Blue (Bruce Cockburn)
89. My Finest Hour (The Sundays)
90. Uncle John (Bryan Phelps)
91. Twenty Four Hours (Joy Division)
92. Dad I’m in Jail (Was [Not Was])
93. Sanctuary (Daniel Amos)
94. The Ocean (Dar Williams)
95. Thanksgiving Day Parade (Dan Bern)
96. Sweet Jessica (Singer Bad Dancer)
97. Dreamworld (Midnight Oil)
98. Chalkhills and Children (XTC)
99. The Ballad of El Goodo (Big Star)
100. I’ve Been Waiting (Matthew Sweet)

You've Got to Envision the Fiery Crash

My 37th birthday was busy -- one of my home-with-Nate days, which means work stuff mingled with laundry and cooking. I called my Mom with a recipe question and joked that I had to cook my own birthday dinner (in actuality, Jenn offered to let me pick a restaurant, but I kind of felt like cooking chili).

"What kind of cake are you having?" she asked.

"I don't know. I'm not making my own birthday cake, Mom," I said. Geez, you have to draw the line somewhere.

But it was a good day, if a hectic one. It wasn't so crazy that I was running around like screeching like that harpy Jen on The Amazing Race recently -- "It's my birthday, preciousssss! What has Phil got in his pocketses? Oh, tricksy, tricksy Phil!" -- but a satisfying, get-a-bunch-done kind of busy. Nate helped Jenn wrap my presents and then helped me open them. I got more Red Sox gear (yay!), some much-needed Reeboks, and the latest Andrew Bird CD. Jenn's neato. My Dad (who was planning to hand-deliver a card) wound up with the flu, my Mom forgot about MLK Day and mistimed her mail delivery, and I don't go into work on Thursdays, so I weirdly wound up with no cards at all, except for the Hallmark E-card from Tami, who knows I dig Hoops & Yoyo. Yay again -- and late gifts only extend the birthday fun, so I'm cool with that. Bring 'em on, people!

Also very cool was going to Nate's preschool (he was home with me, of course, but we both went in for a little while) to read the class a book of my choosing. You get one guess which book I chose, and I'll give you a hint: the title starts with 'F' and ends with 'rederick.' I even brought the ratty old copy with all the kids' signatures on the front (well, Jeff was too young to sign his own name) and the comments I added afterward: "Tamilynn has sunburned skin," "Joe B. is right for me," "Foo-Foo is cute too," and "Lori B. is smelly." Yes, I vandalized my favorite book. Jeff and I also signed our names on a lampshade once. And, truth be told, my sister wasn't that foully scented.

I also got tagged on my birthday by writerjax.com, which means I have to share six unimportant quirks about myself with my content-starved readers and then tag three other bloggers. The only problem is, I don't really know or regularly read that many bloggers besides Jac, and I doubt Curt Schilling or James Lileks are going to respond to a tagging. I mean, Lileks hasn't even responded to my friend request on MySpace, the bastard. So I'm going to have to think about whom to tag. But in the meantime, here are my six frightening quirks:

1. The very first thing I do when opening a new CD is take out the liner notes and sniff them.

2. The last two CDs I requested and received as gifts from my wife (Andrew Bird and Nuttin' but Stringz) were artists I first encountered on Jack's Big Music Show. On the very same episode, in fact. In the same vein, I love researching and reading about the people on the credits of the shows I watch with Nate. I was beside myself when Tyler Bunch made a guest appearance on Jack (his whole self, not just Grampu's hand), and I think Stephanie D'Abruzzo's all kinds of awesome. And give me a few minutes and a pencil, and I can probably name all 40 or so Backyardigans episodes AND the music style of each one. And the snack of the day in quite a few.

3. I was a Bible Quizzer for three years as a teenager. In my senior year of high school -- while some other teams chose names from the Book of John -- Travis, Kenny, and I went with 'The Intimidators.' I even markered up the palm of my hand with a red-and-blue 'I' logo for competitions. Just thinking about this, I've now decided that hearing Perry Como's gritty WWII treatise "Hubba Hubba (Dig You Later)" for the first time is no longer the most sublimely geeky moment of my life.

4. I like Perry Como. And shut up, because you're wrong.

5. I grew up eating the best Italian food you've ever tasted, yet I also have a taste for Spaghetti-Os and Ellio's pizza.

6. I didn't kiss a girl until college. I was 16.

So there you go. That should explain a lot.

Fighting Spirit

"Mike is very human. I think this whole ordeal has kind of dehumanized him for the last couple of months. But he's hurting. I do know that. That's a fact. He is hurting." --Falcons TE Alge Crumpler on Michael Vick

Yeah, having to plead guilty to a felony after months of thinking you'd escape the charges must be tough indeed. The way I see it, though, Vick isn't "hurting"; he's just not showing enough fighting spirit. Fortunately for him, we don't electrocute and drown people who don't perform up to our expectations.

And, please, if I have to read one more comment from a Vick supporter about how we should forgive him for his "mistake," I'll scream. This isn't a mistake, it's a lifestyle. And it's a lifestyle that clearly suggests, Alge, that Mike is very inhuman.

In other dog news, Maverick and Ripley posted eight Qs in as many runs at a CPE trial in New Lebanon, N.Y. last weekend. Imagine that ... a competitive event involving dogs, and had Maverick not done well, his only punishment would have been Ripley mocking him, not taking him out back and hanging him from a tree.

Raise a Cannoli -- Phil Went Home

"O it was always intense.
Just as you said
And it was not a regular
Not a regular game at all.
It was every game meant so much,
You know,
One seemed to top the other."

That's one of the many rambling nuggets collected in O Holy Cow!, a 1993 compilation subtitled The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto. Actually, it's just color commentary from Phil's nearly 40 years in the broadcast booth, but the subtitle is somehow appropriate. The man could talk, and sometimes, even when he left you with a shaking head and a silly grin, it was poetry. And the poet was a gentleman. And now he's gone.

I don't know the context of the above quote, except that it was during a Yankees-Red Sox game, so it's easy to imagine he was talking about 1978, which seems to be repeating itself this year, with me on the chasee end this time. But it doesn't matter who you root for; how could anyone not like the Scooter, a guy whose picture should grace the entry for non-sequitur in the dictionary; who loved Cora (his wife of an astonishing 64 years), cannoli, and the art of bunting, in that order; who wasn't ashamed to positively cower in the presence of lightning?

Rizzuto's numbers as a ballplayer in the 1940s and 1950s didn't get him into the Hall of Fame. But they got him close enough for his charm, personality, and unbridled enthusiasm to close the gap. And because God didn't give him a body for sports, he earned every scrappy hit, every stolen base, every perfect bunt, with desire and grit. From the booth, he railed on the inability of today's major leaguers to execute a proper bunt. It offended him. You know what? It kind of offends me, too.

"He has powerful legs and cute buns,
that Henderson."

He'd say any damn thing that entered his head, Scooter would. Particularly late in his broadcasting career, when -- let's be honest -- senility crept in, he'd occasionally go into his home-run call for routine flies to right. Jeff and I would do impersonations: "Holy cow, that's gaaah -- oh, wait, Steve Sax is under it..." Sometimes he'd be more interested in telling stories from his youth than telling the one being written 50 feet below him, but the old stories were usually more interesting, especially during the early '80s when I'd watch games downstairs with Grandma Olivia and the first two guys in the batting order were -- no kidding -- Rupert Jones and Jerry Mumphrey. From Roger Maris' 61st homer to the dawning of the Jeter era, Rizzuto was the glue for every fan at home. Besides Paul O'Neill, he was the only living Yankee I still gave a damn about. Now it's just Paulie. Life continues.

Anyway, so long, Phil. I'm raising my bottled water right now to a class act, and remembering how your lovely, all-over-the-place Hall of Fame speech was the only good thing about baseball in 1994, the year they shut it down. I'm sitting next to the signed pictures, bat, and ball that Jenn bought for me a few years ago, and hoping she puts up with me half as long as Cora put up with you.

Goodbye, sir. You took what you were given and made a life. You inspired me and made me laugh. Holy cow. Now teach the saints how to bunt.

"Fly ball right field
It's gonna drop in.
No it's not gonna drop in
Happy 46th wedding anniversary
Thomas and Mary Anne Clearwater.
That's it.
The last three, six, nine, twelve Yankees
Went down in order.
So that's it.
The game is over."

Review: 3 and 1/2 Woo-Hoos

I learned from The Simpsons Movie that Homer's home state is bordered by Maine, Kentucky, Nevada, and Ohio. So that should clear things up.

Springfield, Massachusetts is all that mattered Thursday night, however, when I was invited to a sneak-preview of the movie by my colleague, Jaclyn, and her fiance, Mark, who had helped produce the five-minute video aimed at convincing folks that the Simpsons live in the Bay State. Alas, even getting Ted Kennedy to say "chowdah" on camera wasn't enough to overcome the efforts of tiny Springfield, Vermont, which earned the big-time premiere last week. (The other 13 competing Springfields got the one-day-early, invitation-only screening.) I told Jac that we would have won the video contest had our esteemed senator worn a Quimbyesque sash. She said he was asked, and said no. What a chowdah-head.

As for the movie? Terrific. Moreso if you're a Simpsons fan (I was a religious viewer until about five years ago, but still consider it the second-best TV show of all time), but I suspect anyone with even a passing familiarity with the characters will laugh. Not surprisingly, it's structured like a typical episode, in which the first 10 minutes are gleefully anarchic, and the rest of the half-hour carries the story with more sense and a bit less laughter. Following that model, the first 30 minutes of the movie, before the main plot kicks in, is among the funniest stretches of freeform comedy ever. The jokes -- and no, I'm not going to spill them, but look for a sequence on a skateboard that will have you choking up Raisinets -- fly so quickly during the first half-hour that you'll probably miss a few laughing; director David Silverman and his team of 11 (11!) writers aren't going to wait for you to calm down.

Once the supersized plot kicks in (it has something to do with an ecological disaster caused by ... well, you know), you'll have more time to breathe, but the movie remains consistently funny throughout. The jabs at government ineptitude, in the form of an EPA official voiced by Albert Brooks, are well-d0ne, but even better is the time allotted to Simpsons family dynamics (best bits: Bart's drift away from his father hastened by the best hot cocoa ever, and a love scene hilariously inspired by vintage Disney). Unfortunately, that comes at a price -- and the movie's only real flaw -- which is the almost total lack of interaction between the Simpson family and their neighbors (apart, of course, from an attempted lynching). But what the heck -- when you laugh this hard, it's pointless to nitpick.

And congratulations to Martin Prince, who finally grows a pair and goes all Neville Longbottom on his tormentors. (Sorry ... I guess I've got other pop-culture obsessions this week.)

By the way, here's Jaclyn's review.

One in Nine?

I'm in my glory today as a math geek. It all started when my friend John left this question on his blog for me:

OK, here’s the scenario. You’re watching a game and a guy makes an amazing play to end the inning. His team then comes up to bat, and as a baseball fan, we always note that, sure enough, the guy who just made the great play is now the first one up. And sure enough, he hits a home run. “It figures.”

Well the other night I’m listening to the Red Sox game on the radio. Guy makes a great play. Sure enough he leads off the next inning ... but the announcers say the following.

Joe: “How many times have we seen it, the guy that makes the great catch leads off the next inning?” Dave: “Yup. Really, what are the odds?” Joe: “Well … one in nine.” My question is, is that correct?

I suck at math ... and I know that our announcer, Joe Castiglione, was just talkin’...but I wanna know. I mean it’s 1 in 9 that the ball is hit to you, but its also 1 in 9 that you’d be at bat...but the odds that both happen back to back are ... well, like I said, I went to summer school for math.

I left John the following response, and please keep in mind that I wrote this at about 2 a.m.

Take away the ‘great play’ element and just consider the odds of the same guy making the inning-ending play AND leading off. It's always 1 in 9 ... or is it?

If a guy -- let's call him Coco -- has ALREADY made the play to end the top of the inning, the odds are indeed 1 in 9 that Coco’s leading off the bottom of the inning, which is good, because he’s starting to heat up at the plate. But now I’m going to get both annoying and confusing.

You might think that, if Coco is standing in center with two outs, the odds of the next ball being hit to him AND him leading off the bottom of the frame are 1 in 9 squared, or 1 in 81. I was going to post that ... but then I started thinking, we already KNOW who’s leading off the bottom half, right? It is a known quantity, not a 1 in 9 chance. So reverse your thinking: the best way to see the problem would be, what are the odds that whoever's leading off the bottom half will make the inning-ending play to end the top half?

For example, if Drew’s leading off the bottom half, there’s a 1 in 9 chance of the final out of the top half heading his way, right? And if Youk’s leading off the home half, there’s a 1 in 9 chance of the ball being hit to HIM, right?

Well, no. It’s never EXACTLY 1 in 9. That’s because you have to factor in strikeouts, and also the fact that not every position has equal odds at fielding the next batted ball. I’m sure the shortstop gets more chances than the catcher, and the pitcher’s hardly ever allowed to field anything in the air. And these odds change depending on the type of pitcher (sinkerballers get more grounders) and the type of hitter he’s facing (Papi doesn't fly out to left very often). Or we could just say 1 in 9 and go to bed.

Well, that was a barrel of fun, because I dig these math/logic quandaries. But it got even better when John posted the same question on the Dylan Pool forum, which is bound to have a few math geeks wandering about. And did they ever bite. At last count, the comment thread was four pages long and growing, with people not only tackling the basic question I tried to answer (the odds of the same guy making the final play and leading off), but some actually attempting to come up with odds on the defensive play being a gem as well (someone came up with a credible argument for 1/310). Someone even noted that the guy could die walking off the field between innings, and that could affect the odds, too.

If you're repulsed by the very idea of this discussion (you know, in a "get a life" sort of way), don't read any further. But if you find this sort of thing intriguing (if my Dad's reading this, I know he would), check out the thread here and revel in your geekiness. It really is a glorious thing, and nothing to be afraid of.

The Backyardigans in "Politically Cracked"

Uniqua: "Hey, did you hear? They fired Don Imus. CBS said they worried about the effect of certain language on young people."
Tyrone: "Actually, it seems like their advertisers were worried. If CBS is such a bastion of sensitivity, why wasn't he fired immediately? I'm not saying the old curmudgeon didn't deserve it, but the way it went down seemed kind of cowardly."
Pablo: "Totally. I mean, if people ever stop buying that Zoo Pals plastic dishware that sponsors our show, we're screwed. Money talks, you know."
Tyrone: "Ribbit, ribbit, Zoo Pals! I love those ads."
Tasha: I'm still a little confused, though. Imus did apologize, and his charity work is pretty impressive. Doesn't he deserve a chance at redemption? I'm sure if I ever called Uniqua a stuffy-nosed antenna head, she'd understand."
Uniqua: "Hey, that's not nice, you bossy-faced hippo!"
Tasha: "See? It's just words. We still like each other."
Uniqua: "Speak for yourself, you arrogant mud-wallower! You hurt my feelings!"
Tasha: "Oh, for goodness sakes."
Pablo: "Oh no oh no. My friends are fighting. Oh no. There's strife in the backyard."
Tyrone: "Pablo..."
Pablo: "Oh no oh no oh no! What are we gonna do? What are we gonna DO?"
Tyrone: "PABLO!"
Pablo: "Yes?"
Tyrone: "I think Tasha and Uniqua are just discussing sensitivity issues. Everyone's fine."
Uniqua: "But she called me stuffy-nosed! And criticized my head! Now I feel like one of those basketball players!"
Austin: "Well, actually, they didn't deserve Imus' comments. But you DO sound pretty stuffed up. And those ARE antennae, aren't they?"
Uniqua: "Hey, can it, Kanga, or you'll start appearing in even fewer of our adventures, if you know what I mean. Like Sharpton said..."
Tyrone: "That's another thing. He was the one who stirred this thing up, demanding apologies left and right. But I don't see him apologizing to those lacrosse players for participating in the smear campaign that will follow them around forever. And I certainly don't think he's ever apologized to Steven Pagones, and that was 20 years ago!"
Pablo: "Yeah, what's worse, a few words, or trying to destroy innocent people? What do you say, Allegra? I mean, Uniqua?"
Uniqua: "Oh, you're going down, bowtie boy."
Tyrone: "This was an excellent sociological adventure, don't you think?"
Pablo, Tasha, and Austin: "Sure was! Uh-huh!"
Uniqua: "I hope you all choke on the snack of the day, you know."
Tyrone, Pablo, Tasha, and Austin (singing): "We've got the whole wide world in our..."
Uniqua: "Oh, go screw yourselves. I'm moving to Sunny Patch."

It's That Time of Year

I'm a lifelong Oscar freak, but not so much the last two years, because a little one in the house sort of cuts down on moviegoing, and the Academy Awards aren't quite the same if you haven't seen many of the nominees. Still, I managed to catch about 15 films in the theater this year, and I'd be perfectly pleased if either of the two generally accepted frontrunners -- The Departed or Little Miss Sunshine -- win best picture; I liked them both quite a bit. But it's too bad that, in such a wide-open year (really, any of the five could win, which is rare), the Academy couldn't make room for Pan's Labyrinth, which moved me more than any film of the last two or three years. Guillermo del Toro weaves the story of a lonely girl in Franco's Spain, 1944, who escapes her sad life (and her cruel stepfather) in what may or may not be a complex fantasy world. One that contains images I will never forget.

This is an absolutely breathtaking vision,  grounded by a performance by young Ivana Baquero that's so fiercely honest that even as you worry for her, you don't really pity her. The fantasy elements of Pan's Labyrinth bring to mind the dark, uncompromising spirit of fabulists like the Grimms, who wrote at a time when fairy tales were meant to be bizarre and unsettling, not Disneyfied. If you don't mind subtitles and some flashes of brief but brutal violence -- it is, in many respects, a war film -- I can't recommend this any more enthusiastically. It's a visual wonder, a bold, anti-fascist exhortation to live according to one's conscience, and my personal best picture of 2006.

A Plug for Carissa

"Eric and Jeremy are team number one again. I think getting to go to a movie premiere and walk on a red carpet is great. They already won a lot of trips from Travelocity. The movie they get to see is just silly. Everybody knows that Jesus did not have a wife." --Carissa Gaghan, April 2006

Welcome back, The Amazing Race, still the best reality show on TV. But I say that only to remind folks to check out Carissa Gaghan's blog at the esteemed TARflies fan site. Carissa's lovely Connecticut clan, as fans might recall, got knocked out of the four-person family season when they couldn't locate the red bean in an ocean of non-red beans -- the classic needle-in-a-haystack pitfall. (Carissa's mom still posts on Television Without Pity under the screen name banredbeans.) Anyway, I believe Carissa will be starting her third season of weekly commentary on the show. She is, simply put, one of the funniest people on the Internet, which is kind of startling in that she's, like, 11 years old (and wise in the clear-eyed way that only preteens are). Click here to access her page on TARflies, read up on the archives, and join the growing fan club. Of course, you'll generally have to wait a few days for her new recaps to be posted. 'Cause homework comes first.

I guess they WERE saying mooo-vers

So, it's 1:16 in the morning, and I'm still such a wreck that I've given up on getting any sleep, so I might as well get some work done. I can catch up on shuteye t0morrow night.

Yes, the Pats might have lost to a better team, but that doesn't really make me feel any better. Lots of chances to put this one away, all of them by the boards. Easy decision whether or not to watch the Super Bowl, of course. Neither Jenn nor I feel much like watching a game in which the team we're rooting against has absolutely no shot of losing. None. Colts 31, Bears 13, and we'll be spending the evening with Blockbuster, with a large dollop of Puppy Bowl III thrown in.

Congratulations to the Colts, but you'll excuse us if we're not on board the rest of the ride. I just wish I could get to sleep. But I have articles on heart health to write, so I'll do that instead.

My Sister Released Her First Album!

In Memory of Jakki Young

I'm proud to be one of the many bloggers contributing to the 2,996 project, a vast tribute to those lost on 9/11. Please click here and read as many entries as you can.

Note: the original 2,996 site is down due to bandwidth issues. You can find all the tributes at this mirror site, and also this one.

On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, there was music in the air. Ninety-eight floors above street level, it’s easy to believe that 37-year-old Jacqueline Young went to work -- as an accountant for Marsh & McLennan -- with a song in her head. Probably a song by the Temptations.

There’s something about music that connects people. From my high school days forward, I’ve frittered away countless hours trying to transfer my musical passions to friends and strangers alike by making mix tapes, waxing poetic about some favorite artist online, or finding some other outlet for my obsessions.

Hence, I think I would have liked Jakki Young, who was known on various Temptations-related Internet message boards as Lyric. I would have liked the sheer enthusiasm she displayed in her web postings -- enthusiasm I am sure translated to her work, to her relationships, to her ideals, and to each challenge she stumbled across.

A group of fellow Temptations fans organized an online tribute for Jakki several years ago. On the front page is a description of their friend, and the very first word is “vibrant.” True to her online handle, she eagerly compiled the lyrics of her favorite band’s songs. She cherished meeting her favorite band member, Harry McGilberry, in Atlantic City in 2001, a few months before her untimely death.

I asked myself: what do we really know about those we meet through our computer screens? It depends. But consider this: those who launched the Lyric tribute site wrote, “She later became more than a fellow fan to some of us; she became a friend, a confidant, a sister. She held a very special place in our hearts. Our world will never be the same without her.” If her online circle held her in such high esteem, what must Jakki Young have meant to those she touched in person every day? And what does she still mean?

“I never met Jakki in person, but we talked a lot on the phone and e-mailed each other quite often,” one of Jakki’s friends wrote, back in 2001. “There was a sad time in my life, and when I was crying to her on the phone, she turned my tears into laughter. We shared an interest in Harry and shared pictures of the concerts. We had planned to meet in October of this year, and her last e-mail to me on 9/9/01, my son’s birthday, will be always in my heart. She said, “name the day and time, and like the J-5, I'll be there.”

I’ve never been into the Temptations -- in fact, I’m embarrassingly Motown-illiterate -- but I did look up quite a few lyrics today. I don’t know what song was the last that unspooled gracefully in Jakki’s mind before the music was interrupted by shearing metal and fire. But one lyric I found made me smile:

“America!
I ain’t ashamed to say that I love ya.
There ain’t another place on Earth I’d rather be.”

Of course, there are better places, richer horizons to touch. And I believe, as strongly as I believe the sun rises in the morning, that Jakki will meet her friends again, at a day and time no one can tell. As for the fierce emptiness she has left in the hearts of her loved ones, she knows, she knows. And she waits for you.

On this morning of Sept. 11, 2006, there is still music in the air, whenever anyone who knew Lyric remembers her enthusiasm, her vibrancy, and her life. I am sorry not to count myself among them. But I’m both happy and humbled to shine a simple light upon Jakki Young today. I will do so with the help of T. S. Eliot:

In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.

We are children quickly tired: children who are up in the night and fall asleep as the rocket is fired; and the day is long for work or play.

We tire of distraction or concentration, we sleep and are glad to sleep, controlled by the rhythm of blood and the day and the night and the seasons.

And we must extinguish the candle, put out the light and relight it; forever must quench, forever relight the flame.

Therefore we thank Thee for our little light, that is dappled with shadow.

We thank Thee who hast moved us to building, to finding, to forming at the ends of our fingers and beams of our eyes.

And when we have built an altar to the Invisible Light, we may set thereon the little lights for which our bodily vision is made.

And we thank Thee that darkness reminds us of light.

O Light Invisible, we give Thee thanks for Thy great glory!

Saying What Needs to Be Said

I was very moved by this Peggy Noonan article in the Wall Street Journal. It's worth passing on. Please read it if you have the time.

Crap. I Think I Killed Syd Barrett

Rock's legendary recluse, Syd Barrett, apparently died on Friday, the same day I posted a blog entry titled "Shine On You Crazy Letter Person." It's a reference to Pink Floyd's 1975 song "Shine On You Crazy Diamond," their tribute to their troubled ex-frontman.

Anyway, here's to Syd, with hopes that his twilight days brought some sort of peace from the emotional instability (not helped by his early LSD use, by the way) that derailed his career. He spent his latter years in Cambridge, England painting and gardening, hopefully happy. Thanks for the songs, kind sir.

Still, I don't think I'll be referencing Dylan in my blog headlines for awhile. He's looking kinda frail, too.

Flightiness of the Navigator

My next Millionaire audition is slated for August 1, which includes attending a show taping. Maybe this time the producers will be less afraid of how much money I might drain from the kitty. After all, if I could do this at age 6...

...imagine what I could accomplish with almost 30 years more information jammed into my noggin! Speaking of Noggin, I can recite and sing along with entire episodes of certain kids' shows these days, to the point where Jenn says it's no wonder there's no room left in my brain for common sense. As Nonna could testify, that has always been the case, even at age 6. But, man, did I know my states.

Late addition: Aug. 1 has come and gone. I was going to post about my second audition, how much I enjoyed the show tapings, and how things went with the producers, but -- long story short -- I never even got to the interview process, because I didn't pass the test. Maybe next year, huh?

Dear Joseph: Please accept this invitation to go away. Love, ABC

Next round of auditions: later this month or in August. See you then, ABC.

The Audition

My ankles are killing me today.

But it was a lovely spring day in Manhattan, and my train rolled into Grand Central at 3:40 p.m., a full hour before I had to be at the ABC building on West 66th Street. So instead of hailing a cab, I just starting walking, keeping a close eye on the time, knowing I could get a taxi at any point if I needed to. I started from 42nd and Lexington, and I made the 24 blocks north in decent time, then turned left onto East 66th. I could tell by the descending addresses that I was only a few blocks away from the dividing line with West 66th, and figured I would make it to ABC with at least 10 minutes to spare. Of course, had I been thinking, I might have realized a bit earlier that the dividing line would be ... Central Park. And by the time I crossed that, walking even more briskly in my not-that-comfortable work shoes, I made it to my destination with just two minutes to spare, and somewhat sweatier than I had really wanted to be.

The Test

They ushered about 120 of us into a big room -- one of two such groups that afternoon -- and sat me at a table with five other people. Everyone was really friendly, and we chatted about the show: players' strategies, what we would do in the Hot Seat, that kind of thing. One guy had auditioned before, and a couple had taken the Jeopardy test as well, which is apparently as brutal as the show itself. We all agreed that answering questions with no time limit against no other players is an easier and faster way to rack up some dough. We were all given Scantron sheets and told we had 10 minutes to answer 30 questions. As we discovered later, everyone had the same test, but table monitors made sure there was no cheating. I was done -- except for one question -- before five minutes were up, and I spent the rest of the time checking my #2 pencil markings and poring over that final question. I don't think the show approves of making the test questions public, so I'll just say it had to do with a part of the body, and I found later by discussing answers with my table mates that I had gotten it wrong. I got the other 29 correct, though, which was enough to move on to part 2 of the audition: the personal interview.

The Interview

I've had longer discussions with telemarketers I hung up on, so you really have to make a quick impression here. About 30 people advanced to this stage, which involved a roughly three-minute chat with one of three producers. The friendly woman I spoke with asked me how I met my wife (Meredith likes those stories), then quickly ran down some of the answers to my application questions. I had noticed through casual glances in line that my answers were more indepth than those of some other applicants, many of whom hand-wrote one-line responses. The producer seemed to like some of the stuff I included, and I got a chance to talk about the fact that Nate and I watch the show every day at breakfast. Finally, she asked what kind of contestant I would be: risky or conservative. I told her I'd take calculated risks, because while you don't want to do anything foolhardy, you're only in the Hot Seat once, and you're there to play the game and make a mark.

The Next Step

I walked back most of the way to Grand Central, hopping a cab for the final dozen blocks on Lexington when it seemed I had a shot at making the 6:30 train, which I barely did. Next, I get my postcard in the mail in a few weeks, telling me whether I made the contestant pool for the upcoming season. If I do make the pool, there's no guarantee I'll be on the show, but they still have some photos of Nate that I attached to my application documents, so even if they're not crazy about me, how could they resist him?

Who Wants to Be a Lifeline?

OK, so maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself. But for the first time ever, I was accepted into an audition of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? in Manhattan. I had applied in the past and not gotten a nod, so this is kind of cool.

The audition is a two-part affair: a timed test, and then -- if you pass it -- a personal interview with someone from the Millionaire staff. OK. I'm good at exactly four things. Jenn's good at scores of things, but I'm good at just four: trivia, taking tests, making up songs for Nate, and writing. The first two of these skills will come into play during my audition, and the writing skills will help me fill out an eight-answer questionnaire in advance, which contains questions like "What are three things you want to do before you die?" and "What is your most embarrassing moment?" and "Do you have any bad habits that annoy other people?" If ever I needed to turn on the ol' wit and creativity (and regular readers of this blog know that's not always the case), now would be a good time. So that's what it all comes down to: a test, and ... I don't know, charm, I guess.

Acing the interview would put me in the contestant pool, and the chances of appearing on the show really go up at that point, although it is by no means guaranteed -- they're always going to make sure they have more potential contestants than they need. So even if I make it into the pool, I need a secret weapon, something that guarantees they'll remember me.

That's it! I'll run in there naked, carrying only a notebook!

Oh, right. I already did that when I was 5 years old. An event which, by the way, is certainly in the running for most embarrassing moment.

My 200,000,000 Cents

Following are some quotes from the horribly outraged Johnny Damon on getting booed on Monday night. Note the typically Yankee superiority and arrogance -- and he's only been there a few months!

"There's not many teams who would fail to pursue their most popular player ... I know the Yankees would never be like that. If Derek Jeter's contract is up ... they're going to keep him."

"It (the booing) goes to show me how much they like me and how much they would rather me be out there for them."

Yes, because the world revolves around Yankees, Johnny. And by the way, Jeter is a Hall of Famer this very second, so I'm sure he appreciates the comparison. Actually, I'm sure most Sox fans were less interested in you Monday than just getting the win and marveling at the miracle of Doug Mirabelli making it from his plane at Logan to Fenway in 12 minutes. Most of this sanctimonious nonsense is kind of amusing, but it gets irritating when Joe Torre manages to put on his best patronizing frowny face to say he was "disappointed" in Sox fans, or when Damon tells a radio interviewer that the fans who decided to cheer him are the "true fans of baseball."

Here's the point: teams place a value on players -- the Patriots have won three Super Bowls with that mentality -- and you have every right to play elsewhere in order to raise your salary from $10 million to $12 million per year. That's what you get out of the deal, Johnny. Not bad, right? Now, what do the fans get? Nothing, except the right to respond to your act in any way they see fit. What do you not get in the deal? The right not to have your feelings hurt, you pompous little shit. So just cash the check and go about your business.

Rant over. The Yankees may now return to cleaning out their stigmata wounds.

Back to Training Camp

OK, maybe I'll watch the semis and finals of the World Baseball Classic now that the USA is out. Don't get me wrong -- I wanted them to win it all, but fair and square. Had they advanced to the semis, it would have been a fraud. So congratulations to Mexico, which had nothing to play for but knocked us out anyway, and to the Dominican Republic, Cuba, Japan, and South Korea for advancing. Sounds like a really good final four. I'll root for the Dominicans -- and Big Papi -- who have got to be favored, with a ridiculous number of all-stars peppering the roster.

Oh, and a note on Bob Davidson, one of the umpires who resigned from the majors several years ago in a misguided negotiating ploy: not only did he blow the call on the tag play against Japan, but last night, he took away an obvious Mexico home run that caromed off the foul pole, 10 feet off the ground, calling it a double. He doesn't need his eyesight checked; instead, MLB needs to check his bank account. I have a feeling a large deposit was made recently.

More Cheap Wins, Please!

The moment it became clear that the powers-that-be are going to push the USA into the World Baseball Classic finals no matter what, I lost interest. (Well, I actively rooted for Japan to win last night after that horrible call reversal at third base in the eighth inning; then I lost interest.) If both Japan and the US win their next two games against South Korea and Mexico, they'll both be in anyway, but what does it matter? By making sure the US doesn't have to play a Latin team until the final four, by granting them scouting resources no other team has, and by stacking last night's game with three American umpires -- when about half the umpires in the tournament pool are non-American -- it's pretty clear that the good ol' USA is going to sail to San Diego, case closed. But I won't be watching any more games. If we need to cheat, I'm just not interested. But before I tune out completely, I have a few ideas that could further grease the skids for our homeland homies:

* If the American catcher manages to catch the pitch, it's a strike. I mean, if it's catchable, it's hittable, right?

* You know those heavy rings hitters put on their bats while in the batter's box? Foreign teams must keep those things on when they step to the plate.

* When the USA is playing defense, if a foul ball is caught in the stands by an American fan, the batter is out. If the ball is caught by a non-American fan, well ... the batter is also out.

* Also when the Americans are in the field, first base is placed 40 feet farther down the baseline, in shallow right field. Sure, this might compromise the integrity of the "diamond," but compromising integrity hasn't seemed to be a problem so far.

* In the tradition of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire's "switch the question" lifeline, the Americans get one "switch the call," to be used after the seventh inning. Oh, wait, they already instituted this one.

Other suggestions will be cheerfully accepted. Glad I could be of service, Mr. Selig. U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

Pushing the Boundaries of Dessert

It's going to be a loooong season for the Illegal Lugnuts.

That's the name of my stable of NASCAR drivers in a contest Jenn and I struck up for this season. Yes, my team is called the Illegal Lugnuts, vaguely in honor of Chad Knaus, which makes zero sense since Jimmie Johnson isn't even on my team. Jenn called her team Nate's Roos, honoring our dude and our dogs, none of whom have ever cheated at anything, except possibly when Mavi got away with making contact with me in the weave poles the day he qualified in Westfield in a driving rain.

Anyway, back to NASCAR. We picked our teams by selecting one racer from eight groups of five, arranged according to how well they finished last year, in addition to one rookie choice. We each earn the points our drivers earn on a week-by-week basis, and the loser of the week has to make the dessert of the winner's choice. There will be an overall season champion too, but we haven't decided what the prize is yet. Both Jenn and I chose Jeff Gordon and Kyle Busch, so our scores for them will cancel out. Jenn also took Jimmie Johnson, Dale Earnhardt Jr., Ken Schrader, Kevin Harvick, Robby Gordon, Michael Waltrip, and Martin Truex Jr. I went with Carl Edwards, Elliott Sadler, Brian Vickers, Kyle Petty, Travis Kvapil, Scott Riggs, and Denny Hamlin. I was torn between Biffle and Edwards for my #1 car, but decided Edwards is more fun to root for.

Final score the first week? Nate's Roos 1,138, the Illegal Lugnuts 745. Edwards finished last, completing exactly half the laps as the car that finished second to last. Riggs didn't even race. Maybe he was off having a beer with Chad.

Sure, Jimmie and Chad are dirty cheaters, but to put Jenn's crushing victory in perspective, if NASCAR had taken away every single one of Jimmie's 185 points, her team still wins. If NASCAR had then said, no, that's not enough punishment, let's award Jimmie negative 185 points -- well, Jenn's team would still scrape out a win over the Illegal and Barely Breathing Lugnuts. Basically, the Lugnuts were ground into a fine paste this week.

Or at least ground into devil's food cake batter, baked and topped with white icing, which is Jenn's first dessert choice (of many, no doubt) of the season. Good thing Mom sent us that new bakeware. I'm gonna be using it a lot.

Yeah, That Was Really ... Super

Hey Ben!!! ... I think you played AWESOME tonight! I've never seen a QB (especially one w/ only 2 yrs. in the NFL so far) perform as well as you!!! You guys really deserve this win...and you're finally gonna get the one for the thumb! Let's see....27 seconds left. I can only imagine what it feels like to be in the middle of all that action. IT'S OVER!!!!!!!!! CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is fairly typical of comments on Ben Roethlisberger's blog today. I like Ben, but the throng of 15-year-old girls commenting on his web site are kind of irritating. If a 9-for-21 performance for 123 yards with no passing touchdowns and two interceptions (one potentially game-changing) is the best QBing you've ever seen, I really don't know what to say. Maverick handles a ball better than that, and he doesn't have arms.

I turned the game off in the fourth quarter, right after a phantom holding call negated first and goal on the 2 for the Seahawks, who would surely have taken the lead. Terrible game. The winning team played badly, and the losing team had every big play negated by the mediocre refereeing we've seen all postseason. And I can't even totally blame the officials when Seattle entertains their fans with numerous missed field goals, dropped passes, and jaw-dropping clock management. And who was covering Hines Ward on the third-and-26 play before halftime?

Ick. I was disgusted with the poor play and poor officiating even though I went in sort of rooting for the Steelers. It's frustrating to realize that the Pats would have beaten both these teams. But they didn't deserve to be there after coughing up five turnovers against Denver in a game they should have won. Them's the breaks. So we were left with this sad event last night, which offered exactly three highlights:

1. The Budweiser commercial with the little horse getting help pulling the carriage. Awesome. I got all misty-eyed.

2. The realization that, at any moment, you could switch over to Puppy Bowl II on Animal Planet, which is still the best counterprogramming in television history. And three springers this year!

3. The realization that you could bring a tape recorder into the shower, croon a few songs, play the tape back, and outperform last night's musical acts in Detroit. I mean, the beagle at the Puppy Bowl could outhowl them. But at least no one was naked on stage. Except for the dogs, of course.

Yea, Thus Endeth the Not-Very-Amazing Race

"Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he that does the will of my father who is in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and in your name drive out demons and perform many miracles?' Then I will tell them plainly, 'I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!'" (Matthew 7:21-23).

"And did we not hail a cab in your name, Lord, and throw apple cores at moving cars in your name, and insult garbagemen and the entire state of Utah in your name, and generally display meanness and hypocrisy and stupidity in your name? Didn't we? Then how come we didn't win the million dollars? Oh, because you'd rather give it to the Linzes? Why? They don't like us, and we're the greatest family ever! How could they possibly win?" (Book of Weavers 12:13).

I am a firm believer that God does not care who wins reality shows, but I was so hoping he would turn his attention away from victims of hurricanes, wars, and famine for just a few moments and intervene on the behalf of all rational people everywhere to make sure these screeching hyenas won nothing. And lo, it was good. And so are the Linzes. Who dey? Dey very nice people.

As for you, CBS, if Jenn and I have to watch one more season of people driving around for 49 minutes of every hour because you couldn't think up any actual challenges, I will have issues with you. Sitting around watching people do nothing for an alloted amount of time -- let's face it, the viewers were basically yielded, every week. Let's do better, shall we? Good.

But at least we didn't have to see the Weavers put together the geographic puzzle, which would have gone something like this:

Rolly (putting piece in place): "I got Idaho!"
Rebecca: "Idaho's stupid!"
Rolly: "OK, and here's Montana!"
Rachel: "Montana's stupid! I hate Montana!"
Rolly: "There's Washington!"
Linda: "This is so not fair! Why aren't we in the lead? Oh, and Washington's stupid!"

Maybe God was looking out for us after all.

(Past Amazing Race wrap-ups: Season 6, Season 7)

Thanks for Nothing, Mom!

So it turns out that antibiotics do nothing for bronchitis.

Well, well. This news arrives a few decades late. No wonder I hated taking medicine as a kid. As it turns out, I wasn't being unnecessarily fussy about swallowing those pills and nasty liquids -- I was just ahead of the scientific curve.

Brilliance is rarely appreciated in its own time, though.

Revenge of the Accent

"The honorable Tion Medon (Bruce Spence), the prime minister of Utapau, rumored to be the name of a long-forgotten former tribe on Survivor way before Boston Rob and Amba."

This is a caption accompanying a photo above Roger Ebert's online review of Star Wars Episode III. I post it only because it's the only time I've ever seen anyone (besides myself) write Amber's name the way Rob pronounces it. I typically add an h and spell it Ambah, but hey, it's nice not to be alone in my irritatingly glib cleverness.