Thursday, January 8, 2009
Ping
This is going up just to let people know that I am still alive and am surviving my first busy season, and my fingers are eager to write some words that aren't "no exceptions noted" once this period is over.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Shade THIS In Yellow, Chuck Todd
The 2008 Presidential Campaign, for most non-junkies, has gone on roughly six months to two years too long. For me, by November 4th, it will have gone on exactly two weeks too long. For today is the day, the first day during this gauntlet, that I am undecided as to who will get my vote.
John McCain is a hero of mine. Heroic for his service to this country in the military and in the Senate. But many people have served both bodies nobly. What makes this great man a role model for me is our shared distinction as Republicans called liberals by our conservative friends and conservatives by our liberal friends. Such is the price to be paid for not acting as a partisan bobblehead.
I have said this many times this year, and I'll say it just once more to make my point clear. I really wish that I could vote for the guy retroactively to 2000 rather than prospectively until 2012. The crisis our country is currently in is not, as the Joe Bidens and Hillary Clintons would have you believe, a result of George W. Bush's Republican policies. Rather, the true father of this mess is the incompetent execution of those policies by a non-intellectually curious president. Under a McCain administration these past eight years, we would have seen a tough foreign policy and pro-business solutions just the same. But based on Senator McCain's history, these likely all would have been carried out with proper precautions and some deference towards the 45-49% of the citizens who would have voted for the other guy.
Sometime in the next two weeks, my fantasy is to see a John McCain rally during which a scream rises up from the back of the room, and an angry old man rushes the stage to attack the speaker. The angry old man looks a lot like the speaker, actually. The lunatic raises his hand to the disturbed speaker's face, tears at his skin, and the audience gasps. That's not John McCain at the podium, that's an imposter! The lunatic is the real John McCain. He's been locked away by his campaign since the summer of last year, as a prisoner of electoral war. He promptly fires his entire staff, dumps Sarah Palin, and barnstorms with Joe Lieberman around the country. The John McCain who ruffles the feathers of Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity. The John McCain who actually inspires college students. The John McCain who lives his campaign slogan Country First. Being locked up once again leads him to greatness as he ekes out a victory on election day.
Up until now, I looked past the dangerous and divisive tactics of the paranoid nutjobs who insist they do not mean anything racist by saying the full name of Barack Hussein Obama. I've insisted that as long as those words aren't coming out of the mouth of the man himself, then that in no way provides a reason for voting against him. Well, I'm pretty sure Bush didn't make those calls in 2000 to South Carolina voters about McCain's "illegitimate black child," but he sure didn't do a lot to stop them. I don't agree with many of Barack Obama's policies, and I was hoping most of the country would agree with me and vote him down on that basis. But I'm not sure I can sit easy with the second personally noble guy of the past eight years to go down because of baseless fear about his character.
I think it silly to accuse John McCain of being a racist or a fearmonger. For him to be so now would be to repeat the same sins lobbed against him eight years ago, and he is obviously a better man than that. But while my love for the man and his policies have allowed me to overlook his surrogates' tactics, I cannot ignore the words of General Colin Powell who was so miffed by the allegations that Barack Obama is a Muslim. He's not, he's a Christian. And if he were a Muslim, so what? The icing on the cake was Limbaugh, who suggested that because he was made a general and a secretary of state by Republicans, his undying loyalty should be towards the party regardless of who he thinks is better for the job. I guess Rush didn't realize that the General was practicing "Country First," and as a necessary corollary, party second.
I also cannot reconcile the pick of the Alaskan governor as the first in line to assume the duties should the absolute worst happen. No, it's not because McCain is "old." But, c'mon, Nixon, Kennedy, FDR, Harding, McKinley, Harrison, Lincoln. That's a good fistful of guys who did not get to make their farewell addresses. And I don't think Ms. Palin is an idiot. Her state seems to love her with the sky-high approval ratings. She's obviously doing something right up there, all while juggling five children. People loved Governor George W. Bush, too. And by most reasonable accounts, of people who actually have known him, he's not an idiot either. But he is not naturally curious. So tell me how someone who just got her passport last year, who does not delve much further into foreign policy discussion than the rote party lines, how will that someone deal on the international stage? Tell me how that person has negotiating leverage with world leaders if she doesn't seem to naturally care about much more than making sure Joe Sixpack can keep his guns? And what this great nation needs to stay powerful is not someone no one on the world stage has heard of until two months ago. And I know Europeans don't get to vote, and I'm quite grateful for that, but fellow world leaders must know and respect that person with whom they are dealing.
Another inane argument put forth is that if we elect Barack Obama, the terrorists win. Sadly, I'm no longer hesitant to say that if we elect John McCain, the terrorists win. Not the kinds of terrorists who fly planes into our buildings, but those who stoke fear in the hearts of downtrodden Americans. Basically: You might have no job, no healthcare, and a foreclosed home, but that guy hates America! And if you don't hate America, vote for John McCain.
Those terrorists were enabled in 2000 and 2004. It might be time for me to set aside by admiration for a guy who I think basically deserves the presidency because of his career and life history, and instead join with my fellow Americans in sending him the message that this hate and division can no longer be tolerated. John McCain has two weeks to snap to it and clean up his campaign, or I might have to, with great pain, vote against him.
Of course, that doesn't mean I would necessarily have to vote for Obama. Mike Bloomberg would be a great write-in candidate, as would (if it were not for that pesky Constitution) Governor Schwarzenegger.
John McCain is a hero of mine. Heroic for his service to this country in the military and in the Senate. But many people have served both bodies nobly. What makes this great man a role model for me is our shared distinction as Republicans called liberals by our conservative friends and conservatives by our liberal friends. Such is the price to be paid for not acting as a partisan bobblehead.
I have said this many times this year, and I'll say it just once more to make my point clear. I really wish that I could vote for the guy retroactively to 2000 rather than prospectively until 2012. The crisis our country is currently in is not, as the Joe Bidens and Hillary Clintons would have you believe, a result of George W. Bush's Republican policies. Rather, the true father of this mess is the incompetent execution of those policies by a non-intellectually curious president. Under a McCain administration these past eight years, we would have seen a tough foreign policy and pro-business solutions just the same. But based on Senator McCain's history, these likely all would have been carried out with proper precautions and some deference towards the 45-49% of the citizens who would have voted for the other guy.
Sometime in the next two weeks, my fantasy is to see a John McCain rally during which a scream rises up from the back of the room, and an angry old man rushes the stage to attack the speaker. The angry old man looks a lot like the speaker, actually. The lunatic raises his hand to the disturbed speaker's face, tears at his skin, and the audience gasps. That's not John McCain at the podium, that's an imposter! The lunatic is the real John McCain. He's been locked away by his campaign since the summer of last year, as a prisoner of electoral war. He promptly fires his entire staff, dumps Sarah Palin, and barnstorms with Joe Lieberman around the country. The John McCain who ruffles the feathers of Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity. The John McCain who actually inspires college students. The John McCain who lives his campaign slogan Country First. Being locked up once again leads him to greatness as he ekes out a victory on election day.
Up until now, I looked past the dangerous and divisive tactics of the paranoid nutjobs who insist they do not mean anything racist by saying the full name of Barack Hussein Obama. I've insisted that as long as those words aren't coming out of the mouth of the man himself, then that in no way provides a reason for voting against him. Well, I'm pretty sure Bush didn't make those calls in 2000 to South Carolina voters about McCain's "illegitimate black child," but he sure didn't do a lot to stop them. I don't agree with many of Barack Obama's policies, and I was hoping most of the country would agree with me and vote him down on that basis. But I'm not sure I can sit easy with the second personally noble guy of the past eight years to go down because of baseless fear about his character.
I think it silly to accuse John McCain of being a racist or a fearmonger. For him to be so now would be to repeat the same sins lobbed against him eight years ago, and he is obviously a better man than that. But while my love for the man and his policies have allowed me to overlook his surrogates' tactics, I cannot ignore the words of General Colin Powell who was so miffed by the allegations that Barack Obama is a Muslim. He's not, he's a Christian. And if he were a Muslim, so what? The icing on the cake was Limbaugh, who suggested that because he was made a general and a secretary of state by Republicans, his undying loyalty should be towards the party regardless of who he thinks is better for the job. I guess Rush didn't realize that the General was practicing "Country First," and as a necessary corollary, party second.
I also cannot reconcile the pick of the Alaskan governor as the first in line to assume the duties should the absolute worst happen. No, it's not because McCain is "old." But, c'mon, Nixon, Kennedy, FDR, Harding, McKinley, Harrison, Lincoln. That's a good fistful of guys who did not get to make their farewell addresses. And I don't think Ms. Palin is an idiot. Her state seems to love her with the sky-high approval ratings. She's obviously doing something right up there, all while juggling five children. People loved Governor George W. Bush, too. And by most reasonable accounts, of people who actually have known him, he's not an idiot either. But he is not naturally curious. So tell me how someone who just got her passport last year, who does not delve much further into foreign policy discussion than the rote party lines, how will that someone deal on the international stage? Tell me how that person has negotiating leverage with world leaders if she doesn't seem to naturally care about much more than making sure Joe Sixpack can keep his guns? And what this great nation needs to stay powerful is not someone no one on the world stage has heard of until two months ago. And I know Europeans don't get to vote, and I'm quite grateful for that, but fellow world leaders must know and respect that person with whom they are dealing.
Another inane argument put forth is that if we elect Barack Obama, the terrorists win. Sadly, I'm no longer hesitant to say that if we elect John McCain, the terrorists win. Not the kinds of terrorists who fly planes into our buildings, but those who stoke fear in the hearts of downtrodden Americans. Basically: You might have no job, no healthcare, and a foreclosed home, but that guy hates America! And if you don't hate America, vote for John McCain.
Those terrorists were enabled in 2000 and 2004. It might be time for me to set aside by admiration for a guy who I think basically deserves the presidency because of his career and life history, and instead join with my fellow Americans in sending him the message that this hate and division can no longer be tolerated. John McCain has two weeks to snap to it and clean up his campaign, or I might have to, with great pain, vote against him.
Of course, that doesn't mean I would necessarily have to vote for Obama. Mike Bloomberg would be a great write-in candidate, as would (if it were not for that pesky Constitution) Governor Schwarzenegger.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Goodbye, Old Friend
Why would a grown man get all emotional about the close of a building, infamously derided as a hokey dump, with a papier mache apple gimmick as one of its most famous features? When that grown man was just a boy, he would go with his Dad to attend this blue/purple monstrosity and see villains like Bobby Bonilla and Bret Saberhagen, and heroes like Eddie Murray and Todd Hundley. John Franco would be one or the other, depending on the day. The most vivid sensory image was the aroma of a Kahn's hot dog. That boy would go with his Dad, roughly ten times or so a year, to see those guys in the blue and orange mostly lose until the late 90s or so.
I stood above my seat in the Upper Reserve, Section 25, Row O, Seat 3 at 5:06pm today, seeing the worst come to fruition. Intense anger flooded my veins as, for the third year straight, the 25 guys to whom I had trusted my heart ripped it up like so much confetti that rained down over an hour later.
This latest failing was soon deemed irrelevant, as the anger became reflective sadness. I needed to see that video of Mr. Met packing up and leaving Shea Stadium while recalling that building's greatest memories like I needed a hole in my head. Thus the first tears welled up.
One summer afternoon in 1998, while the Mets were looking like contenders for the first time in nearly a decade, my Dad came home from work beaming. He told me that it looked like the team might be in the running for some guy whose name sounded like pizza, and that this guy was an incredible baseball player. I was twelve, so still had to rely on him to determine whether something the Mets did was good or bad. When he did actually come to Queens, he struggled a bit and drew the ire of a few pessimists, but my young mind saw something in him that can only be described as heroic. For eight years, there was no equal in my mind to Mike Piazza. As much as everyone knows I love David Wright, he still has quite a bit to go before he takes the crown of my favorite baseball player of all time. And it's a beautiful thing to know that in 2005, one man's last Mets season was the other's first.
So spending the final minutes in my home away from home, while not being able to comprehend a Mets game without a Shea Stadium, the guy whose named adorned my back for nine years was introduced during the park's farewell ceremony. The dam that was holding back those welled up tears instantly burst. For the first time in at least three years, I was openly sobbing uncontrollably. At this point, I was finally facing the fact that this personal mecca to which I've eagerly gone probably about 200 times, during meaningful games in September, already-meaningless games in July, two straight drizzly 40 degree April nights, a 95 degree night which preceded a New York City blackout, days with parents, best friends, girlfriends, and even a few by myself, four playoff games including Flushing's only game won in the 2000 World Series, a concert this July that nearly brought the house down, and the final three contests to ever occur in William A. Shea Municipal Stadium, that this Holy Ground would soon be a parking lot for a place called Citi Field. Too much to bear, and I felt terribly that it didn't see a happier finale. The dimming lights followed by the blue and orange flares shooting from the rafters moments after the greatest Met of my Dad's generation, Tom Seaver, threw the final pitch of the house to the greatest Met of my generation, Mike Piazza, was the only thing that the organization did right all day. And you know what? As I was walking down the ramps, snapping pictures at Mr. Met's various phrases underneath those exit signs I had seen so many times, I announced that no matter what the price, I would be on hand at 7:10PM on April 13th, 2009 to usher in a new era of magic.
But I'm still calling it Shea.
I stood above my seat in the Upper Reserve, Section 25, Row O, Seat 3 at 5:06pm today, seeing the worst come to fruition. Intense anger flooded my veins as, for the third year straight, the 25 guys to whom I had trusted my heart ripped it up like so much confetti that rained down over an hour later.
This latest failing was soon deemed irrelevant, as the anger became reflective sadness. I needed to see that video of Mr. Met packing up and leaving Shea Stadium while recalling that building's greatest memories like I needed a hole in my head. Thus the first tears welled up.
One summer afternoon in 1998, while the Mets were looking like contenders for the first time in nearly a decade, my Dad came home from work beaming. He told me that it looked like the team might be in the running for some guy whose name sounded like pizza, and that this guy was an incredible baseball player. I was twelve, so still had to rely on him to determine whether something the Mets did was good or bad. When he did actually come to Queens, he struggled a bit and drew the ire of a few pessimists, but my young mind saw something in him that can only be described as heroic. For eight years, there was no equal in my mind to Mike Piazza. As much as everyone knows I love David Wright, he still has quite a bit to go before he takes the crown of my favorite baseball player of all time. And it's a beautiful thing to know that in 2005, one man's last Mets season was the other's first.
So spending the final minutes in my home away from home, while not being able to comprehend a Mets game without a Shea Stadium, the guy whose named adorned my back for nine years was introduced during the park's farewell ceremony. The dam that was holding back those welled up tears instantly burst. For the first time in at least three years, I was openly sobbing uncontrollably. At this point, I was finally facing the fact that this personal mecca to which I've eagerly gone probably about 200 times, during meaningful games in September, already-meaningless games in July, two straight drizzly 40 degree April nights, a 95 degree night which preceded a New York City blackout, days with parents, best friends, girlfriends, and even a few by myself, four playoff games including Flushing's only game won in the 2000 World Series, a concert this July that nearly brought the house down, and the final three contests to ever occur in William A. Shea Municipal Stadium, that this Holy Ground would soon be a parking lot for a place called Citi Field. Too much to bear, and I felt terribly that it didn't see a happier finale. The dimming lights followed by the blue and orange flares shooting from the rafters moments after the greatest Met of my Dad's generation, Tom Seaver, threw the final pitch of the house to the greatest Met of my generation, Mike Piazza, was the only thing that the organization did right all day. And you know what? As I was walking down the ramps, snapping pictures at Mr. Met's various phrases underneath those exit signs I had seen so many times, I announced that no matter what the price, I would be on hand at 7:10PM on April 13th, 2009 to usher in a new era of magic.
But I'm still calling it Shea.
Friday, September 26, 2008
A Weekend to Remember
Now that my heart has stopped palpitating, I can write without the jitters. Tomorrow night begins wbat, as a baseball fan, is a wet dream. And as a Mets fan, it's a heart attack on a platter that will turn into either a wet dream or a cold corpse.
Indulge me on the crazy math and possibilities here. The Amazins' are one game behind Philadelphia for the NL East division title. They are tied with the Milwaukee Brewers for the NL Wild Card. The past 159 games do not matter right now. The 2008 season, as far as three teams in the National League are concerned, is three games long. Let's go from worst case to best case, shall we?
I've calculated out each and every scenario, because I'm beyond obsessive. Eight-six scenarios exist, in which the Phillies make it 73 times (84.9% probability), the Brewers make it 45 times (52.3% probability), and the Mets make it 54 times (62.8% probability).
Only two can make it. WHO WILL THEY BE?!
Indulge me on the crazy math and possibilities here. The Amazins' are one game behind Philadelphia for the NL East division title. They are tied with the Milwaukee Brewers for the NL Wild Card. The past 159 games do not matter right now. The 2008 season, as far as three teams in the National League are concerned, is three games long. Let's go from worst case to best case, shall we?
- If the Mets win fewer games than Milwaukee and Philadelphia, they will be playing golf on Monday.
- If the Mets win fewer games than Milwaukee and the same number of games as Philadelphia, I will commit suicide with David Wright's putter on Monday, because this is the best possible outcome we can have without actually getting anything.
- If the Mets win the same number of games as both Milwaukee and Philadelphia, the Phillies are the division champs. Mets and Brewers play at Shea on Monday to decide the wild card.
- If the Mets win the same number of games as Milwaukee, just one more game than Philadelphia, and the Phillies win one fewer game than Milwaukee, we have ESPN's and the media outlets of New York, Philadelphia, and Milwaukee's wet dreams. A three-way tie for two spots. This works as follows:
The Mets and Phillies play in Philadelphia on Monday to duke it out for the division:
4a) If the Mets lose this game, the Phillies are division champs, and the Mets play the Brewers on Tuesday at Shea. Winner is the wild card champ.
4b) If the Mets win this game, they are the division champs and the Phillies play the Brewers in Philadelphia for the Wild Card. - If the Mets win one more game than Milwaukee, they are in the playoffs no matter what. This creates a wild card berth for the Mets if the Phillies win one more game than them.
- If the Mets win one more game than Milwaukee and Philadelphia, the Mets finish tied in the standings for the NL East with Philadelphia. BUT since the Mets have a better head-to-head record against the Phillies this season (10-8), the Mets are the division champs without having to play a tie-breaker.
- If number six above occurs, and the Phillies also win one more game or the same number of games as Milwaukee, the Phillies win the wild card, with the Mets still the division champs.
- If number six above occurs, and the Phillies win one fewer game than Milwaukee, the Phillies play at home against the Brewers on Monday for the wild card, with the Mets still the division champs.
- If number six above occurs, and the Phillies win two or three fewer games than the Brewers, Milwaukee is the wild card champ and the Mets are still the divison champs.
I've calculated out each and every scenario, because I'm beyond obsessive. Eight-six scenarios exist, in which the Phillies make it 73 times (84.9% probability), the Brewers make it 45 times (52.3% probability), and the Mets make it 54 times (62.8% probability).
Only two can make it. WHO WILL THEY BE?!
Friday, August 29, 2008
Best Frenemies Forever!
This week at the Democratic National Convention, we saw tensions between an envious, experienced old-hand and a smug up-and-comer who now rules the roost simmer at the end of a long week. That's right, the respective hosts of MSNBC's Hardball and Countdown put aside their bickering for the sake of unity last night.
The Peacock organization's spunky liberal child has kept me enthralled with its political coverage this year. Why, you ask of this centrist? It's the talent pool, really. When the CBS Evening News and ABC's World News are off the air, no one sees those networks' fine reporters. However, when you own a 24-hour cable station, anything can happen in a big spot. Hey, Tommy B.! Not doin' anything? Here, come on camera, talk about uhh, the 1968 DNC! Bri Wi, charm us with a tale of a run-in with a PUMA. The place hasn't had mandatory watching like this since Seinfeld and Friends were riding high.
Then there's Snarky and Looney. I've now completely gotten over the departure of Chris Russo from WFAN because Keith Olbermann and Chris Matthews are the new Mike and the Mad Dog of politics. Tie these two egomaniacs to a desk in Denver for twenty-six hours over four days and I hope you're not allergic to cats because the fur flies! But when the Anointed One gave his nomination speech, the Democrats weren't the only ones singing Kumbaya. These boys were complimenting each other back and forth on each other's analysis to the point where you thought this was a promo for a Brokeback Mountain Special Edition DVD. Fortunately, evidence of this has been spared from YouTube, so you'll have to take my word for it. I'm pretty sure that more often than not they detest each other, but boys and girls, this Must See TV continues at 5pm Monday in St. Paul. Granted that they both carry Senator Obama's water, however, it will be interesting to see the dynamic next week. But since Olbermann goes into spasms within twenty-five feet of a Republican, his general state of anger might be more directed at his guests than his yellow-haired (no, not blonde, yellow) co-host.
Speaking of the Red Team, America was spared the horror of a full 4% of the Senate running for the executive branch today. Senator McCain going with Sarah Palin gives us something new to look at, satirize, and spit out over the next two months. And to all those who criticize her for her lack of foreign policy ticket, look at the Democratic headliner. Subjected to a blind taste test, I don't think I have to guess whether most Americans would rather a president with no foreign policy experience, or a vice president with none.
I also like Governor Palin because she's mom-like. And moms know how to organize and run things!
My prayers and thoughts go out to the very funny Rob Bartlett this week. If you're familiar with his genius, then YOU CAN ACT LIKE A MAN and send good wishes his way at www.myspace.com/therobio.
The Peacock organization's spunky liberal child has kept me enthralled with its political coverage this year. Why, you ask of this centrist? It's the talent pool, really. When the CBS Evening News and ABC's World News are off the air, no one sees those networks' fine reporters. However, when you own a 24-hour cable station, anything can happen in a big spot. Hey, Tommy B.! Not doin' anything? Here, come on camera, talk about uhh, the 1968 DNC! Bri Wi, charm us with a tale of a run-in with a PUMA. The place hasn't had mandatory watching like this since Seinfeld and Friends were riding high.
Then there's Snarky and Looney. I've now completely gotten over the departure of Chris Russo from WFAN because Keith Olbermann and Chris Matthews are the new Mike and the Mad Dog of politics. Tie these two egomaniacs to a desk in Denver for twenty-six hours over four days and I hope you're not allergic to cats because the fur flies! But when the Anointed One gave his nomination speech, the Democrats weren't the only ones singing Kumbaya. These boys were complimenting each other back and forth on each other's analysis to the point where you thought this was a promo for a Brokeback Mountain Special Edition DVD. Fortunately, evidence of this has been spared from YouTube, so you'll have to take my word for it. I'm pretty sure that more often than not they detest each other, but boys and girls, this Must See TV continues at 5pm Monday in St. Paul. Granted that they both carry Senator Obama's water, however, it will be interesting to see the dynamic next week. But since Olbermann goes into spasms within twenty-five feet of a Republican, his general state of anger might be more directed at his guests than his yellow-haired (no, not blonde, yellow) co-host.
Speaking of the Red Team, America was spared the horror of a full 4% of the Senate running for the executive branch today. Senator McCain going with Sarah Palin gives us something new to look at, satirize, and spit out over the next two months. And to all those who criticize her for her lack of foreign policy ticket, look at the Democratic headliner. Subjected to a blind taste test, I don't think I have to guess whether most Americans would rather a president with no foreign policy experience, or a vice president with none.
I also like Governor Palin because she's mom-like. And moms know how to organize and run things!
My prayers and thoughts go out to the very funny Rob Bartlett this week. If you're familiar with his genius, then YOU CAN ACT LIKE A MAN and send good wishes his way at www.myspace.com/therobio.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Say Somethin' Funny, Mikey
Well, wow. My New York Metropolitans continue to dominate and "run roughshod over the National League" in exciting fashion. Two and a half games up on Philadelphia. But I'll keep my excitement to a dull roar until we actually, God forbid, clinch a postseason spot.
Speaking of my favorite sports team in the entire universe, the station on which their radio broadcasts are carried has suffered another dangerous blow. Sixteen months after Imus in the Morning was pulled from the WFAN airwaves, the also-crucial afternoon drive spot has lost its Mad Dog of Mike and the Mad Dog. Since the age of roughly twelve, the show has been my afternoon soundtrack, either while procrastinating on homework or, in recent years, driving home from school. It also seems that the Mets contract with your flagship station for New York sports is up next year. If the Mets go elsewhere, then Mark Chernoff, turn your transmitter off now.
For the record, Mike Francesa, as the remaining survivor of the team on WFAN, will now have a show known as "Francesa on the FAN." But as anyone who has heard the man speak would know, the correct enunciation of the show's title is: Francesuhh.........onnnnnnn the FAN."
As of the end of next week, I will be living in my big boy apartment in Astoria. While Manhattan was my original goal, both the low price tag of the neighborhood and its eternal charm kept me in my native borough. I don't think I'll be making a move without this guy.
I expect to be roused from a peaceful sleep early tomorrow morning by that magical text message from the Obama campaign stating who his Number Two will be. To paraphrase Dick Morris, if Senator Obama gives the nod to Tim Kaine, it will be a recent state senator picking a recent mayor of a city with a population of 200,000. I basically see tomorrow as Election Day. Ceteris paribus, if Hillary Clinton is his nominee, Obama wins. If not, hello Mr. President-elect McCain.
In watching the Olympics lately, and seeing Brian Williams proclaim during promos, "I'm in Beijing, but I'm from Jersey, and I'm 4 New York!" I've been reminded of this from 1992, with familiar figures Len Berman, a hairier Al Roker, Chuck Scarborough, and Sue "The F*** Are You Doing?!" Simmons.
Speaking of my favorite sports team in the entire universe, the station on which their radio broadcasts are carried has suffered another dangerous blow. Sixteen months after Imus in the Morning was pulled from the WFAN airwaves, the also-crucial afternoon drive spot has lost its Mad Dog of Mike and the Mad Dog. Since the age of roughly twelve, the show has been my afternoon soundtrack, either while procrastinating on homework or, in recent years, driving home from school. It also seems that the Mets contract with your flagship station for New York sports is up next year. If the Mets go elsewhere, then Mark Chernoff, turn your transmitter off now.
For the record, Mike Francesa, as the remaining survivor of the team on WFAN, will now have a show known as "Francesa on the FAN." But as anyone who has heard the man speak would know, the correct enunciation of the show's title is: Francesuhh.........onnnnnnn the FAN."
As of the end of next week, I will be living in my big boy apartment in Astoria. While Manhattan was my original goal, both the low price tag of the neighborhood and its eternal charm kept me in my native borough. I don't think I'll be making a move without this guy.
I expect to be roused from a peaceful sleep early tomorrow morning by that magical text message from the Obama campaign stating who his Number Two will be. To paraphrase Dick Morris, if Senator Obama gives the nod to Tim Kaine, it will be a recent state senator picking a recent mayor of a city with a population of 200,000. I basically see tomorrow as Election Day. Ceteris paribus, if Hillary Clinton is his nominee, Obama wins. If not, hello Mr. President-elect McCain.
In watching the Olympics lately, and seeing Brian Williams proclaim during promos, "I'm in Beijing, but I'm from Jersey, and I'm 4 New York!" I've been reminded of this from 1992, with familiar figures Len Berman, a hairier Al Roker, Chuck Scarborough, and Sue "The F*** Are You Doing?!" Simmons.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Done! Done! Done!
My academic career launched on September 9, 1990, in Mrs. Blaine's pre-kindergarten class. From there, I endured eighteen years of academic rigor until I retired from academia on August 1, 2008 after Dr. Estelami's Marketing of Financial Services MBA class. With a little help from AP classes in high school and a marvelous summer study abroad program in London, I managed to finish my bachelor's in seven semesters and my master's in an additional two. Mind you, I am not gloating at all. But reflecting on the whole journey begs the question, "What the heck kind of masochist am I, anyway?"
I now have fifty-one days of freedom until I begin working full-time. What's a boy to do? Well, first of all, there has been lying on my floor since June an untouched twenty pound box of CPA review materials. I also plan on finishing John McCain's second memoir Worth the Fighting For. Watching MSNBC until I'm blue in the face and can't hear the words "hardball" or "countdown" without turning violently ill is also an aspiration. I also have this little thing called a "gym membership" which has served me well so far, but I figure I should continue the habit of working out regularly before I'm stuck in an audit room for ten hours a day with Three Musketeers bars and Starbucks fat-accinos. Six weeks from tomorrow is the half-marathon in my native borough, at which I plan on finishing in a personal best 1:55.
Then there's this little thing called an "apartment" that has been breathing down my neck. The easy way out of this dilemma would be to stay at home, rent-free, which my parents would fully endorse and would be quite acceptable as they feed me quite full and are very good people to be around. However, the commute from midtown to my house during normal hours averages an hour, and on weekends when I'm carousing the town I can expect to crawl into bed at 4am if I leave a bar at 2. Also, not to invoke the "well if everyone else jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you" maxim, but it would be slightly strange to be the only one among my colleagues who still lives in his or her childhood home.
Let summer begin.
I now have fifty-one days of freedom until I begin working full-time. What's a boy to do? Well, first of all, there has been lying on my floor since June an untouched twenty pound box of CPA review materials. I also plan on finishing John McCain's second memoir Worth the Fighting For. Watching MSNBC until I'm blue in the face and can't hear the words "hardball" or "countdown" without turning violently ill is also an aspiration. I also have this little thing called a "gym membership" which has served me well so far, but I figure I should continue the habit of working out regularly before I'm stuck in an audit room for ten hours a day with Three Musketeers bars and Starbucks fat-accinos. Six weeks from tomorrow is the half-marathon in my native borough, at which I plan on finishing in a personal best 1:55.
Then there's this little thing called an "apartment" that has been breathing down my neck. The easy way out of this dilemma would be to stay at home, rent-free, which my parents would fully endorse and would be quite acceptable as they feed me quite full and are very good people to be around. However, the commute from midtown to my house during normal hours averages an hour, and on weekends when I'm carousing the town I can expect to crawl into bed at 4am if I leave a bar at 2. Also, not to invoke the "well if everyone else jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you" maxim, but it would be slightly strange to be the only one among my colleagues who still lives in his or her childhood home.
Let summer begin.
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