Fill out your Pope Brackets!
VM contributor Sirk sez, “I’m taking Duke.” C’mon, Sirk! There’s no way Poland will win back-to-back papacies!
Where’s Larry Hagman?
Made it to Dallas last night, dear reader. The flight had some bumps, so I popped a little Vicodin on the way up, which helped me turn into a piece of rubber. I really do need to get to a doctor sometime so I can get a prescription for a little anti-anxiety med for flights.
Fortunately, this conference is for clinical research personnel, so I didn’t feel I was in much danger when I tossed down five gin-and-tonics during the NCAA hoops finals last night. At the very least, they’d be able to determine the exact drug-drug interaction that would lead to my state of inebriation.
Tonight, I’ll likely hit the Mavericks home game. I’ve only been to 4 or 5 different arenas, as far as I can recall, which means I’m lagging behind the number of baseball stadia I’ve attended games in (7).
Like, as ever, you needed to know.
Weekending
Commemorating the death of Pope John Paul II, the official VM girlfriend and I went out to see Sin City today. I enjoyed the flick, but not for any sense of emotional resonance. It was fun to look at, and felt like a roller-coaster ride at times. I was amazed that Mickey Rourke has devolved to the point at which he was a plausible choice to play the role of Marv.
Frank Miller’s comics tend not psychologize, so it’s no surprise that the movie was more thrill-ride than deep exploration of criminal personae. We don’t have a new Pulp Fiction on our hands, but those don’t come around too often.
Now, though, she’s back at her place in the city, and I’m home, watching the first game of the baseball season. We both sighed pretty heavily as we passed Yankee Stadium on the FDR Drive. Being a pretty even-handed guy, it’s been tough for me to deal with last year’s baseball playoffs. I’m willing to say, “My favorite team suffered the worst choke-job in the history of American professional team sports.” I’ve offered kudos to the Red Sox for playing hard and forcing that choke. Doesn’t make it easier to deal with.
Hearing the announcer say, “Randy Johnson is now taking the field for the New York Yankees!” was pretty freaky. I don’t like the strategy of signing the biggest free agents available and, as much as people goof on the Yanks for that, during their recent World Series run (1996, 1998, 1999, 2000), they didn’t really bring in significant free agents. They built through trades while they admittedly DID have a larger budget than other teams, so they could accommodate more players. But they didn’t just offer big money to bring guys in. That only started as the core got older, and it’s led to gaudy stats, but no World Series.
All of which is to say, I’m waiting for another Paul O’Neill to show up on this squad. I probably oughtta read Buster Olney’s recent book.
And, mark that I am, I do cop to sitting here on the sofa, cheering for Jeter.
But screw A-Rod.
No Kevin McHale?
It’s the NBA All-Ugly team! Glad they gave a shout out to that classic Celtic squad of 1985-86, but still found room for Keith Closs AND his freckles!
I’m disappointed that the Hubie Brown entry doesn’t mention his real likeness: the dudes from Alien Nation.
Go Shorty
My music-maniac alter ego has posted a new Mad Mix! Check it out!
Fools’ Day
A little while ago, I wrote about a science-fiction author friend of mine who suffered complications from an appendectomy and now has a GAW (Gaping Abdominal Wound) to deal with for the next 6-10 months.
He’s recovering well, and it was his birthday today, so the official VM girlfriend & I took him and his partner out to a restaurant around the corner from his home in the Upper West Side. He was in good spirits, and happy to celebrate his 63rd with us.
I called a few friends of ours before dinner and let them know that we’d be at the restaurant, if they wanted to drop by or call to wish him a happy birthday/get well. A few called, which made him even happier. I love doing good things for my friends. Be a fool; just love people.
Here’s a pic of him (the bearded guy) and his partner:
Can I Opt Out of Humanity?
I can only hope that this story — about Terry Schiavo’s parents selling the names and e-mails of their supporters/donors to a direct-mail firm — isn’t true. Because if it is, it might count as the single most disturbing aspect of this whole episode.
New Orleans
As I mentioned a few posts ago, I took some pix down in Louisiana last weekend. I meant to post them earlier, but my flight trouble Monday/Tuesday, combined with the official VM Mom‘s flight delays yesterday, left me with no time or energy to get to processing them.
Without further ado:
Here’s a streetcorner in New Orleans. I liked the color composition, but the day was pretty overcast and ugly.
This is the Cornstalk Fence Inn, which doesn’t seem to require much by way of explanation.
Jackson Square. It was, as mentioned, overcast and foggy.
Really overcast and foggy. This is the Mississippi.
Did I mention that fog?
AAIEE! Ghost ship! With gambling!
Another composition I liked. A local mentioned that it used to be a brothel.
Back to the home of the official VM girlfriend‘s parents in Des Allemands! Time for lunch!
I’m not joking here. It’s a whole table of boiled, seasoned crawfish.
Mason (official VM girlfriend’s godson) doesn’t know what to make of it all. I had some trepidation when they warned me, “Don’t eat the dead ones.”
“You mean there are live ones?”
Evidently, if the crawfish’s tail is straight, that means it was dead before it was boiled with the others. That means it might taste funny or have weird microbes. You know: as opposed to the ones that were pulled live out of the carcinogen-laced Mississippi runoff.
“You actually eat those?” Mason asked. I was with him. I ate the meat from the tail, but I was convinced they were just pulling my leg about sucking the juice from the front half. “But not too hard, or the other stuff comes loose.”
On Easter, Mason broke out the John Deere tractor.
He hauled ass for a while.
The tyke at rest.
It was a fun trip, even with the general trepidation that’s supposed to come with “meeting the folks.” My own can be pretty entertaining, so I never make a big deal out of meeting other people’s.
I’ll be in Dallas for a couple of days next week, and I’ll try to get some nice pix down there. As I recall, though, it had one of the most grotesque skylines I’ve ever seen. My other main memory of Dallas is jumping around a hotel room, blown up on Colt 45, cheering as Charlie Hayes caught the last out for the Yankees in the 1996 World Series.
Oh, and there’s the time I almost got killed in a sports bar in the hotel. I’ll save that one for later.
Fortunately, I live in NJ
New York Press reveals its annual list of the 50 most loathsome New Yorkers.
MSY/RIC/EWR
Took a convoluted path home from New Orleans. Weather was terrible in NJ, with a whole ton of thunderstorms, so the flight was delayed. Midway through, the pilot announced that Newark Airport was closed and that we’d be landing in Richmond, VA, which was near us. We took on fuel, but after an hour or two of sitting, the decision was made to call it a night. The pilot cited microbursts as the reason the airport was closed. I said, “I’d rather find that out here in Richmond than over Newark.”
Continental got us hotel rooms and we headed out to get some rest. The flight headed out this morning at 7am, necessitating a 4:30am wakeup call. Today’s part went off sans hitch, but I’m exhausted, so none of my NO,LA pix until tonight or tomorrow, dear reader.