Articles Archive for September 2008
But here’s the thing about last night’s Eagles game: It was disgusting and the very reason that the Philadelphia Eagles are the Philadelphia Eagles. Seriously, it pretty much perfectly summed up the Philadelphia Eagles of the past ten years.
- The Eagles were favored and lost outright.
- Earlier in the day, their main rival (the Cowboys) lost, showing a hole in their armor and not exactly putting the Eagles in the driver’s seat, but in a prime position to make a statement both in the division and the conference. The point: huge, huge opportunity.
- One of our stars was out due to injury.
- The opposing team turned the ball over four times – and we still lost.
- We made a below-average opposing QB look like an above-average QB.
- Our defense stopped the run all game, but when it absolutely needed to make a stop – the last drive of the game, giving up that first down – it didn’t.
- Suspect play calling – four run plays from inside the two?!? – cost us the game.
- We lost to a team we should have beaten.
This is it. This is Philadelphia Eagles football: a blown opportunity to express themselves as an elite team, an injured star, not taking advantage of turnovers, a bad QB looking good against us, a great defense that didn’t come through in the clutch, bad play calling, and losing to a team that on paper, we should have smoked. These are the Eagles that I’ve been watching maybe not all my life, but in the Andy Reid era. And this is why, not matter how much hope this team gives me, no matter how great they look one week or over a series of games, or no matter how many times I say, “If they’re healthy, not many teams can beat them,” when I go to bed at night, when my fat, bearded head hits that pillow, I know that the Eagles are not a championship team. At least I’ve been a fan of this team long enough to recognize this, and maybe one day I will no longer whip myself up into a frenzy of hope each time McNabb throws a 60 yard laser or the defense picks up its fifth QB sack.
Maybe, but I doubt it. For now, facing two losses in not only the best division in football, but perhaps the best division in football in years, we can only look to next week against the Redskins. Should the Birds blow that game, at least I’ll be at Ship of Fools with a dozen friends, drinking myself into a stupor – it is not inconceivable to think that God invented beer for Philly sports fans.
However, I did find one, which I have back-dated and can be read here. I guess I could have not back-dated it, but I’d rather stay true to the time it was written (early August). Anyway, there you go.
I’m leaving for NYC tomorrow and then will be in Philly over the weekend, before returning to NYC all next week (I’m flying back to LA on Monday, October 6). I am so happy about going back to NYC and the east coast that as I type this, I’m peeing my pants a little bit. Anyway, on to the point: you probably won’t get another post this week – I’ll touch base again when I’m settled in NYC.
Though it’s early, have a good weekend.
1) I’m telling you, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to football starting at 10am. After 28 seasons of watching the first game start at 1pm, my internal clock is all of out whack on Sundays; when I’m watching the first game, I crave nachos and Guinness, even though it’s 10am; when the second game rolls around at 1pm, I feel a little drunk and horny, even though I’ve probably had two beers and have not experience erotic penile stimulation in many months; halfway through the “night” game, it’s 7:15pm in LA – and I feel bombed and exhausted and in need of bed. I just don’t think this is going to change.
2) I couldn’t be happier about New England getting blasted by the Dolphins. Last week, Randy Moss said something to the effect of “Y’all better recognize – the Patriots are 2-0.” Well, we all recognize that a) the Jets gave you that game; b) Matt Cassell stinks.
But you know what fans of the Pats should be thinking right now? “Meh.” Between the Red Sox, Celts, and Pats, all I’ll concede to you is “Meh.” A Boston fan dealing with a potential “lost” Patriots season is like the Sultan of Brunei learning that one of his fifteen hot virgin wives went on a retreat to “find herself” and now doesn’t want to fuck his overweight ass anymore. “Meh.”
3) I know I might take a lot of flak for this, but to me, it’s not even close: Burger King’s breakfast options and food far surpasses McDonald’s. I mean, have you had the sausage egg and cheese croissant? And the tater tot-style hashbrowns of BK far surpasses the hash brown brick of McDonald’s. Yes, the Egg McMuffin is wonderful, but pound for pound, I’ll take Burger King for breakfast over McDonald’s any day.
4) This sums up my fantasy football season thus far: I have four leagues. This week, I played against the guy who had Ronnie Brown in three of them. I’ll go 2-2 this week, but I also played against Michael Turner twice in Week One (and I have him in one league). Just a tough opening schedule for Dragulas/What Are You From?/Knorben Knussen/Nass.
5) Three teams I’m not buying into: Washington (can’t get the memory of that first terrible game against the Giants out of my head), Tennessee (media darlings right now with the run offense and good defense, but…meh), San Fran (yeah, just not ready for J. T. O’Sullivan to be a playoff quarterback).
6) Three teams I am buying into: Buffalo (why not?), Atlanta (not saying they’re a playoff team, but they’ve already exceeded expectations and a seven win season isn’t out of the question), Denver (man-crush on Jay Cutler detailed last week; they’ve already beat SD once and have four games total against KC and Oakland, so you’ve already banked five wins right there).
7) MJD: Sorry I doubted you. It will never happen again.
8 ) My roommate Mark got some Omaha Steaks package recently, and included in the package were some hot dogs. My roommate Mark does not like hot dogs. Guess who does? This guy right here. I consumed three of these astoundingly delicious hot dogs whilst watching football on Sunday and boy…if you own stock in Omaha Steaks, it’s going to go up – rapidly.
9) I’m officially excited about the Eagles. Last week, all offense, little defense; this week, all defense, little offense. God help the league if we should figure out how to get both going at the same time. I don’t really know what to say about that game. The defense looked better than it has in ages and maybe the Eagles are catching up with the rest of the league and realizing that long gone and the “stop the run, and you will win days.” In today’s NFL, strike the sheppard and the flock will scatter (or something like that): hit the QB early and often and your chances of victory are greatly improved.
10) Not that this should be taken as Bible, but after last week’s games, Dr. Z’s power rankings went: 1) Dallas; 2) Pittsburgh; 3) Philly. So the Eagles lost a nail-biter at Dallas and absolutely destroyed a good Steelers team. Again, take it for what you will.
11) Oh, and B-Dawk: Sorry I doubted you. It will never happen again.
12) LJ Smith…man, you are bad at the game of football. I think when he got surgery on his knee last year, they also removed his hands and replaced them with breasts.
13) I have an old-school Randall Cunningham Eagles jersey that I’ve been wearing for two or three seasons now while I watch games. I’m not going to stop wearing it, but it’s one thing to rock it in a crowded bar with five or six of your buddies in similar regalia, and quite another to wear it sitting in your living room alone while screaming “C’mon baby!” and “FUCK!” about every twelve minutes. It’s already gotten weird looks from my roommates and their friends – there may be some sort of intervention around Week Nine.
(I even actually did a load of laundry on Sunday morning so that the jersey would be ready for the 1pm (PST) game. Normally, I would have just worn it dirty, but it was at the bottom of my laundry bin and it was a particularly active week in the “masturbating into old boxers” department, so after a week on the bottom of in the laundry bin, in the dark, in my closet, with all the load-cradling boxers, well, let’s just say I could almost see little bearded faces asking for cream chipped beef in the mesh of the jersey. So yeah, I needed to wash it.)
14) A friend of mine, a lady, recently joined an internet dating site. She’s only been emailing with gentlemen so far, but her first “date” was a coffee date scheduled for this Sunday. When I heard about this on Sunday morning, I said, “Let me get this straight: This guy, who you met on eharmony, wants your first date to be coffee on a Sunday afternoon during football season? Like, while actual football games are on? Do you really want to date a guy who’s willing to forsake a Sunday full of football to meet a girl he met on the internet for coffee?” I was joking when I said this – though if I were a chick, a prerequisite for a guy would be that he has to love sports – but then my friend went ahead and canceled her date because of what I’d said.
In the long run, I’m sure I saved her a lot of trouble. Ladies, if a guy wants your first date to be during a football Sunday or a major sporting event, just run away, right away, and save yourself the trouble of learning about his secret relationship with his co-worker Hans eight years from now.
15) Two things from my fantasy football preview that made me look like a genius:
- Cleveland stinks. I told you. To be honest, I can’t even brag about this, since I’m not sure how anybody with a basic knowledge of football could look at that Cleveland team, look at all their overperformers in 2007, look at their schedule, and say, “Oh yeah – playoff team.” I will be surprised if they win more than five games.
(And I love the city of Cleveland and its fans. I’ve even been looking at apartments in Cleveland on craigslist in my spare time, thinking it would be a good fit for me, as I am chubby and like cold weather, beer and cheap real estate.)
- I told you that there was value to be had in the backfields of Seattle, Houston and Cincy. I have Julius Jones (140 yards, 1 TD this week) on two teams, Steve Slaton (116 yards, 1 TD) on all four, and Chris Perry (74 yards, 1 TD) on two. I’m not saying these guys are going to finish among the top ten in RBs, but if you took my advice, you have some pretty good RB3s or RB4s right now.
16) I did so little this weekend that on Sunday, not only did I leave the house only once, only to go to Burger King, but I honestly don’t think I even looked in the mirror one time. I’m totally serious about this. There could have been a finch leaving in my bird and I wouldn’t have seen it. There’s “letting yourself go” and then there’s what I’m doing. I haven’t decided if it’s really impressive or really sad.
17) In addition to leaving the couch on Sunday from 10am until 8pm only to cook a hot dog and poop (twice), for $7 more a month, my roommates and I recently got 50 more DirecTV channels, including Biography and ID (“Investigation Discovery”). I have watched more murdery shows over the weekend – including but not limited to three episodes “Most Evil”, biographies of Andrew Cunanan, John Wayne Gacy and BTK, and several old murder-related “Datelines” – than I have in the past four months. It was probably my best weekend out in LA yet.
(And for the second weekend in a row, I did not shave once, rocking a neck beard from Friday morning until Monday morning. A full neck beard, a dusty 96 Lincoln Town Car, and feet black from not wearing shoes [I would say that I wore shoes for maybe two hours from the time I got home from work on Friday until the time I got ready for work on Monday morning]. Should I just sign up for the Sex Offender Registry now? I mean, I have the time now, and there’s a chance I won’t later.)
18) My old roommate and the only guy friend I have in LA (who I actually see more than once every two months), Brian, works in the entertainment industry for a celebrity news show and has for years. So he’s seen in fair share of celebrities, since that’s part of his job. The most beautiful woman he’s even seen in person? Faith Hill. I could see that, but she’s a little too wholesome for me; I like my women with a bit of desperation in their eyes, you know what I mean?
19) I am really tempted to write something about some other Philadelphia sports teams, but I dare not, lest I jinx them.
20) For a year I lived at 95th and 3rd in this tremendous monolith of post-college milieu called Normandie Court (“When You’re Out of College but Not Ready For the Real World: Normandie Court!”). That year, from the summer of 2004 to the summer of 2005, I worked some long hours and would take the 4-5-6 train from way downtown all the up to 96th Street, and at least twice a week, always about 8:30pm at night, I’d stop in the corner pizza place and get a slice or two to take home for dinner.
The service was terrible and the wait interminable; after working for ten hours and taking the local train for 45 minutes, all I wanted was my two goddamn slices. In theory, the whole thing should have gone down in three to five minutes, but in practice, I’d wait for at least ten, usually longer.
As those hot August nights, when the heat from the open pizza ovens was enough to make me swoon in my Banana Republic khakis and my Brooks Brothers button-down, would bleed into September and its first cool breaths of autumn, I’d stand there in the pizza place, staring at that TV, always tuned in to the Yankees, catching ten or more minutes of the game. They mostly seemed to be at home at these times, so I’d see the black of centerfield as the pitcher took signs from the catcher, the blue padding of the backstop, and the thousands and thousands of New Yorkers clad in their finest Yankee hats and jerseys.
And as someone who grew up with a passion for sports but whose sports teams lacked any pedigree or any great sense of history (think: 10,000 losses, snowballs at Santa), I felt two things. Jealousy: All those fans, rooting for that great team, a threat every year to bring home another championship to their overflowing trophy case, just another accolade to add to their legacy. Something like pride: Four miles north from where I stood in that crappy, slow-poke pizza place, Yankee Stadium, all those fans, all that history, all there and right at that moment as I waited for my regular and pepperoni slices, alive – I’d swear I could feel that stadium shake when Jeter blooped and single into center.
This is how I’ll remember Yankee Stadium: waiting for my pizza, watching that little TV, and realizing how lucky everybody is.
This wasn’t always the case. Nothing could be worse for me than your standard Monday, once the alcohol has been completely removed from your system, your bowels are essentially decimated from a weekend of bad/binge eating, and you face five straight days of work.
But now, Friday is the new Monday for me, because another weekend in Los Angeles represents another weekend of wasted opportunity. Whereas six months ago I’d be sitting at my desk in my office in New York staring at the clock on my computer, chomping at the bit to get out of the office and into the wild, now I’m actually spending extra time at work, because why not? At least I can wait out the traffic.
(I actually do have something kinda cool planned for tonight: I think I’m going to sit in my parked car outside my house and drink beers. Just to switch things up a little bit, since both my spot on the couch and my chair in the yard are getting seriously strained. In the car, I don’t know, maybe I can pretend I’m on a stake-out or something. That might be cool. And I can still listen to the radio, which is nice.)
I’m 29 years old, in the prime of my life, rich, handsome, and not even a little bit well-hung – and yet I’m going to treat the next year of my life like a prison sentence. I should probably pick up a copy of the Koran tonight to speed things up.
Happy Friday. Monday’s just around the corner, and that means another week in the books. Can’t wait.
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A couple of things before we get to the music:
1) If any of you live in the South Bay-area and have a cleaning lady, please pass her information on to me. I share a bathroom with a girl, and despite being the one covered in hair and possessing a penis, I am the much (much) cleaner one of the two of us. Also, my other roommate – potentially both my roommates, really – doesn’t understand that you must rinse off dishes before you put them in the dishwasher. There’s nothing quite like opening the dishwasher after it’s been run and having to re-wash half the dishes because of caked on debris. Because of this, I almost exclusively use plastic utensils, drink out of keg cups, and do not cook, but I’m starting to feel guilty about that.
(Not because of the environment, but because I keep still forks and spoons from the sandwich shop in my building.)
2) Some blogs you should check out (if you haven’t already): Amish in the City, Cajun Boy in the City (no relation to Amish), East Village Idiot, Midwesterner’s Guide to NYC, and Redacted. Also, I wrote about this previously, but Slack is back (joy!). I’ve also added these to the right, with the other good reads.
3) I forget what three was. If I had to guess, it was probably either another complaint, something about football/fantasy football/the Eagles, or how I’ll be in NYC next Thursday (and in Philly Friday or Saturday). Whatever one it was, I can assure you you’re not missing anything.
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Six Songs
Muxtape is dead; mixwit is alive. All songs can be heard there, with a couple of extra ones.
“Hellodrama” What Made Milwaukee Famous
If I could start a band, it would be a five or six person group with at least two women in it. Our sound would be described as Fleetwood Mac having an orgy with Sly and the Family Stone while the Arcade Fire plays drunk. I could share vocal duties and play either guitar or bass (I’m very talented).
However, if I created a side project that allowed me to delve into my nerdy side and really bring out my Elvis Costello-meets-Weezer influences, this would be what our first single would sound like. It’s strange; I really like this song, but when I first heard it, my reaction was not “Man, that’s a great song” but rather, “Man, that sounds exactly like something I would write if I had any musical talent.”
So listen and tell me what you think of my fictional side project that’s a band in real life. If think we/they have a real future.
“The Only One” The Cure
I’ll tell you, I really do have to be in the mood for them, but sometimes, there’s just nothing better than The Cure. This song also makes me miss London – I was due for a visit in 2008, since I go every two years – but I miss so many things right now that London can’t quite make the list. Sorry. Just really backed up right now.
“Three Days From Now” The Ladybug Transistor
When I was in high school, I used to play a lot of video games (shocking for someone who was smart, had tiny circular John Lennon glasses, had long hair that naturally “flipped” at his shoulders, was 240 pounds and wore a cape, right?). My radio station of choice while playing was the Princeton University indie station, which I believe was 103.3 on the dial. One day, I heard only a fraction of the song, and remembered the lyrics, “Don’t want to get stuck inside/looking at your dry eyes/I want it to look like you are crying.” I never heard the song again. Twelve or thirteen years later – two weeks ago, to be exact – I remembered the lyrics, googled them, and it turned out to be the Ladybug Transistor song “Stuck”. Good song, but this one is better. To my surprise, the band is terrific.
We all find new music in our own ways.
“Divine” Sebastien Tellier
You’d better believe that this one is on heavy rotation when driving around in the car. I don’t even know what to else to say.
“If Your Mother Only Knew” Rahzel
Maybe it’s just me, but few things give me as much joy as a large group of black people exclaiming “Oh shit!” and the like in surprise and joy. I mean, have you watched the reaction of black athletes during the slam dunk competition or the home run contest or when someone gets punked? I can’t name many things that make me happier than their reaction. I sideswiped a parked car on a crowded Venice street a month after I moved to LA and when I first hit the car, there was a large black family walking back from the beach who screamed “OH SHIT!” and laughed and clapped just as I crunched it. I mean, I had just literally hit a car and still was happy, because I saw how much joy that African-American family got out of some chubby white kid with a beard smacking the shit out of a parked car.
The point: in this “song”, when Rahzel starts doing the beat and the chorus at the same time, this is a genuine, African-American “OH SHIT!” moment. Listen to it, and I promise you won’t be able not to smile.
(It’s the second “untitled” song on the mixwit. I can’t figure out how to rename them.)
“Elephant Gun” Beirut
This is what it’s going to sound like when I finally lose my mind. Only there will be more wild animal noises when that happens.
[Have a good weekend]
My response, which I’ve spouted a thousand times, is always the same: What the fuck do you think I have to do on a Sunday? Seriously, what else is there for me to do on a Sunday but sit there, get drunk, yell and watch football? Do you think I’m going to say, “Sweet – it’s 4:15pm. The games are over and I still have time to go pick out a new comforter!” No way, bro. Football is about waking up hungover from a late Saturday night, quickly showering and catching a cab to a bar where your buddies are, and spending the next six to nine hours eating wings, drinking and talking about sports and boobies, only to return to your apartment bombed and heartburned to pass the fuck out.
This is not how I watch football in LA. There is no late Saturday night, since I’ve pretty much given up on going out around here – I’ll go out when I’m back in NYC, but in the meantime, I’d rather stay in and save money so that when I return to NYC I have enough money to buy a slave for my new apartment. I don’t wake up late or hungover, since it’s hard to do that when your weekend nights are spent sitting in your yard drinking beer by yourself, staring at the fire pit and weeping silently so your neighbors don’t hear you. And I don’t take a cab to meet my buddies out, since the “Eagles bar” that they go to is all the way in Santa Monica, which means if I want to drink I have to pay about $120 in round trip cab fare, or otherwise spend six hours nursing four beers (sounds sweet, right?).
(While we’re here, I used to be a baseball fan. I say “used to” because all the teams I want to watch start their games at 4:05pm. I work until at least 5pm, which means the earliest I’m home is at 6:15pm, or right around the 6th or 7th inning of a Phillies game. So instead, I get to watch a lot of Mariners, Giants, A’s, Dodgers, Angels and Padres games. There are 30 teams in Major League Baseball. Of the 30, I can’t name many that I’m less interested in than the Mariners, Giants, A’s, Dodgers, Angels and Padres. Even the good ones are boring; before Manny, it was “Russell Martin – James Loney – Derek Lowe: Dodger Fever, Catch It!” and “The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim in Southern California: Seriously, We Won the World Series a Few Years Ago. Swear.” Continually being forced to watch baseball played by the Mariners, Giants, A’s, Dodgers, Angels and Padres is like continually being forced to watch porn featuring 300 pound people having sex. Your curiosity might be peaked at first, but then you’ll feel disgusted with yourself and what you see, then you’ll get sad, then you’ll just lose interest in the whole thing altogether and forget why the real thing even interested you in the first place.)
However, I have to admit that my own personal football set-up could be worse. In my living room, we have a 60″ or 62″ HD television. It is, without exaggeration, the largest TV I’ve ever seen in a home. We also have DirectTV and the football package, so we get every game. Even when the games stink, there is something called “The Red Zone Channel” which flips to any game when any team gets in the red zone – it’s like watching football on speed. So not bad. Not bad at all.
But here’s how it works. My roommate Mark will watch football on the big screen in his bedroom. I don’t begrudge him this, since he does not have a laptop and needs to use the computer in his room to stay up to date on his four fantasy football teams. As someone with four teams myself, I totally understand. So I sit in the living room watching football alone. However, sometimes I have a guest watcher or watchers. This weekend, it was my other roommate Selena and her friend Sarah. While I watched the games, they sat on the other couch discussing all manner of things, from engagement rings to hair coloring to, I don’t know, periods or dolls or whatever it is women talk about (I sort of zoned out). If they hadn’t made some wonderful caprese for me (and later a lovely dinner), I surely would have injected something into my neck that maybe wouldn’t have caused me death, but at least temporary unconsciousness.
So that’s what I’m looking at for the rest of my football Sundays: alone on the couch, laptop on lap, checking fantasy teams and talking to myself (or to girls about “What Guys Really Want”). To that end, here is a random collection of twenty thoughts from football on Sunday and last night:
1) Vince Young, you stink. You were a great college quarterback, but it was apparent that you were never going to be great in the NFL, with your low arm slot delivery and your inability to read (not defenses, but words). Still, you could have been a more than serviceable pro quarterback, but now we can add crazy to your stinkiness. Titans fans, I feel for you (good thing you live in a such a cool city and state). There is no greater sin than being blessed with an extraordinary ability and wasting it because you are a whiny bitch.
2) Maurice Jones-Drew is absolutely killing two of my fantasy teams. Thanks for the touchdown this week, but 92 total yards in two weeks? I liked him this year because he’s only 23 years old with two years under his belt and Fred Taylor’s 32 years old with a lot of wear on that body. Something’s gotta give eventually. Instead, Jacksonville loses two of its starting o-lineman, Garrard’s thrown more picks in two games than he did all of last year, and the RB combo of MJD and Fred Taylor’s been good for 97 yards in two games. Yikes.
3) My roommate Selena asked me why the player was waving when the ball was kicked to him on a punt. I explained that he was calling for a fair catch, which meant that he was signaling that he would not run the ball and would down it when he caught it, but the other team then must not hit him while he catches the ball. She said, “Awww” and added that it was a “nice promise.” This is how I’m going to spend my Sundays for the 2008 NFL season.
4) If you’re in a survivor pool, it might be wise to pick against KC and St. Louis every week. I think that St. Pius Prep might get three against the Rams and five against the Chiefs.
5) Further, it’s fair to say that USC could win the NFC West, right? That’s not even a joke. The division, however, certainly is.
6) I don’t think I can recall a game in which the offense played with less zest and the coaching, um, coached, with less real, actual knowledge of the sport of football than in Washington in their loss in the opener to the Giants. Therefore, this week, if I owned a home, I would have bet it on New Orleans +1 at Washington. I could not believe this line when I saw it earlier in the week, and further couldn’t believe it when it didn’t move by Sunday. When lines don’t move, that’s bad – it’s like Vegas saying, “Fuck you – we know what we’re doing, so if you think you’re hot shit, bring it.” New Orleans was up 24-15 by the end of the third and I was cursing bloody murder that I didn’t bet on the game. As soon as my rant ended, Washington scored. Then scored again. Final: Washington 29, New Orleans 24. What do I take away from this? Both Washington and New Orleans stink. And I stink at not-gambling.
7) If I had to pick an AFC team to root for, it’d be the Jets. They remind me a lot of the Eagles: usually pretty shitty; green uniforms; rabid, overweight fan base. When they got Favre I was a little less of a Jets fan, but with that lil’ acquisition they went from “unwatchable” to “alright, I’m in.” The game against New England this week…very, very frustrating. A winnable game, marred by suspect play calling (you have BRETT FAVRE! Why would you run three times from inside the five?). I’m not going to provide any insight that you haven’t read elsewhere for this game (or any game), but it bothers me that now New England’s thinking, “We’re ok with Cassell!” when they should be thinking, “Thank god the Jets let us off the hook!”
8 ) Jay Cutler is The Truth. Wow. I had a little bit of a man crush on him before the season – laser rocket arm, great mobility (he ran the option his first two years in college), diabetes, a name that reminds me of chicken cutlet – all things I look for in a football player. The Raiders game affirmed by crush and now we’re entering the danger zone. Six TDs in two games in a weak division….30 is very much in the discussion.
9) Seeing Cutler on the sidelines, my co-watcher Sarah asked why all quarterbacks wear hats on the sidelines, and I could offer no explanation. Then we discussed men in their 20’s and 30’s wearing hats and surprisingly, we all agreed on many points. First, hats are ok only at sporting events; otherwise, it just looks like you’re hiding hair loss. Second, there is no excuse for a white man over the age of 25 wearing a backwards hat. This is so awkward that it’s embarrassing – it’s ok if you’re coming back from a long study season in the college library, but you got to let it go once you finish your last bio final.
(I subsequently discussed this with a New York-based female friend to see if this was just a west coast bias, but she agreed: a backwards hat on a 25+ white guy is as much as a dealbreaker as “wearing jean shorts.”)
10) It was a fumble. If it had gone against the Eagles against, say, the Cowboys, I’d be in jail right now, three quarters of the city of Philadelphia would be on fire, and every person named “Hochuli” would be wiped off the face of the earth. Thank goodness it happened in San Diego, where fans of the Chargers responded to the game-deciding bad call by throwing their Abercrombie and Fitch catalogs across their rooms and having another white wine spritzer – easy on the spritz.
11) On Monday night, I watched the national anthem being performed and thought to myself, “Is this me or is this terrible?” Maybe it’s because I’m old-fashioned or maybe it’s because I’m racist, but I like a nice, normal rendition of the national anthem, not one filled with dips and trills and the like. So this pop songstress gets up and oversings the hell out of it and when it’s over, GETS BOOED. I never thought I’d have even a modicum of respect for Cowboys fans, but I did right then and there. If this is possible, the whole Mid East puzzle can be sorted out.
(Seriously, it was the worst rendition of the national anthem ever, save for star-duds like Carl Lewis and Roseanne. You can see it here. Poor quality, but you can hear it. Which is not a good thing. You can’t, however, hear the boos, which is a shame.)
12) Speaking of Cowboys fans, I know that Philly fans are not exactly exemplars of sophistication, but at least we don’t have gun racks in our pick-up trucks and vote Republican. Good lord – as they scanned the crowd at Texas Stadium, I couldn’t help but think two things: “These people have not studied Latin” and “These people hate – and I mean, hate – Barack Obama.”
13) My whole thought going into the Eagles-Cowboys game was that an Eagles loss would not be devastating. We’re talking about a team that went 8-8 last year going into Texas Stadium for its last Monday night game against a team that went 13-3 last year and after Week One had the best Vegas odds to win the Super Bowl (the Eagles were also without their top two WRs, but saying that’s a handicap is like saying me going into a pie eating contest with my shoelaces untied is a handicap). So I could deal with a loss, as long as it wasn’t a blowout.
Wrong. Tough loss. Tough, tough loss.
14) At one point, Tony Kornheiser said that Andy Reid dealt with a “horrifying tragedy” when his two sons got arrested last year. Um, isn’t what happened to Tony Dungy’s son – you know, when he killed himself – more of a “horrifying tragedy”? Two adult sons getting arrested for drugs and guns is not a horrifying tragedy; two adult sons eaten by wild dogs would be a horrifying tragedy. C’mon, Tony.
15) Speaking of Tony, in emails today my buddy (a Jew) and I decided that we hadn’t realized it until last night, but TK is one of the Jewiest Jews that ever Jewed. He also reminds me of an ex’s dad (my roster of my ex-girlfriends reads like a “Greatest Hits” of the female names of the Old Testament). God love him (or rather, G-d love him).
16) I’m not sure why Andy Reid didn’t tell the corners to jam TO at the line in the first half. This strategy has worked in the past: get up on him, rough him up, disrupt his timing. Instead, they sat back and let him run like a gazelle in the open plains and were so devastated by his big plays that they completely altered their defensive game plan in the second half, abandoning their aggressive (and very successful) pressuring of Romo and instead switching to a prevent-like defense, thus allowing the Cowboys to pick up small chunks of yardage at a time. THIS was the key to the game, because unlike the McNabb/Westbrook fumble in the fourth, this was preventable. Don’t abandon the blitz, keep the pressure on Romo, body up TO and let them beat you with Whitten. Instead, they kept their LBs off the o-line, gave Romo plenty of time, and though they took TO out of the game, still they couldn’t stop Barber and Whitten.
(Also, I don’t want to admit this, but B-Dawk…not looking so great. That’s all I’ll say about that, out of respect.)
17) That’s the thing that Andy Reid has never appreciated with WRs – a great one will make you alter your game plan. A stud WR will force you a blitzing team like the Eagles into a cover-2 or cover-2 type scheme, which is not how they play their game. As much as I hate to admit it, TO was the key to that game because he did just that and forced the Eagles to NOT play their game defensively in the second half. Dallas 41, Philly 37.
18) I’m not a sore loser (well, maybe I am), but let’s just say I wouldn’t feel too great with Romo under center in a game that matters. Like, for instance, in the playoffs. Where he’s 0-2.
(Nice fumble in the end zone, pretty boy. See you at the Linc on December 28.)
19) The game itself was magnificent, as much as an Eagles’ loss to the Cowboys can be magnificent. One thing that you can take away from this game, brilliantly put by Jaws or TK: How many teams out there are better than the Eagles or Cowboys? I know I’m biased, but if you don’t think they’re two of the top six teams in the NFL, you’re just plain wrong.
20) DeSean Jackson…don’t do that again.
Hey Jason, been reading your blog for a long time, big fan and all that (disappointed that you can’t post as much since you’ve been in LA). I just wanted to write you to say thanks for a post that you wrote near the end of last year saying that guys should get their girlfriend to do an Engagement Ring Dossier. I showed it to my girlfriend (who also reads your site) and convinced her to do one back in December, and the past month or so I went and picked out the ring and everything based on her specifications, proposed last night, and she absolutely LOVES the ring. I’m sure you already knew the dossier was a good idea, but I just wanted to confirm it to you. A real world application of the ERD that worked, and my girlfriend and I will be forever in your debt (which means if I ever meet you in real life I’ll buy you a drink or two).
(If you want to relay this on your blog to show everybody how great you are feel free, just leave out my name please)
I posted this mostly because, well, to show everybody how great I am, but also because I took such flack from the women-folk for the Engagement Ring Dossier.
The idea, to refresh y’all, is simple: When it becomes apparent that you and your lady friend are going to eventually get engaged, ask her to put together an “Engagement Ring Dossier.” The ERD will include everything a man who knows (or should know) very little about jewelry needs to know to buy his love her ideal engagement ring; everything from her ring size to size or clarity/quality preference to pictures to type of cut should be included in there. Upon the receipt of the ERD, it should never be spoken about again, under the assumption that sometime in the next year or so you are going to use the ERD to purchase the ring and propose.
I think it’s a brilliant idea because:
- I don’t want to be the guy who goes shopping for a ring with his girlfriend. This is, to sound like a California girl, so totally lame. After all, how many genuine surprises do you get or get to pull off in your life? Isn’t getting engaged and finding out the sex of your baby about it (not including any STD test results)? When I hear of couples spending Saturdays going ring shopping I want yell at them for their lack of originality and spontaneity. Then I get a little sad, because I’m alone. So, so alone.
- I don’t want to pick out an engagement ring for my girlfriend all by myself. I’m not really into looks. Don’t get me wrong – the most important characteristic of a potential mate of mine is how attractive she is, but for me, I don’t own a lot of nice clothes, my car is caked in dust because it hasn’t been washed since before we drove it cross-country, and I didn’t shave once this weekend. The point: as far as I’m concerned, it’s a fucking ring. Without guidance from a woman, I imagine the most important criterion for my ring purchase is how much it’s on sale (i.e. the jeweler pulls out a ring made of PVC and coral and says, “This usually goes for $10,000, but I can give it to you at a discount for…” and I yell “Sold!” before he even gets the price out).
(PS – I actually came out to my car this morning to find someone had written “Wash Me, Asshole” in the dust on my trunk. I wrote “No” below it.)
While I thought my ERD idea would be immediately lauded as one of the most significant intellectual developments of the 21st century…um, nope. Various people expressed the sentiment, “Even the most sane and normal girl in the world would get whipped up into a frenzy at the idea of her boyfriend asking her for engagement ring information.” Another said, “From a neurotic female perspective: if someone ever approached me using this method I would immediately think any romantic moment, or even unromantic moment for that matter, was a potential marriage proposal.” Another (from a woman):
Three things that will piss a woman off more than anything is 1) having to wait for a surprise, i.e. knowing your man is going to propose. A word of advice, never ever mention the M word until you are popping the question; 2) picking out their own engagement ring. We don’t ever want to know how much you spent on the ring even if it is 3 times your monthly salary; and 3) having to tell you exactly what we want. We expect you to know what we want and when we want it.
The following is from a dude, but he more or less summed up a number of things:
Women can’t handle [the ERD], and you will encounter two reactions: One, the girl will get freaked out, awkward, and the end of relationship clock will begin to tick immediately. It’s only a matter of time before that shit reaches zero. Two, the girl will get WAY too involved in the idea. I want to stress WAY TOO INVOLVED. Dossier? Try the Oxford fucking English dictionary of engagement ring shit. There’ll be recognizable stuff, like Tiffany’s, but then she’ll throw stuff in there that you’ve never even heard of, like elaborate custom-made rings worn by dessicated virigins who will think of England on their wedding night, or some weird red diamond ring nobody on earth could afford except Bill Gates. Then, once you have the ERD, come the jokes. After a while she’ll get tired of waiting for you to ask the question, and will start dropping none too subtle jokes about rings, purchasing, how lonely her finger looks, how every other woman she knows has been engaged twice, and how she really feels the need for security in her life and “can’t wait around forever.”
This is all silly. Silly, silly, silly. My rebuttals:
1) I guess I assumed that the woman that I’ll be proposing to and those women that should use the ERD are, for the most part, sane. Maybe this is naive on my part, but the thing I don’t think y’all picked up on is that I’m not talking about giving the ERD to a girl you’ve been dating for four months. I’m talking about a relationship in which both parties have spoken about marriage and are closer to a wedding than a first date, if not chronologically (using this word incorrectly), then emotionally. I don’t see a problem with going to a girl I’ve been dating for a long time, who’s met all my family, with whom I’ve vacationed and talked about marriage and the whole nine yards, and saying, “Look, you know I want to marry. Probably you. But here’s a fun idea – I want you to have the most possible input on your ring without you actually picking it out yourself, because I want it to be a surprise” and then explaining the “fun” concept of the ERD. Again, maybe I’m being naive, but I don’t see the harm in that.
2) If a woman gets way too involved in the ERD, fine. It’s kind of a big deal, so I think I can do a little work on my part to distill any great volume of information and work with a “diamond guy” to figure out the most practical and most desirable ring for my lady. Too much information in this case is better than too little.
3) I’m not saying that the woman presenting the ERD should include financial requirements or parameters (i.e. Rule XIV: The should should cost at least $8,567 but not more than $12,511″). But an issue that should be resolved in the ERD would be: would you prefer a larger, less clear diamond or a smaller, cleaner/shinier diamond?
4) The most valid point of those mentioned above is that any moment, romantic or not, might be the moment for the proposal once the ERD has been handed over. But let me ask you something, ladies: If a guy took your ERD and said it would take some time for him to save money for the ring, and then didn’t propose in the next, say, six weeks, wouldn’t your suspicion of “OHMYGOD HE MIGHT PROPOSE TONIGHT!” wear off after a few weeks? From my perspective, if someone said to me, “Some day, say in the next year, Jenna Jameson is going to follow you from work into your parking garage and blow you,” yeah, I’d be out of my mind in anticipation at first. But then, after the first month of no Jenna, I’d stop icing my balls before I left work. Then after the second month, I’d stop looking over my shoulder as I walked to my car. By the third month, it’d be in my mind, and sure, I’d still keep masturbating to the idea, but I’d get used to it, knowing one day it’s going to happen and going to be awesome, but I can’t constantly think about it. And then the one day, when it did finally happen, it would still be the greatest day of my life. So ladies, would the same apply to the ERD?
(Again, I’ll be the first to admit that I know very little about the female psyche, but still, I gotta be close on this one.)
Anyway, I am very happy for [NAME REDACTED] and his new fiancée. Honestly, it’s just about one of the best emails I’ve ever gotten, not just because it shows that I am right (so totally right) because lil’ old me, writing an internet diary from a couple hundred miles away, probably with my shirt off, was able to play a small role in the advancement of two people’s love. That’s a nice feeling, like apple crumble a la mode. Which is delicious. Like love.
(Also, did I mention I was so totally right?)
“Whole Lotta Rosie” AC/DC
I am sitting at my desk right now (Friday afternoon, 3:52pm) listening to this song and I’m fairly certain that something, somewhere nearby, is going to explode. As I write this, I have testicles; this may change any moment, however, as they are in the process of being rocked the fuck off. Hearing this, I wish – desperately, well beyond the realm of patheticness and “quit your whining, already!” – that I was going back to my apartment on a fall or winter evening, to rip (and I mean, rip) through a half-dozen vodka crans, enjoying the company of two or three or four of my shittiest, drinkingest friends, before hitting any of the 400 bars within a $10 cab ride of my place, then talking to no one but each other, then leaving the shit bar at 4am to get pizza, maybe send a text message or two, and definitely wake up the next day at 1pm with a hangover and a willingness to do it all again in a few hours.
Instead, I’m going to Target after work to get paper towels and new bedsheets. Then I might make some burgers and have a few cans of Bud Light. I will be in bed by 12am – if I’m feeling dangerous – and awake, on my own volition, before 9am. Tomorrow, if I’m feeling up to it, I’m going to get my car washed.
******
So to answer your question, dear readers, yes, I am alive. But barely. Los Angeles is killing me in a way that I never thought it would. I always thought I’d rage against the dying of the light (literally, and specifically in a hotel fire somewhere in South America, one of the shittier countries like Uruguay or French Guiana). Instead, I’m casually strolling into it, with a bag from Target in one hand and my third-best Los Angeles friend, my iPod, in the other.
New York City, you are officially on notice. Vengeance, thy name is September 25 through October 6.
[Have a good weekend.]