poo/advice, draft, monthly email, return to meat, bouncing virtual boobies, music (Dolby)
Jason posted on March 30, 2006

As you might have guessed by now, I’m alive.  My errant poo did not kill me.

Without going into too much detail, the red subsided by Sunday evening.  The blackness followed suit sometime early Tuesday.  Since then, we’ve been at a nice mocha color.  And my god, I’m sorry I just wrote about this.  All of it. 

The point is, thank you for all the advice.  Apparently, hundreds of ass and gastrointestinal experts read this site.  The advice ranged from "GO TO A DOCTOR IMMEDIATELY!" to Alex of "Fuck Your Couch" quoting "Old School" and saying, "I recommend you stop being such a faggot." 

In the end, I took the middle road.  If the problems were to persist, I would have gone to the doctor’s.  As it were, they went away and I’m back at full strength.  A lot of you said that you had similar problems, they subsided, and you lived to tell the tale.  I drew inspiration from you people.  May God bless you.   

Also, I’m not going out at all this weekend, so that means I won’t be doing any drinking until I return to Philly next weekend (see below).  And really, I’m pretty much booked up with "business" until mid-May, so I won’t be drinking very much until then.  My weekends will be spent hovering over a laptop pulling my chest hair out in clumps, as I try in vain to get a strap-on dildo scene past my superiors/editors.  The point is that I’m going to get rested and healed and will be ready to murder my insides again shortly.

But seriously, thank you again for all your advice.  It was comforting to know that I was not the only one with this problem and that there are so many hypochondriacs out there.  Admittedly, it was little gross when the ladies got so in detail about their poo problems, but hell, it’s not like we know each other or see each other on a regular basis.  All told, I cleared about a thousand emails on the subject, so while I can’t write back to everyone, your advice is truly and sincerely appreciated.  Without it, I would have most likely had a self-induced heart attack.  So thank you. 

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[Just read - I promise this is not about sports.]

I had my main fantasy draft last night in the league in which I’m the commissioner.  And I totally fucking blew it.  Not because I wasn’t prepared, but because I’m a total fucking idiot.

Every spring, I spend approximately 200 hours creating a megaspreadsheet for fantasy baseball drafts.  It breaks down players by positions, is filled with all sorts of stats, my own personal rankings, and little notes.  In addition to players being listed by position, it has extra tabs for things like "Sleepers", which lists, um, sleepers, "Multi-Position", which lists players that qualify at several positions and the positions at which the qualify, and "Darlings", guys I just fucking love and want on my team.

Before I left work last night, I emailed this spreadsheet, my baby, from my work account to my personal account so I could get home and download it (not that I, uh, did this at work or anything).  About ten minutes before the draft I sat down on my computer, checked my email, and noticed the sheet hadn’t arrived - even though I emailed it over an hour before.  I logged into my work email to resend it to my personal account and…nothing.  It never arrived.  

The result?  I did the draft without ANY background material.  This was the first year that I didn’t print out a single page of material because I felt so confident in my sheet.  The wheels came off around Round 6 when I selected Joe Nathan.  Don’t get me wrong; Nathan’s not a bad pick, but I never, EVER draft closers that early.  This threw off my whole system and I was just randomly picking players by Round 10.  A disaster.

But to add insult to injury, I realized something this morning.  I had access to work email, specifically the email with the spreadsheet and other material attached.  I kept trying to send this email to myself over and over again, but to no avail because it was too big.  In reality, all I had to do was DOWNLOAD THE SHEET FROM THE FUCKING EMAIL I KEPT TRYING TO RESEND.  I mean, the sheet and shit was right on there, attached to the email.  Instead of realizing this and downloading it from there, I kept trying to send it to my gmail account, NOT EVEN REALIZING that I could access the sheet from the email I was trying to resend.

I mean, FUCK.  Now I have to spend the next few months trying to repair a team because I’m a total fucking moron.  Great.

[It's really not that bad of a team, but not what I was hoping for and not my style.  I'll post it next week after my few remaining drafts end.] 

********************

As you may have noticed, the monthly email has not gone out and will not go out until mid-April.  Hear me out.

We have not forgotten, but we were under prepared for so many sign-ups.  So what Site Guy Brendan and I now plan on doing is using a service to send out these emails.  Which is great, because what I really need to be doing is spending more money on this website. 

But regardless, expect it in mid-April and monthly thereafter.  And now it’s going to look all professional-like, so I hope you are impressed with that. 

********************

I’m returning home to Philly next Thursday night to take care of a few things but mainly to eat a lot of meat.

I’m still going strong with my vegetarianism (pseudo-pescatarianism).  But that thankfully comes to an end this Saturday, April 1.

I’ll give a proper recap when the time passes, but the most difficult time I had with the veggie thing was when I went to Philly a few weekends ago.  You have to understand, my family is not a vegetable family.  The most exotic vegetable I had growing up was creamed corn.  I shit you not when I say I didn’t have broccoli until I got to college and I had my first brussel sprout about six months ago.  I don’t think my father ever ate something that didn’t at one time have a face (save for pizza, and that usually has pepperoni on it).

And Philly is not a veggie-friendly town.  More than the cheesesteaks, there’s also hoagies, chicken cheesesteaks, creamed chipped beef, scrapple, and strombolis.  Not eating meat when I went home a few weekends ago was my greatest exercise in restraint.  Ever.

But that all ends next Thursday night.  I imagine when I finally sink my teeth into a juicy, Whiz-covered cheesesteak at about 10pm on Thursday night it will be akin to the conjugal visit sex.  No - fuck conjugal visit sex.  It’s going to be the me equivalent of "I just came back from a tour of duty in Afghanistan and haven’t seen an attractive woman in two years and my wife surprised me with breast implants and OH MY GOD I JUST SPOOGED TWICE JUST THINKING ABOUT IT" sex.  I seriously get giddy thinking about this.   

When I was a kid, I used to hold in pee for as long as I could, just so when I did finally pee I got that overwhelming feeling of relief and joy (a sensualist at a young age, was I).  Perhaps I will be so overwhelmed by my return to meat that I will go through stretches of vegetarianism just to experience the elation of eating meat.

…

Actually, no.  That’s never going to happen.  I will never again forsake meat.  Never.  And if I should die between now and April 1, please make sure that I am buried with a steak.  I don’t ask much of you, but one of you please make sure this happens. 

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Site Guy Brendan passed this link along to me (WARNING: Not entirely safe for work).

Since it’s not entirely safe for work, I’ll give you a little breakdown.  The site advertises a "Shock Absorber" bra.  So what it allows you to do is pick a cup size (A to G) and level of activity (light to extreme).  It then presents a computer generated model, a torso of a woman (basically an up close of her breasts), doing that level of activity in three stages of nudity: completely naked, with a normal bra, with the amazing Shock Absorber bra.

Wow.

As I said, this isn’t exactly safe for work, because, though it’s not porn and a commercial website, it does show a computer-generated naked woman running.  But if you don’t have internet at home, I’d advise you to get it just so you can check this out. 

I mean, wow.

Is it more wrong or sad that after watching Ms. E+F Cup run, I actually had to stop to masturbate?  That’s not a lie.  My only complaint is that the boobies on the simulator are on the small side.  For example, a C cup is a lovely amount of breast, far surpassing more than a mouthful and just more than a handful so that the boobies protrude from in between the fingers when being groped.  However, watching Ms. C Cup run just wasn’t doing it for me.  So I needed to upgrade.  And I don’t regret it.   

(By the way, the "boobies protrude from in between the fingers when being groped" line is just about the grossest thing I’ve ever written.  I’m retching in my office right now.  Retching.) 

Anyway, watch at your own risk.  But I’m basically counting down the clock until I can go home and fondled myself to these fake ladies. 

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Six Songs

"More Adventurous" and "The Frug"  Rilo Kiley
Speaking of breasts, I’m going to say this right now: it’s going to get very dangerous very soon for Jenny Lewis.  I’m developing an obsession with her, not just because she’s hot, but because Rilo Kiley is actually really good.  After hearing both these songs, I just want to hug her, hold her, tell her everything is going to be ok, and steal glances down her shirt.  "More Adventurous" has been added to the list of "Songs I want to perform with a girl who I will then have sex in the shower with" and "The Frug" is a catchy little ditty that makes me want to drive around with the windows down (even though it’s secretly kinda sad).  And when Jenny sings, "I can do the Robocop" it’s so cute that I feel pains in my testes. 

So don’t say I didn’t warn you, Jenny.  But I promise you we will be very happy together

(And even though this is two songs, I’m only going count them as one, so don’t complain.) 

"Moonglow"  Lionel Hampton
My favorite of the suggestions that came in during Jazz Quest 2006.  I love the vibes.  This song can calm me down almost immediately and came in handy over the past few days as I fought to stave of insanity. 

"Your Daddy Don’t Know"  The New Pornographers
Another super catchy ditty.  I don’t really know what to say, other than it makes me want to dance.  It just fucking rocks. 

"Dress Up In You"  Belle and Sebastian
This new Belle and Sebastian album is changing me forever.  Well, that’s a bit of an overstatement, since I only downloaded it on Tuesday and haven’t really even been able to get past this song, since it’s so good.  Rain and sadness.  That’s what it reminds me of.  And I love rain and sadness. 

"Supernaut"  Black Sabbath
Every time I listen to this song I get a boner.  All the testosterone in my body immediately moves to my penis and then we all know what happens: someone cries.  And someone maybe goes to jail.  Or back to juvey. 

Anyway, take notice of the riff that comes after the opening riff and continues through the verse.  I know only tools talk about "riffs", but starting at about twenty seconds into this song, things around me start dying.  Heavy, fucking, awesome, stuff.   

"She Blinded Me With Science"  Thomas Dolby
Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for Great Moments in Jason Mulgrew’s Sexual History, Volume II, brought to you today by Thomas Dolby.

I studied abroad in London from January to May of 2000.  I lost over 30 pounds because I ran out of money and had to give up eating.  I was a Sex God. 

On a school-sponsored trip to Brighton, I met a girl.  A ton of my friends and I were at a club, she was at a club with her friends, we were both very drunk, we danced a little bit, we kissed at the club, we exchanged numbers.  I know - I a) danced b) at a club and c) kissed a girl.  You might need someone to help you off the floor. 

But this was back in the old days and in Europe.  Once upon a time, many moons ago, Uncle Jason was not a eunuch, but rather a Sexual Force, a Monsoon of Lust, a True Sensual Being.  Many moons ago.  Many.  It was, probably, the best time of my life.

I returned to London and called the girl, an American studying abroad in Brighton, a train ride away.  We talked and made plans for me to come visit her the following weekend.  Brighton is a train ride, not a subway ride away.  If I recall correctly, it takes a little over an hour to get there.  So if I was coming there, I had to stay over.  Sweet.

The problem was that we didn’t really know each other aside from a make out session and a few phone calls.  However, this wouldn’t be too much of a problem, since I was getting into Brighton early evening and we’d go from the station to her place just so I could drop off my bag and then we’d immediately head out.  Once we started drinking, everything would be fine.

The problem was that she wasn’t ready, so when we got back to her place, I had to wait for her.  And wait.  And wait some more.  This angered me, but it more or less made things very awkward.  Here I am, sitting in this girl’s dorm room who I don’t really know, waiting for her to get ready, saying things like, "So…um…how about America, huh?  I mean, it’s cool that we’re both American." and "So do you like college or do you not like it?"

When we finally got to the club where her friends were, there was a HUGE line.  Huge.  Not only that, but the club was right off the beach.  I didn’t wear a jacket, fearing that I’d lose it at this strange club in a strange city.  I nearly froze as the February wind blew off the beach. 

Now we were in full awkward mode.  She could see the displeasure on my face (and perhaps the hypothermia) and kept apologizing.  I thought it was sweet of her to be so concerned, but I was more concerned with the whole freezing to death and being stone cold sober things I had going on.  The longer we waited, the more I shut down.  It was going very badly. 

FINALLY, we got into the club.  But just as things seemed to be turning around, she couldn’t find her friends.  They had all left because they thought she wasn’t coming.  They were at another club and wanted us to come.

So now, here we were, two strangers who made out only once before, completely sober, and alone in this weird club.  My thoughts at this time ranged from "What the fuck?" to "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me."

While thinking about what to do, she said, "Well, at least let me buy you a drink."  I protested but she insisted.  I found a little table to stand at off to the side, and she came back with two tequila shots and two Rolling Rocks.  At this point, everything changed.

Apparently, the club was having a special: 99p tequila shots and Rolling Rocks (not positive it was Rolling Rocks, but I’m 90% sure).  99p was the equivalent of about $1.60.  Incredibly cheap.

So this girl (we’ll call her Emma, after my favorite Spice Girl) and I stood at this little table for the next 90 minutes pounding tequila shots and Rolling Rocks.  It was impressive to say the least: both of us desperately trying to drown our awkwardness in cheap booze, just so we could do something do something stupid.  A beautiful moment, really.

By shot three, the awkwardness was gone.  By shot five, we were touchy-feely.  By shot seven, we were bombed and dancing, two strangers alone in a random club. 

I don’t remember how the dancing started, but I remember that Emma danced so well and so hotly that I stood there (or rather, danced there), thinking to myself, "This woman is going to be my wife.  I don’t care what I have to do to make this happen.  We are going to get married and she is going to dance up on me like this every day for the rest of my life.  And it will be good."  I also remember wondering how she knew how to do this stuff, because she was kind of a hippie.  Looking at her, you’d never think, "I bet that girl could dance like a stripper."  But boy oh boy, could she ever.  To this day, it was one of the craziest/sensualist/most drunken glorious moments of my life. 

Now, friends or people who know me are probably reading this in horror right now.  I am a big, fat, hairy white guy.  Meaning: I am not a club guy.  I am not a dancing guy.  But here I was, in this club, dancing and making out with this girl in front of everyone.  Had I been even the least bit sober, I might have stopped, because I’m pretty sure we were the couple at the club that people scream "Get a room!" about.  But with all that tequila and Rolling Rock in my belly, the only thing that could have stopped me from dancing with that girl was a rhino charge.  And I’m not even sure about that.   

We eventually went back to her place and yada yada yada.  We parted ways the next morning and it was normal.  We talked over the next few days and she came to visit me in London.

This time, there was nothing.  No spark.  No chemistry.  No nothing.  She was cool and sweet and fun, but both of us were off, maybe.  And no insane-o drunken-dance-make out sessions. 

A week or two later I went back to visit her and again, nothing.  We weren’t desperate enough to try to recreate that drunken night of boozing, but we still went out, drank, had fun.  But neither of us were feeling it. 

After that, the phone calls came less frequently and we never made plans to see each other again.  Over and done, quietly, mutually, with dignity. 

What does "She Blinded Me With Science" have to do with this?  On the night of the drunken dance party, while we were still at the table, working our way to un-awkwardness, this song came on at the club.  I started doing impression of the old guy who speaks over the song and says things like, "She blinded me - with science!" and "Good heavens, Ms. Sakamoto - you’re beautiful!" 

Seeing her laughing, and getting drunk and full of gusto, I went off, freestyling lines in a fake heavy erudite British accent, like, "Can you imagine?  Me!  I’m a scientist!  And she blinded me!"  This degenerated into, "I can’t see anything!  Because of all this science!  I can’t believe it!"  Then she started joining in, "I previously had perfect vision, now I have trouble recognizing basic shapes!  It’s nearly unfathomable!"  I countered with, "Ms. Sakamoto - I always knew that your had a nice heinie, but good heavens!  Your bust!  It’s beautiful!"  

Soon after, we were practically having sex on the dance floor.  And not only that, this joke has lived on for years, and my roommate Brian and I use it all the time today, randomly screaming at bars, "SCIENCE!"  A few years ago, a friend told me that Horatio Sanz did a skit on "SNL" in which he used a joke similar to this.  I haven’t seen it and I hope I don’t.  Because I will sue the fuck out of Horatio Sanz, even though I like him.  

So long story not very short, whenever I hear this song, it give me a double whammy of happiness.  Not only do I get to remember a very special (read: drunken, lusty) night, but I also smile because of the awesome "SCIENCE!" joke.  And, oh yeah, it’s a good song. 

[Note: I realize that this is a level of personal detail that I don't normally get into.  But I do so here because I have not had any contact with this girl in over six years (nor do I want to).   I don't have any connection to her, either (mutual friends, same school, etc).  I highly doubt she remembers me at all, and if she does, I'm sure it's as someone random guy she made out with a couple of times.  I'm very limited about what I can write on here involving other people, but this one is ok.  Just trust me on this.]

fantasy baseball 2006
Jason posted on March 28, 2006

[This is totally indulgent post about something very important to me.  Fortunately for the readers who are interested in fantasy baseball, it's also entirely fucking genius.  I don't get too deep in analysis, both for space/time constraints and because I don't want to give away any of my big secrets, but this is guide should get you through the first 15 rounds of your draft, maybe more.  And if you're one of the freaks who do auction drafts, go away, because this is all about drafting.  Weirdos.]

It’s the most wonderful time of the year: fantasy baseball drafting season.

I know youse jerks hate when I write about sports, but there ain’t nothing that could stop me from writing this post.  Fantasy baseball is the one thing in life that brings me joy without any repercussions.  Across the board, it’s beneficial: it makes me money, it keeps me in touch with friends that I might not correspond with otherwise, it teaches me how to better shit talk, it allows for greater socialbility since I can talk to any sports-lovin’ dude anywhere in the world, it takes any time from my getting-a-little-uncomfortable porn habit, and is just totally fucking fun.

It helps my self-esteem too, since I’m excellent at it.  Last year, I participated in four leagues, winning three of them and finishing second in the fourth.  So if there is one thing I’m going to speak with authority about, it’s fantasy baseball.

And so as a public service to all those readers drafting fantasy leagues this week, I present to you my Fantasy Baseball 2006 preview.  One caveat that you must keep in mind: I could completely be lying here.  Many of my competitors know about this site, so in order to not let them in on my secret picks, I might lie here and there.  But, like this blog, this preview will be at least 60% true. 

Some general rules about drafting:

1) Know your enemy.  Certain owners have certain inclinations.  For example, if you’re drafting with a bunch of guys from Boston, you can probably expect that Manny, Ortiz, Schilling, and Beckett will go off the board sooner than they should.  Alternatively, you might know that some guys favor offense to pitchers or don’t care about closers or will stop at nothing to get David Wright on their roster because they have a man-crush on him.  Knowing who you’re drafting against, when possible, is important in determining how to draft your team. 

2) Know your categories.  This only applies to those that are not in standard 5×5 leagues (5×5 meaning Runs, Home Runs, RBI, Stolen Bases, Average and Wins, Saves, Strikeouts, ERA, WHIP).  Some leagues only have minor changes; for example, my main league uses on-base percentage instead of average and total bases instead of home runs, which makes for a much better league in our opinion.

But what you have to watch for duplicative categories.  For example, in another league I’m in, the categories are: R, HR, RBI, SB, AVG, and OPS.  This means that power hitters should be favored in this league, for every time a power hitter hits a home run, it will affect R, HR, RBI, AVG, and OPS.  That’s five different categories.      

[Which is why that you should never fall in love with steals.  I know that are harder to come by than homers, but remember that every home run affects FOUR categories: it's one home run, one run, at least one RBI, and helps with average.  A stolen base affects one category: stolen bases.  Common sense, but often times owners get so obsessed with finding steals that they'll take someone like Scott Podsednik over Hideki Matsui, which is a major mistake.]  

3) Know when to draft and when to pass.  People forget that the most important rule of any fantasy draft, much like the most important rule of love, is that the right person comes along at the right time.  Sigh.

An example will help.  I really like Rickie Weeks this year.  I think, even with his current (small) malady, he has the potential to be at least 20-20, possibly 25-25.  But does that mean that I’m going to take Rickie Weeks in the fourth round of my draft?  No, not at all.  I know that I don’t have to take Rickie Weeks very high, because the other owners in my league don’t feel the way I do about him.  Of course, this is a gamble, but one I feel comfortable taking.  After all, isn’t the whole point of fantasy baseball gambling anyway? 

So instead of taking Rickie Weeks early, I will wait on him until later in the draft when I feel it is the right time to take him.  Until that time comes, I’m going to draft other guys I like, who I know are on my competitors’ radar screens, either because they’re highly ranked, highly touted, or they have said that they like that player. 

So I will meet Rickie Weeks early in the draft, and though I may be enamored with him, I will have to let him go and set him free.  If he comes back to me later, say in the 16th round, well, then it’s really meant to be.  And we will be together.  Forever.  Or at least until the end of the season.  

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I’ll pick the top few at each position, give a little analysis, and then name sleepers and busts.  I realize that "sleepers" and "busts" are objective, but I’ll define a sleeper as someone whose performance will exceed their draft position and a bust as someone who doesn’t live up to his draft position.  Dig?

Ok, let’s go.

CATCHER
1) Victor Martinez (Cle)
2) Joe Mauer (Min)
3) Jason Varitek (Bos)
4) Javy Lopez (Bal)
5) Jorge Posada (NYY)
6) Ivan Rodriguez (Det)
7) Kenji Johjima (Sea)
Ramon Hernandez (Bal)
9) AJ Pierzynski (CWS)
10) Josh Willingham (Fla)

Catcher is, believe it or not, kinda deep this year.  That is not to say that there are lots of solid producers here, but rather a number of second-tier options.  Therefore, the best advice is to draft late.  Martinez won’t make it past the 5th, Mauer should go around 9, followed by Varitek shortly thereafter.  I’d rather stock up on other positions and take a guy like Hernandez or Pierzynski in the 18th round.  Beware fading stars: names like Posada, Pudge and Piazza will probably go much higher than they should because of their previous (i.e. 1999) stats. 

Sleeper: Josh Willingham (Fla).  If there’s any position in which to take a flier on a player, it’s catcher, seeing as your average catcher produces something like .250-60-10-60-0.  Willingham is a highly-touted young guy (but not in the Joe Mauer sense) catching and playing left field for Florida.  The team will stink, but someone’s gotta hit.  And there’s a chance that the majority of owners in your league won’t even know he exists, so take him very late and expect a nice lil’ return. 

Bust: Mike Piazza (SD).  Piazza’s not even on my list, which is really saying something.  A lot of people are talking about a possible resurgence of the Italian Stallion, but I don’t see it.  He’s been consistently hurt, he’s still catching and playing bad first base rather than DHing, and moved to one of the worst hitter’s parks in the league.  His saving grace has been that he still has his power - he hasn’t hit .300 since 2001, but managed 20 and 19 home runs in the previous two injury-shortened seasons - but the leading Padre power hitter managed just 18 home runs last season.  Based on his name and new team, Piazza will be drafted much high than his numbers will merit. 

FIRST BASE
1) Albert Pujols (Stl)
2) David Ortiz (Bos)
3) Mark Teixeira (Tex)
4) Derrick Lee (ChC)
5) Richie Sexson (Sea)
6) Lance Berkman (Hou)
7) Carlos Delgado (NYM)
Todd Helton (Col)
9) Paul Konerko (CWS)
10) Adam Dunn (Cin)

Since there’s so much depth here, let’s add another couple:

11) Ryan Howard (Phi)
12) Jim Thome (CWS)
13) Jason Giambi (NYY)
14) Justin Morneau (Min)
15) Chad Tracy (Ari)

Your top four 1B won’t make it out of the first round.  After that, there’s a drop, but not too much: Sexson and Co. are worthy of 3rd/4th round status.  In the past my logic has been to forsake a top-flight 1B and get someone very late, but I realized something last year: that makes it very difficult for you to win (even though I did eventually win).  The average fantasy 1B (not MLB 1B) puts up numbers like .290-100-30-100.  It’s a power position, and if you don’t get a guy capable of producing power numbers, you’re at a disadvantage to your opponents.  Still, remember, it’s deep.  I’d be happy to have any of those top 10 guys starting on my team.  But just don’t wait too long to draft them.   

Sleeper: The position is so deep that it doesn’t lend itself to sleepers, but how about my boy Aubrey Huff?  He had an off-year last year but still put up decent numbers and currently qualifies at 1B and OF and will more than likely get 3B qualification.  I’m not saying you should draft him before Round 13, but two years ago the guy went .297-92-29-104-5 (and .311-94-34-107-2 the year before that).  If you can snag him late, he’ll be worth it.  Also, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Prince Fielder, who should neither be replied upon nor forgotten about.  But he’s showing pretty good plate discipline this spring and could put together some solid, possibly very solid numbers.   

Bust: Ryan Howard.  I had a draft two weeks ago where Howard went in the 4th round.  In my draft last night, he also went in the 4th.  Meanwhile, in last night’s draft I got Todd Helton in the 7th (!).  I think the guy’s going to be good - great even - but he’s got a half year of Major League experience under his belt and hit .148 against lefties last year.  I like him and as a Phillie fan I hope he makes me eat my words, but if you’re drafting him ahead of guys like Sexson, Berkman, Helton, et al, you’re making a mistake. 

SECOND BASE
1) Alfonso Soriano (Was)
2) Chase Utley (Phi)
3) Jeff Kent (LA)
4) Chone Figgins (Ana)
5) Marcus Giles (Atl)
6) Brian Roberts (Bal) 
7) Jorge Cantu (TB)
Tadahito Iguchi (CWS)
9) Rickie Weeks (Mil)
10) Mark Ellis (Oak)

Here’s my take on Soriano: yes, Washington is a pitcher’s park.  But forget about that.  You know what you shouldn’t forget about?  That Soriano is in a contract year.  He needs to put up some big numbers this year, not just so he can get paid, but so that some team will pay him to play 2B.  So he’s still the top 2B to me, with Utley not too far behind, followed by a short gap, then Kent and Figgins.    

Sleeper: A few come to mind, namely Weeks (though hurt now, easily capable of 20-20 as mentioned above), Iguchi (ditto, sans being hurt right now), Mark Loretta (I could score 85 runs hitting second in the Boston’s lineup), Ryan Freel (will get more AB’s now that Willy Mo is gone, capable of 50+ steals and multi-position eligibility).  I guess what I’m saying is that if you miss out on the Soriano/Utley/Kent/Figgins sweepstakes, you might be able to find some nice late round options.

Bust: I have to go with Cantu here.  Nothing against the guy, especially since he’s pretty handsome, but I don’t see him putting up 117 RBI again, but that’s what he’s going to be drafted for.  I’d expect around 85. 

SHORTSTOP
1) Michael Young (Tex)
2) Miguel Tejada (Bal)
3) Jose Reyes (NYM)
4) Jimmy Rollins (Phi)
5) Derek Jeter (NYY)
6) Rafael Furcal (LAD)
7) Jhonny Peralta (Cle)
Felipe Lopez (Cin)
9) Julio Lugo (TB)
10) Clint Barmes (Col)

Man, remember the days when A-Rod, Nomar, and Jeter were the three best shortstops and all gone by the start of the third round?  And after those three were gone, you didn’t take a SS until the 15th?  No longer: Young and Tejada stand at the top and are second round picks, Reyes should go around round three or four, Rollins in four or five, then Jeter around six.   

Sleeper: Two Oakland guys not on the list: Mark Ellis (who actually plays 2B but qualifies at SS) and Bobby Crosby.  Though neither are speedsters, both should put up solid numbers and can be taken late.  I also like Peralta, who didn’t put it together into well into the season when he settled into the third spot in the order (previously, he was batting at the bottom).  And Hanley Ramirez could steal 35 bases down in Florida.  And…NOMAH!  I have no idea if he still has it, but I’ll take a flyer on him, especially since he’ll qualify at SS, 3B, and soon 1B in most leagues. 

Bust: No one particularly stands out here.  One caution is Lopez, who’s fairly gigantic numbers (.291-97-23-85-15) might have him overvalued a bit, as I don’t expect similar numbers this year.   

THIRD BASE
1) Alex Rodriguez (NYY)
2) David Wright (NYM)
3) Miguel Cabrera (Fla)
4) Chone Figgins (Ana)
5) Scott Rolen (Stl)
6) Aramis Ramirez (ChC)
7) Eric Chavez (Oak)
Chipper Jones (Atl)
9) Morgan Ensberg (Hou)
10) Hank Blalock (Tex)

I have previously listed the player in the position they’re most likely to play, but I believe Chone Figgins is so valuable that he needs consideration at 2B and 3B (he also qualifies at OF).  Some might argue that Cabrera should be above Wright, but two things make me go with Wright: his steals and the fact that Florida stinks.  Scott Rolen and Aramis Ramirez were both hampered by injuries last year but are both capable of .300-100-30-100 seasons.  Don’t forget about them, especially Rolen, who was one of the top 20 players in fantasy baseball two years ago.       

Sleeper: I like Hank Blalock, who had an off-year last year.  You have to love Texas in that tiny park with all those young hitters; they’re only going to get better.  Also, look out for Melvin Mora, who single-handedly tried to submarine every team I had last year but is only one year removed .340-111-27-104-11 and had a great half-season in 2004 when he was finally put in the starting lineup.  Also, I think he has quintuplets or something, which is kinda cool. 

Bust: I may be eating my words, but I have to go with Adrian Beltre.  A stellar WBC performance has him going higher than he should, as people forget that he was a bum before having a monster season in his contract year.  I personally am staying away, unless he falls to me very late, which he won’t. 

OUTFIELD
1) Vladimir Guerrero (Ana)
2) Manny Ramirez (Bos)
3) Bobby Abreu (Phi)
4) Jason Bay (Pit)
5) Carl Crawford (TB)
6) Gary Sheffield (NYY)
7) Miguel Cabrera (Fla)
Ichiro Suzuki (Sea) 
9) Andrew Jones (Atl)
10) Lance Berkman (Hou)
11) Carlos Lee (Mil)
12) Carlos Beltran (NYM)
13) Barry Bonds (SFG)
14) Grady Sizemore (Cle)
15) Hideki Matsui (NYY)
16) Johnny Damon (NYY)
17) Juan Pierre (ChC)
18) Scott Podsednik (CWS)
19) Pat Burrell (Phi)
20) Cliff Floyd (NYM)
21) Ken Griffey Jr. (Cin)

All fairly straightforward, but let’s get to the heart of the matter: Where the fuck do you draft Beltran and Bonds?

The experts must know something about Beltran that I don’t, because I continue to see him going in the late second/early third rounds.  It’s hard for me to justify taking him this high, because Shea Stadium is where hitters go to die, as evinced by his deplorable .266-83-16-78-17 year.  I mean, those are horrible, horrible numbers.  I personally am staying away and wouldn’t take him until - at earliest - the 5th round, but you can guarantee someone in your league will be teased by the 30-30 potential and take him higher.  Wish that owner good luck and grab Hideki Matsui instead.

As for Bonds, I think he’s going to play at least 120 games and do something like .320-105-40-100.  Not bad numbers, but you have to remember that that .320 average is going to come in a very small number of at-bats, since Bonds walks so often.  Therefore, you can expect him to contribute in the average category, since if you figure he hits .320 over 120 games while walking a lot, that’s like hitting .320 over the course of 90 games.  HOWEVER, if, like me, you count on-base percentage instead of average, you MUST give him a serious look.  Even in a shortened season, his OBP is going to be over .500 and well in front of the second best in the league.  In a non-OBP league, draft him in the 7th.  Take him earlier in an OBP league.   

Sleeper: I had to do 21, because I couldn’t leave Griffey off the list.  I don’t know what people make of him; in my two drafts, he went late, even though he produced some very nice numbers last year and has been playing very well this spring.  It’s a total leap of faith, but I think he puts it together this year.  I don’t think  .300-110-40-110 is out of the question.  That being said, he’s still a major injury risk, so I take him only as my third OF, possibly my second (if I was feeling good).  Another sleeper I liked was Brad Wilkerson, who could put up some nice numbers in Texas.  However, I learned yesterday - after I drafted him - that he just got an MRI on the shoulder that hurt him all last year, so I’m backing off. 

Bust: Carl Crawford had an anomalous year in terms of run production, hitting career highs in home runs (by 4) and RBI (by 26).  Still a great player, but expect 60 RBI, not 80+.  Otherwise, it’s tough to say with only 21 OF’s listed; if I listed 40, I could easily call out some busts, but I have to stop at 21. 

STARTING PITCHER
1) Johan Santana (Min)
2) Pedro Martinez (NYM)
3) Chris Carpenter (Stl)
4) Jake Peavy (SDG)
5) Roy Oswalt (Hou)
6) Roy Halladay (Tor)
7) Randy Johnson (NYY)
8) Carlos Zambrano (ChC)
9) Rich Harden (Oak)
10) Andy Pettite (Hou)
11) Felix Hernandez (Sea)
12) Ben Sheets (Mil)
13) Mark Prior (ChC)
14) Bartolo Colon (Ana)
15) AJ Burnett (Tor)
16) Josh Beckett (Bos)
17) Jason Schmidt (SFG)
18) Mark Buehrle (CWS)
19) Dontrelle Willis (Fla)
20) Brett Myers (Phi)

In years past, Randy was a number one pick, followed shortly by Curt Schilling and Pedro Martinez.  But this year, there’s only one true ace in fantasy baseball: Johan Santana.  I think there’s little difference between pitchers 2-9, who will be their respective team’s ace, and pitchers 10-20, who are very solid second starters.  If you’re somehow able to grab one from each group, you’re in good shape.

The conundrum with pitchers is where to draft Roger Clemens.  I’m going to have to say "no thanks" on this one.  I’m much more willing to take a chance with a hitter than with a pitcher, and I wouldn’t feel right drafting Clemens anytime in the first twelve rounds - at least.  Also, he’s being such a bitch (as in, a woman) about the retirement decision, isn’t he?  All the hemming and hawing back and forth - just make a decision, douche.   

Sleeper: So many deep sleepers, but I don’t want to give away too many of my secrets.  I think that Jason Schmidt is going to have a great bounceback year, so don’t be afraid to go after him.  I also really like Harden and Myers, who are maturing and right on schedule to have monster years.  And that’s really all I have to say about this.

Bust: Dontrelle Willis, I would not touch with a twenty foot pool.  He’s going high in drafts, because even though my father is batting cleanup for the Marlins, Willis did win 22 games last year (which might be how many games this team wins in total).  Good pitcher, great numbers from last year, but stay away. 

RELIEF PITCHER  
1) Mariano Rivera (NYY)
2) Brad Lidge (Hou)
3) Billy Wagner (NYM)
4) Joe Nathan (Min)
5) Francisco Rodriguez (Ana)
6) BJ Ryan (Tor)

7) Huston Street

(Oak)
Chad Cordero (Was)
9) Eric Gagne (LAD)
10) Trevor Hoffman (SDG)

The arguments go back and forth.  There are those that shit on closers, saying they’re one category players who don’t pitch a lot of innings that should be taken late drafts, after rosters have been filled out.  Then there are those who go with the "quality" angle, saying even though Mariano Rivera is giving you 200 innings, it’s tough to argue with an ERA around 2, a nice WHIP, and a healthy amount of K’s and saves.

My take?  Fuck closers.  Look at Gagne and Benitez last year.  Some owners wasted a third round pick on Gagne, thinking they were all set in the closer department, only to watch him go down with an injury early in the year.  So instead of using that 3rd round pick on Berkman, Ichiro, or Jeff Kent, they got nothing.  Do your research, grab your closers late, be vigilant during the year in picking them up, and you’ll finish near the top in saves.   

It’s hard to define sleepers and busts prior to the season, because there’s just too much speculation.  The best bet to find that hidden closer is to a) watch "SportsCenter" and b) scan the box scores in the morning for any strange pitchers getting saves.  Some random names worth looking at late in your draft: Ambiorix Burgos (KC), Jose Valverde (Ari), Mike Gonzalez (Pit), and Kyle Davies (Atl). 

*****************************

Well, I’m exhausted - how about you?  I don’t have an ending, because I’m pretty tired, but I’ll just wish you good luck.  Follow these rules and you will be well-prepared for your fantasy baseball draft.  And then when you win, cut me a piece of that check.  Please. 

reunited (poo)
Jason posted on March 27, 2006

Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to welcome back a very special friend.  After an eight month hiatus, we have been reunited.  Yes, it was only a matter of time before hypochondria and I got together again.

Some background before I get into my current neurosis: a few years back, I had a "health scare."  I discovered something on my otherwise flawless body and went to my doctor, who upon examining me said, "Hmph."  As in, "I really don’t know what to make of that one, chubby."  NOT the answer I was looking for.  I was then referred to a specialist who was much more tactful and after some tests found that it was nothing to be concerned about.  So in the end, it all worked out.

[I'm not talking about anything genital-related here.  One of the (very few) major advantages to having a pinkie dick and tiny balls is that you can spot trouble a mile away, since there's not a lot of surface area to check down there.  However, testicular cancer is the most common cancer in men ages 15 to 35, so please sure to give yourself a proper once-over once a month.  For more information, go here.]

The problem was that there were were long lapses of time between the discovery and the dismissal.  I found it and went to the doctor a week later.  After hearing his "Hmpf", I waited a week for the appointment with the specialist.  Then I waited a week for the test results.  So there were roughly three weeks there where I was left in the lurch.  During this time, I completely lost my mind.

I don’t know how to explain it, other than to say that the wheels completely came off.  I was certain that a) I had cancer; b) I was going to die.  You couldn’t convince me otherwise.  The doctor visits, the forms, the tests - these were just formalities.  I was going to die.  Done deal. 

I have no idea why I went so crazy.  I was a little bit of a hypochondriac as a kid, but it was mostly stupid kid stuff.  Previously, I had never really been to the doctor’s and considered myself indestructible.  And suddenly, I was spending two hours a day in the shower imagining my own funeral and wondering how much time I had to parlay my illness into a threesome before I got too sick. 

But even after I had gotten the clean bill of health, a residual feeling of illness and death hung over me.  I moved from a cancer scare to an obsession with my heart, since I noticed that when getting all worked up about cancer my heart would race.  So therefore I had heart problems.  This would be the thrust of my hypochondria for the next few years.

[I actually started this blog at the height of my hypochondria, perhaps subconsciously as a form of therapy.  "Everything is wrong with me", the title I quickly came up with but turned out to be pretty fitting (if I do say so myself), is basically a hypochondriac's mantra.  It was only later, through continued writing on this here site, that I would learn that "everything is wrong with me" refers not only to my health or fake health, but also to how I handle relationships with women, friends, family, food, and booze, and also to my general outlook in life.  Score.] 

My heart was my main issue until last summer, when I finally caved in and got a stress test.  It was one of the best decisions I ever made, because the moment that the doctor told me that there was nothing wrong with my heart, that I was just fat, I was instantly cured of my hypochondria.  For years I was consumed with my own impending death by heart attack and all it took was a few minutes on a treadmill with a battery pack strapped to me and it was all gone and done.  Life was good again.

That is not to say that I stopped believing that I’m going to die young.  I mean, c’mon, this is a foregone conclusion.  You can’t do what I do on a daily basis and make it very long.  I’m ok with this, but there’s a delicate balance: I want to live long enough to actualize my potential (and yes, I’m talking about writing poop jokes) but not long enough that people have to wipe my ass for me.  Or even long enough that I can’t get a boner.  Which would mean I should have been dead four years ago.  Whatever.  The point is that I was cured. 

And then this weekend happened.

Last week, I was out sick on Wednesday.  Stomach issues.  Upset stomach, pooping, cramps - you name it.  They weren’t terrible, but they struck at night and kept me up very late.  When I woke up for work, I was still feeling pretty crappy, and weighed my options.  I could go into work, feel uncomfortable for nine hours, and spend the day running from office to toilet or I could call out, stay with my home toilet, and get over it.  Knowing that I wasn’t going to be particularly busy that day and that I could still work a bit from home, I opted for the sick day and the home toilet.  Great decision.

Fast forward a few days until this past Saturday.  I got take out from my favorite Mexican place for dinner, a little place on the Lower East Side called Festival Mexicano.  The food is cheap and terrific, but it’s one of those places where you wonder how it manages to pass a health inspection.  However, you suppress this for the dynamite food.

I got home and after inhaling the bean quesadilla and guacamole nachos, I had to poop.  Not surprising.  So I gave forth and it was good.  

Then it happened a few more times.  Again, normal.

Then my buddy Jeremy came over and we drank beer for six hours.  But I wasn’t that drunk.  Normal behavior. 

When I woke up on Sunday, I went to eat breakfast with my roommate Brian: pancakes (delicious) and a California omelet (eh).  While walking back to our apartment, I started feeling pains in my stomach.  Not an uncommon feeling, so I forgot about it.

Sunday evening was the turning point.  [Warning: the next few sentences are not for the squeamish.]  I pooped, wiped, and was chagrined when I looked at the t.p. and it looked like I was mopping up a murder scene.  Good lord.  I know you should be concerned when there’s blood in your stool, but how about when there’s stool in your blood?  I’m not averse to a little red on the toilet paper, as I’m a rough wiper and poop several times a day.  But this was, um, new.

I felt myself slipping into panic mode but tried to talk myself out of it, saying it’s gotta be a one time thing.  As long as it doesn’t happen a lot, it’s not a big deal.  Later in the night, still feeling stomach pains, I went poo again.  There was blood again this time, though less than before.  But the fact that it seemed to lessen didn’t help me anyway - it was time to party.  And by "party" I mean "freak the fuck out." 

Last night (Sunday night) was a good, old-timey hypochondria night.  The kind where before I go to bed I email my buddy Kyle, who has become my steward of goodbyes, and ask him to tell my loved ones that I love them should I die in my sleep (Kyle hates when I do this, not because he’s sad that I might die, but because I’m such a fucking drama queen). 

Then I got to lay in bed for three hours, imaging all sorts of further symptoms.  For example, when I first laid down to sleep, I knew that I had some stomach pains, there was blood in my poo, and I had heartburn.  After two hours of lying there, I had those symptoms but also a fever, chills, a tingling in my neck and extremities, shortness of breath, an impending sense of doom, nausea. and more than likely herpes.

Finally, as it was approaching 4am and my body started to shut down, I jolted myself awake several times right on the doorstep of sleep, unsure if I was falling asleep or dying.  Let me tell you, that’s an awesome feeling.  Really, really awesome. 

The good news is that I made it through the night, but there’s still bad news.  I pooed twice today already and there was no blood, but lots of blackness.  That’s either a sign of intestinal bleeding or an offshoot of the bottle of Pepto I drank last night/this morning.  Great.  I’m also exhausted, but I can’t have any caffeine, as that excites the bowels (which I am not trying to do).  So I can’t win.   

Let me be clear about something: I’m not going to the doctor’s for an ass problem unless my ass or a child falls out of my body.  Something drastic is going to have to happen before I seek medical advice for this.  I know this is the opposite of hypochondria, but maybe my hypochondria is working against me here.  Since I’m pretty sure it’s all in my mind or (more likely) it’s nothing and just a passing stomach bug, I’m not going to have all kinds of stuff done to my heinie.  If I faint at work or have another major blood-letting, maybe.  But otherwise, I ain’t going to the doctor.   

[And yes, I know I went for the stress test, but running on a treadmill shirtless is a lot different than three strangers in a room staring up your butthole and putting things in your butthole.  So don't even go there.]

[Also, remember, I've been without meat or fowl since 3/1.  Not sure what this has to due with my present condition, but it's worth mentioning.]

So I turn to you, dear readers.  I have asked for money and love in the past (and will again this week), but now I seek help.  Any advice as to what I can do to make my stomach less volatile or generally calm it down would be appreciated.  Our goal for the next two days is a nice brown, blood-less poopy.  Nothing would make me happier.   

But if I die before then, I want you to know that I’m happy and think I’ve had a pretty good run.  And dying young means you can’t die a failure.  All that actualized potential will turn into "If he had only lived, he could have been the greatest dick joke writer ever!" after my death.  Better to knock off now than later, before one of my projects comes to fruition and people realize that wow, I really do suck and I’m not even among the top 1000 dick jokes writers of all time.  Not even close. 

[And I'm writing almost to ensure that I don't die.  Seriously, has any hypochondriac ever written something about thinking they're going to die and then actually died?  Wouldn't that be messed up if I die tonight and then you read this, thinking, "Holy shit - he actually did die!  I'm sad and all, but I'm more impressed, I think.  At least he was serious."]   

So that’s all for now.  I have a fantasy baseball draft to prepare for tonight (four in total this week) and get back to imagining more symptoms and illnesses.  I’m feeling that a wave of smallpox might strike me at any time, so I should probably focus less on writing posts and more on staying hydrated and taking vitamins. 

[Upon reading this over, what's exemplary about this post is not only that I've shared my gastrointestinal problems with thousands of people on the internet, including relatives and co-workers, but that I'm going to write a post later in the week which will (most likely) solicit readers for a threesome (in part, at least).  Wow.  I reallly have no clue when it comes to women.]

boston, again
Jason posted on March 22, 2006

A bender.  That’s all I can say about this weekend.  I stayed with Site Guy Brendan and my buddy John and there was not a two hour stretch between Thursday at 10pm though Sunday night when I was conscious and didn’t have a beer, which is pretty standard for Boston visits.  And marvelous, but also severely damaging to my health and well-being. 

Some things I learned: 

Site Guy Brendan is a champion among, well, lesser drunks
Aside from working together on this site, Site Guy Brendan and I are actual friends in real life.  We first started hanging out in our junior year of college, when Brendan and I (along with our buddies Doug and Gary) took Computer Science I together.

My plan, at the time, was to minor in Computer Science.  I figured this would nicely complement my history major, and perhaps I even had an inkling that I would be one greatest celebrities the internet has ever seen.  However, six weeks later I had withdrawn from the class, as I had never had such an intellectual ass-fucking like I did in CSI.  My buddy Doug also dropped the class.  My buddy Gary toughed it out and didn’t do so well.  Brendan got an A.  Thus began his road to Site Guy Brendan.

But what I like about Brendan is that despite being a total computer nerd, he, like the rest of my friends, likes to drink beer.  I arrived at his and John’s apartment at 10pm on Thursday night.  We stayed in watching the basketball games and whacking beers.  John went to bed at midnight.  Brendan and I stayed up drinking.  And drinking.  And drinking some more.  Finally, just before 3am, I had to cut him off (he had to go to work the next day), for free that he might die on me, right there in the living room, from alcohol poisoning. 

And that was just the beginning of what can best be described as a clinic.  On Friday night, once again John went to bed early and Brendan and I stayed up, this time until 4am, when I didn’t cut him but rather said, "You can keep drinking, but can you do it in your bedroom?" (as I was sleeping in the living room). 

His performance peaked on Saturday night when he threw up on the floor of the bar but continued to drink through it.  I always marvel at people who do this; I am a terrible pussy when I puke and need my mom to come help me immediately.  But Brendan stood strong and kept on drinking.

So kudos to Brendan, who gets the weekend award for “Biggest Fucking Disaster.”  Enjoy it while it lasts, fuck-o.  Because I’m aiming for you next time around.   

I miss Hong Kong
There is a bar in the Faneuil Hall area of Boston called Hong Kong.  It’s a little hole in the wall, but it serves something called Scorpion Bowls.  As you might guess, the Scorpion Bowl is a mystery concoction, served in a giant bowl with several straws.  It is pretty potent. 

After one, I was undeterred.  After the second, the fruit juice that the Scorpion Bowl is made of stripped away the lining of my esophagus.  After third, I was not only sufficiently shithoused, but I was now fighting back my own stomach acid, blood, and vomit.  Oh, the joys of drinking.

I have not found anything like this in NYC – a specialty drink that puts one over the edge.  If anyone knows of a bar that serves something like this, please let me know.  These bad boys really accelerate the night and make possible some terrible, terrible decisions.  

Crab rangoon = fucking awesome
Can we take a moment to give credit where credit’s due and marvel at the crab rangoon?  Since moving to Chinatown, I don’t eat Chinese food, but we got some up in Boston at the end of Sunday night and it was spectacular.  Still being a month long vegetarian, I got only the seafood options, including some crab rangoons, which I ate approximately 20 of.

I mean, it’s got a healthy dollop of cream cheese with chunks of crab in it, covered in a fried shell.  So simple, but so perfect.  I plan on making a conscious effort on eating a lot more of these. 

(Not at point here, just saying they’re very good.) 

Don’t fucking touch me
Unless it is under the auspicious of love making, I do not like to be touched.  Hell, even whilst love making, I’d much rather touch than be touched.  I think this is because anytime a woman is doing something to me in bed (or in a stairwell, as the case may be), I’m thinking, “Good lord – there is NO way that she’s enjoying this right now.”  Therefore I can’t enjoy it.  But let’s not go down that road right now. 

On Saturday night, while drinking the Scorpion Bowls, which we only started drinking after we’d been at a sports bar for six hours during the day, my friends Danielle and Lena kept on touching up on me.  This was not sexual in any way; on the contrary, it was torturous.  Both are old college friends and know of my dislike of being touched, poked, and prodded, but they did so anyway just to piss me off.  And piss me off it did.

But it also did something that I didn’t tell them or anyone else: made me puke.   Yup, after getting fucked with for a good portion of the night, squirming and saying, “Seriously, knock it off!”, I calmly walked into one of the most disgusting bathrooms in Boston, closed the door, and pulled the trigger.

And boy was I a pussy about it.  Like I said, I’m not a good puker and I was not happy about the whole situation.  There were some tears shed.  And maybe some prayers said.  But I cleaned up as best I could, rinsed out, and drank water for a while.  I was eventually able to bounce back, thanks to a lot of water and another Scorpion Bowl.  But god that sucked.   

The moral?  Don’t touch me.  Because I’ll throw up.     

(Mild) fame = free booze
I hardly ever get recognized.  That is to say, I’m rarely out in a social situation and someone says, “Hey, are you that retard with the blog?”  But when it happens, it totally gives me a boner.

On Saturday night, after the sports bar, the Scorpion Bowls, and the puking, my buddy Bill and I escaped the masses to go to another bar.  This next bar was a big one, a dance-type bar.  I don’t really know why Bill and I went there, but I don’t know why I do a lot of things when I’m drunk.  

I went up to the bar to order two Bud Lights.  The bartender brought them back and asked what my name was.  When I told him Jason, he said, “Oh yeah – I read your stuff.  You wanna do a shot?”  Umm, yes.  Yes, I do. Very much so. 

I know I should be cool about this and act like it’s not a big deal, but I thought that was pretty awesome.  The only times I’ve been called out on the blog is through friends of friends or stuff like that.  But never has a bartender, a server of booze (!), recognized me and bought me shots (!!). 

(And I know that I sound like a douche even writing about this, but I don’t care). 

So the bartender, Bill and I did the largest shots of Jager I’ve ever seen, which I promptly spilled down my shirt.  My regret was that I was not able to properly talk to/thank the dude, as I was bombed and it was loud as fuck in there.  But thank you, Mr. Bartender.  By providing me with free shots, you have completely validated myself and my work here.  God bless you, sir.      

Cabs in Boston are fucking terrible
I know I write about this every fucking time I got to Boston, but the cab situation is unbearable up there.  Everyone leaves the bar at the same time, heading out into the sub-zero wind chill weather.  And cabbies become gods.

Unlike New York cabbies, who by law are required to take a passenger to any destination in the five boroughs, Boston cabbies can pick and choose where they go.  So even if you finally manage to flag a cab down among the hordes leaving the bars, he still might not take you to where you want to go because, I don’t know, he doesn’t feel like it.  Fucking bullshit. 

I am surprised that there is not a) more fighting and b) more sex with cabbies.  Fighting because I was tempted, after standing drunk in the cold for 20 minutes at 2am, to punch the face, neck, and head of the next cabbie to refuse to take me to Dorchester.  However, if I were a woman, I would have at least offered a handjob for a free ride to my destination.  Boston is really fucking cold.

Amateur hour/breaking tradition was in vogue
Every Sunday of St. Patty’s Day weekend there’s a parade in Southie.  Every year my friends have an all day party to celebrate the parade.  And every year since I graduated college, my friends Dave and Bill and I have cooked an Irish breakfast for the partygoers.  Until this year.

When I woke up at 9:30am on Sunday morning to get showered and head over to Southie, I looked at the clock and said, “Nope.”  I woke up again at noon, and didn’t make it out until 2pm.  Five years of tradition wasted, because I am getting older and weaker.  Crap.  

This makes me sad, but there’s not much I can do.  I still went out for the parade on Sunday and pretty much don’t remember anything after 6pm.  Fortunately, thanks to my cell phone, I have a record of Sunday evening, as I sent approximately 900 text messages to just about everyone in my phone, mostly them filled with typos and/or sexual advances.  I’m not very smooth when I’ve been drinking for 72 hours.  But I did wind up getting a very long hug from my buddy Dave at the end of the night, so not all was lost.  Oh, and some girl at the party fell and one of her boobs almost came out, so that was pretty sweet, too. 

*****

There’s more, I’m sure, but I’m home sick from work today and can’t continue.  Pray for me.  And bring me some ice cream.  Please. 

jasonmulgrew.com = pure fucking journalism
Jason posted on March 21, 2006

I did a little research on the Atlanta radio/plagiarism situation mentioned in the post below – after posting about it, of course –  and learned that the victim of plagiarism was not me, but Maddox.  I vaguely remembered Maddox posting something about this on his site, but was so wrapped up in this weird out-of-nowhere email that I threw it up on the site about ten minutes after I got it without taking the time to think it through.

I don’t know who’s dumber: the person who sent me the email saying she started reading my blog after hearing it was plagiarized on the radio or me for putting her email (or the essence of her email) up on my site.  Actually, I do know who is dumber: me.  Hands down.  I mean, wouldn’t I hear if someone plagiarized me on the radio?  I mean, hello?  Jesus.  Give me a break – I’m under a lot of stress right now and am extremely depressed.  No excuse, but I just want your pity.    

So in the future, dear readers, please feel free to email me ridiculous, unsubstantiated things that I will immediately put on this site for thousands of people to read and send me emails like, “Huh?” and “Um, dude, what?”  Because here at jasonmulgrew.com we are committed to the truth.  And to laziness.  Moreso laziness.  And come to think of it, not really so much the truth at all.

Now I’m tired.      

miscellany
Jason posted on March 21, 2006

1) Sheesh - the monthly email is coming either at the end of this week or sometime next week, so quit harassing me about it.  I haven’t forgotten about it, but there are some technical issues that Site Guy Brendan and I (read: Site Guy Brendan) have to work out.  Apparently, you can’t just bcc a few thousand people.  Who knew, right?  So thank you for signing up in droves and far exceeding our expectations.  Seriously.

2) I forgot to wear a belt today.  Do you know how ridiculous a grown man in work clothes looks without a belt?  Absolutely retarded.

Not only do I look ridiculous, but it’s very noticeable.  I’ve seen three co-workers today look at me, do a double-take, and immediately notice my beltlessness.  I’ve since tried to untuck my shirt a bunch to cover up my belt area, but now I just look like a slob (without a belt).

It’s a shame too, as I thought I was looking pretty good today, wearing my nice wool pants and Brooks Brothers shirt and shiny shoes (I always try to dress nicely when I return to work from a weekend of drowning myself in beer).  Oh well.  I don’t even know why I try anymore.

3) I am currently in first place in my NCAA pool at work.  There are over 100 people in it, and I sit alone at the top.  Awesome.  The only bad thing is that this pool has a $1 entry fee.  I am in four other pools, each for significantly more money, and am not winning.  Not even close, actually.  Great.  (Last year, I finished second in the work pool and won a whopping $1). 

4) I just learned this morning that I was plagiarized by a radio station in Atlanta last May.  Apparently, it was like a big week-long controversy too, with the guy who plagiarized my blog eventually apologizing for it.  I had absolutely no idea this was happening, but if any of you recall this or can provide any additional info, that would be good.  The radio station in question was the Q100.5 Morning Show, specifically someone named Jeff.  Again, no clue about this and this could all be incorrect, but I’m looking for answers here. 

5) I’m clinging to life today after this weekend, and so will try to get you another post later but can’t promise that.  I’m sorry, but if you love me, you’ll forgive me.   

legal advice, moustache glaze, moving, email list, link, music, boston
Jason posted on March 16, 2006

Arguably one of the best parts of being "famous" is that you get to tell women in bars that you have an agent.  As you might guess, I try to take advantage of this whenever I can:

Girl: "I work in public relations and -"
Me: "I have an agent."
Girl: "That’s cool.  I mean, I like PR and all, but I’m not sure if - "
Me: "MY AGENT IS HANDSOME!"

or

Girl: "I’m getting a beer - do you want one?"
Me: "Funny you mention that - my agent usually buys me drinks when I’m in LA."
Girl: "So you do or you don’t want one?"
Me: "You know, I remember this one time my agent and I were having drinks at Chateau Marmot - it’s this really nice hotel in LA - and my agent says, ‘How do you do it?’ and I was all like ‘What?’ and he was all like ‘Get so many blowjobs from such beautiful women’ and I was all confused but then I looked down and wouldn’t you know it, two women were fellating me.  Two women!  And I didn’t even notice!  And they were totally hot!  So anyway, I looked at my agent and - "
[Girl gets up from table]
Me: "Hey - where are you going?"
[Girl walks out of bar]
Me: [shouting after girl] "It’s not my fault that you’re a lesbian!  Just because Daddy didn’t give you enough love doesn’t mean you should shy away from this!" [points at genitals] "Yeah, that’s right." [motions to homosexual male couple] "You guys know what I’m talking about."

So thank you, Agent Joel, for being my number one conversation piece.

But in addition to having an agent (and sometimes a publicist), I also have two lawyers, Alex and Gregg.  I am very indebted to Alex and Gregg, because, even though I am surely their crappiest client (by far), they take very good care of me and make sure to return all my stupid emails and frantic voicemails.  However, I may have pushed them too far this week, since I sent them an email on Monday and haven’t heard back since:

Guys,

I have two questions for you.

1) I recently got a parking ticket.  I feel that I was given this ticket unjustly.  I don’t really have time to fight the ticket or any of that crap, but I want to write "Fuck you" or "Suck my ass, cocksuckers" or something equivalent in the memo area of the check when I pay it off.  Can I get in any legal trouble for this?

2) Hypothetically speaking, say I have a friend who’s sleeping with a seventeen year old girl.  What kind of trouble can he get in for this?  I mean, we’re not talking jail time, right?  Is it a fine?  If so, how much?  Is it probation?  And what can’t you do on probation?  You can drink on probation, right?  And what if this girl didn’t tell my friend she was 17 until after they already slept together?  Is he then grandfathered out or anything?  I mean, once you do it once, it doesn’t matter how many times you do it thereafter, right?  She’ll be 18 in ten months, if that matters. 

Anyway, please get back to me when you get a chance.

Also, when the fuck am I getting paid?  I know it’s not your fault, but I’m fucking dying over here.  Christ.   

Love,
Jason

I’m anxiously awaiting their responses and will keep you abreast. 

********************************

I was on the phone with my friend Nicole at work yesterday:

Nicole: "So what’s going on?"
Me: "Oh, nothing much.  Chillin’, billin’.  You?"
Nicole: "Well, school sucks."
Me: [noise of intense satisfaction] "Mmmmmm…"
Nicole: "What?"
Me: "Oh sorry.  I had two donuts for breakfast and just licked my moustache and tasted some leftover glaze."
Nicole: "It’s almost 3pm.  That’s disgusting."

Ladies, once again, I am available.  And if any mothers are reading this, I am more than willing to be set up with your daughters.  My email address is the in upper right.  Quite a catch, am I.   

********************************

It’s that time of year again: I will soon be moving.  It’s still a little early, as I’m not looking to move into a new apartment until May 1, but I’m putting the word out.  So if you know of anyone who has a one-bedroom that is available May 1 preferably in the Lower East Side, East Village, or Alphabet City area (although I’m willing to consider anything below 34th Street), please let me know.  Keep an eye out for me.  I’m hoping to spend around $1800, but that is flexible.  So keep those donations coming!

(And yes, Brian and I are splitting up.  It’s too soon to talk about this, but I will discuss in time.)

********************************

Speaking of assholes, you guys are a bunch of dicks.  I posted a reminder about the email list on Monday and a whole shitload of you signed up.  Which is good. 

But this is bad because you’re supposed to have already signed up.  Which means that you a) either don’t care about this list and by extension me; or b) you’re not reading the shit to the right of the posts.  Site Guy Brendan and I tried to make the "Sign up for the monthly email!" thing as visible as possible, but it appears that you’re only going to sign up in mass quantities when I announce it.  Such is life, I guess.  So I suppose that a week before I send out a monthly email, I’ll announce it here.  That’s how it’s gonna be.

But please, read the shit to the right.  It’s all good.  Mostly. 

(But thank you for signing up.  If you haven’t, do so.  And again, if you have any questions, go here.)

********************************

Look guys, if you want to be linked on the "Friends" page, and you email me saying as much, you should probably have me linked on your blog.

This is not only common sense but common courtesy.  If you send me an email and say "Link me!" but then when I look at your site and you don’t have a link to me, I’m definitely not going to link to you.  I mean, c’mon.

There are only two requirements to be linked: link me and write some good stuff (very good stuff).  Otherwise, no dice.   

Also, and I realize that I might be digging my own grave here, but if you’ve sent me an email since March 1 that a) does NOT involve vegetarian tips, advice on how to get out of jury duty, or jazz suggestions; and b) is IMPORTANT, you’re probably just going to have to resend it.  I tried answering some emails the other night but couldn’t go that far back because there are too many right now. 

I think that in the future, whenever I ask for suggestions, I’m going to have to put a time limit on them, like, "If you are reading this after 7pm EST, please do NOT email tips/suggestions/answers, etc."  But I know that I regularly get emails that ask for advice or are very funny and I haven’t been able to read/process/get back to these in recent weeks.  For example, this morning I got a phenomenal email that will inspire a 3000 word post.  So resend anything that is not veggie/jury/jazz-related and is IMPORTANT (i.e. that don’t say "You suck" or "You’re good" or anything like that - substance here, people). 

********************************

Six Songs

"It’s All in My Mind"  Teenage Fanclub
If you’re keeping count, this is the third Teenage Fanclub song I’ve pimped on here.  God I love them.  I listened to this song about twenty times in a row last night and I think I was hypnotized by the end of the night.  But then I beat off and that brought everything back into perspective.

"Book of Love"  Fleetwood Mac
Awhile back, I mentioned how my roommate Brian and I talk about "Asshole Rock."  It’s very difficult to explain, but you know it when you hear it.  For example, the Moody Blues are Asshole Rock.  Again, I can’t explain it, but to me, the Moody Blues just scream "Asshole Rock", whatever it is. 

Fleetwood Mac might also be added to the Asshole Rock pantheon, especially after hearing this song.  This song exemplifies Fleetwood Mac to a tee: thick choral harmonies, a perfect acoustic/electric mix, and most importantly, a profound sense of confusion over whether you hate or love them after listening to their stuff.  At one point in the day, I can listen to this song and think, "This is the dumbest fucking song I’ve ever heard in my life."  Catch me a few hours later and I might be taking Stevie Nicks’ part in the harmony.  No other band makes me feel so conflicted or ambivalent as Fleetwood Mac. 

On a semi-related note, has anyone proved that you can be nasty at guitar but still extremely uncool better than Lindsey Buckingham?  I mean, he’s a great guitar player, but I don’t think I’d want to have a beer with him.  His name alone rubs me the wrong way: "Lindsey Buckingham".  Not to mention that every time I listen to "Tusk", especially the live version off "The Dance", I cringe as he screams like a goddamn weirdo.  I can just see Mick Fleetwood sitting behind the drums when Lindsey belts out a weird scream thinking, "Christ, Lindsey - take it down a notch already." 

"Gimme A Little Sign"  Brenton Wood
One of my favorite oldies song.  I like it from the first line: "If you do want me/Give me a little sugar."  I’m currently reading a book called "The Sex Life of Food" by the ridiculously named Bunny Crumpacker, and among other things it notes how we use food in sexual terminology.  For example, one of my favorite things to say to ladies I’m making it with is, "Get over here and give me some sugar" (then of course I fall asleep because I’m so drunk and full of pizza).  Also, one of the highest compliments I can give is to tell a girl that she has "honey in her hips" ("Honey In Your Hips" is an old Yardbirds song).  In Mulgrew-speak, if I say this to/about you, it means roughly "I will strangle another person and possibly even a crappy cousin to sleep with you."   

But I also enjoy the song because I personally like signs.  I need signs, as I am obtuse.  And self-absorbed.  So if you do want me, give me a little sugar already. 

But I also enjoy the song because I personally like signs.  I need signs, as I am obtuse.  And self-absorbed.  So if you do want me, give me a little sugar already. 

"Stay Awhile"  Journey
I have a question: Do people like Journey because it’s funny and/or ironic to like Journey or because they enjoy Journey’s music?  While I’ll grant you that few things make me happier than seeing a Journey video on VH1 Classic, I say without a hint of sarcasm or irony that Journey released some great music.  I’m not sure which version of this song I like better - the studio version from "Departure", which is more romantic, or the live version, which is charged with sexual intensity.  I suppose it depends what mood I’m in.  But if I had to make a list of potential wedding songs (which I will do eventually), this would definitely be on there.   

"God Only Knows"  Langley Schools Music Project
A bunch of Canadian school kids from the 70’s singing the Beach Boys and other classics.  Obviously there is something sweet about this song, both generally and in their version, but I think I might be getting a little tired of "God Only Knows" (it’s featured in another project - as the theme song to HBO’s "Big Love", the mildly-entertaining polygamy show after "The Sopranos").  Still, they do a very nice job, especially in the outro.  And hey - they’re just kids!  They do a couple of other songs too; "Good Vibrations" is a bit of a stretch but "Sweet Caroline" is quite nice, although lacking in the "So good! So good! So good!" between lines of the chorus that I so savor. 

"Soon You Will Be Leaving Your Man"  Bright Eyes
I’m really torn about this song.  I CAN’T STAND Conor Oberst’s voice/delivery.  It’s just a pet peeve; some people don’t like Geddy Lee’s voice, I don’t like Conor Oberst’s.  But on the other hand, the music and lyrics are great (I like the acoustic version better than the electric).  But on the other, third hand, if some dude said any of this to a girl I was dating, I’d punch him in the fucking mouth.  So that’s 1) revulsion at the singer’s voice, 2) heartache while listening to the lyrics, and 3) anger after processing the lyrics and pretending they’re said to my fake girlfriend.  Quite a ride, so worthy of a mention.

********************************

Off to Boston until Monday for St. Patty’s Day.  Will post, most likely, again on Tuesday (though possibly Monday, as I am taking the Sex Bus, which has internet).  Godspeed and wish me luck.  I am going to get fucked up this weekend. 

Have a good weekend.

meatless March update
Jason posted on March 15, 2006

This isn’t going to be funny, because it’s just too painful for me to talk about.

For I have gone two weeks without consuming any meat.  And, unbelievably, I am still alive.  And I have not taken another’s life.  Yet. 

To recap, my friends doubted my capacity to go without eating meat.  I can understand why, since I am a carnivore of the highest order.  But they so ridiculed me when I told them that I could go without meat that I decided to do just that and not eat any meat in March - purely to prove my asshole friends wrong.

And so far, so good.  For the most part.

At first, it was very rough.  See, as a vegetarian, I have two major strikes against me:

1) I do not cook.  At all.

2) I do not like fish or vegetables.  At all.  

(Note that I will call myself a "vegetarian" even though I am, apparently, a pseudo-pescatarian, which means that I am allowed to eat fish, other seafood, eggs, cheese, etc - everything except meat and fowl.) 

A vegetarian breakfast is not a problem.  Back when I was a meat-eater, I would usually have cereal or a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast anyway.  Rare was the day that I got a bacon-egg-cheese bagel, usually only on hungover weekends (but god do I fucking miss those).

Lunch proved to be more difficult.  I used to get a sandwich for lunch with ham or chicken or some other sweet delicious animal.  Now, I’ll have an occasional slice of pizza, but mostly I just eat tuna.  That’s it.  I’ve had tuna for lunch maybe 10 of the past 14 days.  My hair is starting to fall out and I’m hallucinating from all the mercury I’m consuming, but hey - at least it ain’t meat!

Dinner is the hardest one, mostly because of the two problems mentioned above.  I realized the other day that I have not turned my oven on since I moved to my new apartment in mid-May.  I have used the burners on the stove, but that was only to lit some of my arm hair on fire (I LOVE the smell of burning hair). 

So I’ve been eating pizza for dinner.  Lots and lots of pizza.  Occasionally, I’ll order out and get some pasta, but that is rare, too expensive, and takes too long.  I can stop on my way home from work and get a slice of plain and a slice of white for $5, so that’s what I’ve been rocking.

Bagels, cereal, tuna, and pizza.  That’s it.  That’s been my diet for the past two weeks.  Well, that and a ton of sweets and desserts, since I have to enjoy myself at least a little in this otherwise miserable time.

But I think I made a breakthrough two nights ago.  I bought some "fake" breaded chicken patties (ingredients: bread crumbs, mush, vegetable protein), microwaved them, put them on a roll, covered them in Russian dressing and - and I can’t believe I’m writing this - they were delicious.  I mean, DEEEE-licious.  I actually bit off part of my ring finger in the feeding frenzy, as I tasted the closest thing I’ve had to meat in weeks (and no, accidentally eating part of your own finger does not mean you’ve broken your vegetarianism; there are rules about self-consumption).

[Author's Note: I tried to find a fancy word for "eating oneself", since I know the Greek word for eating is φαγο, which is roughly pronounced fag-o, but sadly, no such word exists.  Then I tried to make one up, like suiphagis, but that just didn't look right.  Although linguistically it works.  But whatever.  I'm just trying to impress you.  Moving on...]

I realize that the fake chicken might have been so delicious because I hadn’t eaten meat in a while.  If you think deeper about it, I just might be a genius in this regard.  I started my vegetarianism eating nothing but pizza and tuna, making myself so sick of them that by the time I got some "fake" meat, I thought it was great and am now happy with it.  Conversely, if I had started eating fake chicken at the outset of my vegetarianism, with the taste of real (juicy, delicious, once-living) chicken and cow fresh in my mind/mouth, I would have probably thrown it against the wall and started eating the scabs I have all over my arms from my most recent fall down the stairs. 

But if two nights ago we had a breakthrough, last night we had a major setback.  I won’t get too into detail, but last night for dinner I ate the Burger King Big Fish sandwich, complemented with some onion rings, and topped off with a Hershey Sundae pie.  And yes, it was as bad as it sounds.   

The reason why you’re getting this post so late is because I’ve spent about half the day on the toilet.  Good lord.  I know it’s bad when you have blood on the toilet paper, but that doesn’t usually concern me (though I do force myself to stop wiping when there’s more red than brown/black/dark green), but what happens when you see a piece of brain on the toilet paper?  Again, I only went to med school for one year, but I’m pretty sure that I left a nice chunk of my cerebellum on the 26th floor bathroom.  Or maybe it was some lung.  I really can’t say.

So now, as I write this, I’m ready to head to the nearest steakhouse to get two steaks, put some chicken fingers between them, and eat until my heart stops.  When I die, please make sure that my tombstone reads, "Vegetarianism is totally fucking horrible.  I mean, what the fuck, right?"  

But still, I soldier on.  Never doubt my ego, pride, and stubbornness.  I intended to remain meat-free until April 1.  I know that I will be put to the test this weekend in Boston, where I will not be able to enjoy an Anna’s burrito (I can’t even think about this without starting to shake).  Not only that, but the NCAA Tournament starts this weekend, and my hosts have assured me that they have all sorts of animals ready to barbeque.  I got a call from my buddy John, Site Guy Brendan’s roommate, who I’ll be staying with this weekend:

John: "I just read your blog - are Brendan and I gonna have to buy vegetarian shit for you this weekend?  ‘Cause we’re not."
Me: "No, I’ll manage."
John: "You’re not seriously going to not eat meat, are you?  We have four types of sausage!"
Me: "No, I can’t.  Please stop."
John: "Jay, did you hear me?  I said we have four types of sausage!  And hot dogs, burgers, wings - everything!  Why are you doing this?"
Me: "I just want to say that I went a month without meat.  That’s all.  I don’t have much, but I need this."
John: "So what?  Lie and say you did it."
Me: "Dude, I can’t lie."
John: "Wha - hello?  Hello?  Who am I talking to?  Jay, you lie all the time!  Your whole life is a lie!  The first time I met you, you told me you were an orphan!"
Me: "That’s true, but I have to go.  I can’t take this."
John: "Alright, well, I’m gonna go eat a hot dog.  Because I can.  Pussy."

So wish me luck.  And if I see you in Boston, be gentle with me.  I am fragile right now (and not just colonically).  Somehow, in someway, this experience will make me a stronger person.  Or someone will die.  One or the other.