Articles Archive for August 2009
In response, one of you (I can’t find the email and may have deleted the email in a drunken iPhone accident) wrote that I should go on and do a full draft of the sexiest/most desirable female voices in music.
Well.
I thought a lot about this. And I was prepared to do a full-bore, 3000 word, two-round (ten team, so twenty picks) draft. But there are some problems.
First, it’s impossible to go strictly by voice. For example, Alison Krauss, in addition to having a terrific singing voice, is cute. So is Cia Cherryholmes, a bluegrass singer would be my sleeper late-first/early-second round pick (see: “Brand New Heartbreak” or “Don’t Go Away” by Cherryholmes for further proof).
(And I know this is not the best picture of her, but look at the outfit of the guy who’s standing next to her. He’s Exhibit A why country music is awesome. If he wears that to an awards show, what does he wear around the house?)
However, Janis Joplin has one of the most impressive and astounding voices in all of rock music, but I don’t know if we’d have a single wedding picture in which she’s not wrapped around a bottle of Jack and I’m not eating cake and/or pooping (you know, if she wasn’t dead). In a similar vein, Aretha Franklin’s “Ain’t No Way” is one of the five finest vocal performances (male or female) ever recorded, but I don’t know if it makes me want to marry her. Alternatively, there are things that I’d do to Jessica Simpson that if I wrote them out, would get me institutionalized, but I couldn’t have less respect for her music or whatever the studio claims is her voice.
(PS, re: Aretha: wow. So much…boobie…but not…in a good way…)
Second, maybe it’s not entirely appropriate for me to do a mock draft of the most desirable voices in rock, in terms of marriability. I mean, is that really all I would measure of a woman by, the sound of her voice? No, of course not. There are also her looks, the size of her bosom (Aretha = win, but again, not in a good way), how much money she comes from, her ability to handle a D (D = penis), how many professional and/or college athletes she’s done, her awareness of the difference between “whose” and “who’s” (or at least, “write” and “right”), her willingness to bring (female) friends or craigslist ad answerers into the bedroom, and if she can deal with my snoring, for example, to take into consideration.
Yet still, when I thought of this mock draft in my head, I knew that that my number two pick, the Michael Turner to Alison Krauss’s Adrian Peterson, would be lead singer in the New Pornographers and solo artist in her own right, Neko Case.
First, her voice is really, really good. Second, she has great, red hair. I’ve never been the type of guy to prefer blondes or Asians or girls with tattoos, because, as the saying goes, beggars can’t be choosers. Still, as a borderline mezzofinook who may or may not have been mildly obsessed with a certain ginger cartoon character growing up, I have made out with only one and a half redheads in my life (that I can remember) and this is an area that I would like to explore further. Neko would fulfill both the voice and hair requirements, splendidly.
(Wait – two and a half. Sorry. My memory’s getting worse with age.)
So as further proof of my personal affection for Neko, I present the video of “Your Daddy Don’t Know” below. Sure, it’s not a draft with twenty picks, but I think you’ll enjoy it. I realize that there are a number of reasons why I’m attracted to Neko in this video (for example, in addition to her incredible voice, she and the rest of the band obviously have a sense of humor). But I’m not ashamed to admit it has to a lot to do with her look or costume or whatever. I’ve thought about this a lot recently – seeing as I have tons and tons of free time – and I don’t think I’ve had any real sexcapades with a girl in costume. One of my favorite porno clips is a Christmas-themed one that involves a girl in an elf outfit getting effed (too much information?), but I don’t think I’ve ever made out with a girl in a slutty Halloween (or otherwise) costume, ever. Or, the girls that I’ve date have worn decidedly non-slutty costumes on Halloween, like a pumpkin or, I don’t know, a flower or a dude or whatever.
So here’s Neko, and a terrific song to boot. A fine draft pick to build the rest of your team around, to be sure.
John and I are buddies (we went to high school together and regularly watched Eagles games together when I lived in NYC), but not Facebook chat buddies. In truth, I don’t really do the Facebook chat, since a lot of times I have Facebook up behind of my computer screens at work and I miss messages. But I digress. On this dreary morning, I was at the computer and got John’s Facebook chat.
“Hi.”
I wrote back, asking what’s going on, and he began to tell me a story. He was in London for part of the Christmas holiday with his parents and the previous night, he had gotten mugged at gunpoint. His wallet, credit cards and everything was stolen, except his passport. His parents continued on to other parts of Europe for their vacation and he could no longer reach them. He was stranded.
My first reaction was shock. My second reaction, being a true Man for Others, was how can I help? I asked if he contacted the police and the embassy and he said he did, but they were very unhelpful. He said that, honestly, the best way to help him would be to loan him some cash so he could get back to the States.
This is when the bullshit alarms started going off. I had no problem loaning the guy some cash, but it felt fishy, in no small part because in our little chat, John, a very well-educated young man, was misspelling a number of things. But hey – the guy was stuck in London, I thought. I’m sure spelling wasn’t the first thing on his mind (also, a number of my smart friends – and this is a HUGE pet peeve of mine – send me emails or IMs with grammar, spelling and syntax comparable to a second grader).
So I said that alright, I could help, and asked how much he needed. He said that it’s a little pricey, but $1100 should do.
“$1100!” I wrote back. As I mentioned in my post about my struggles with the IRS, I only keep about a grand in my checking and savings accounts at any given time. The rest is away in an ING account, which takes two business days to transfer funds. I do this because I can’t trust myself with money, especially while drunk. My formula is that I’m capable of spending around 25% of my bank funds on booze at any given time, whenever, wherever. That’s fine if I only have $1000 in the bank and I spend $250 of that. Not fine if that number gets to $500 or $1000 or more.
So I explained my situation to John. I had about $800 I could send him right away, but I simply didn’t have more on hand (privately, I thought to myself that I could break out an old credit card to live off of until Tuesday or Wednesday when the rest of the ING funds came through). How could I do this?
John then laid out in great detail how I could do it, to which Western Union I could send the money, how exactly I could send it, etc. This is when the bullshit alarms starting going off like mad. I studied abroad in London, and have been there a half-dozen times, so I’m a little familiar with the city. The Western Union that John suggested I send the money to was not in an area where a tourist might stay, like the West End or Leicester Square or Oxford Circus or Hyde Park or anything like that. The Western Union was instead somewhere super shady, or at least very out of the way (I can’t recall where exactly, but I think it was like Brixton or something).
Now catching on to the rouse, I told John that fine, I’d send the $800 right now. But I had one question first: name two science teachers from our old high school.
Naturally, if this was John, this would be a very, very easy thing to do. But this “John” said, “Come on, man. I am in troubel [sic] here.”
Fully convinced that John’s account had been hacked, likely by a Nigerian, I said, “I know, baby – but I’m just trying to protect myself. Just two science teachers is all.”
The guy said something about how he couldn’t think straight and I unloaded on him, calling him all sorts of names, and in the middle he logged off. I didn’t have John’s number, but I texted our mutual buddy Tracey and explained the story to him. John subsequently logged on to FB and sorted everything out.
A week or so later, I was still in NYC and out with friends when someone grabbed my shoulder. I turned around and heard “Feighan and Sheckus!” and it was John, at long last naming two of our high school science teachers. He asked for the $1100 at that point, but I told him I’d have to check with my accountant.
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Fast forward to this morning. I had just logged on to Facebook as part of my morning turn-everything-on-for-the-day routine, when I got a Facebook chat IM from my friend Jamie. Jamie and I were friends in NYC, but she and I hadn’t spoken in a few years. She moved, I moved, and life continued (and no, we never made out).
But still, it was a pleasant surprise to hear from her, as she’s someone that I’d like to catch up with, see how she’s doing, brag about all the stuff I’ve got going on (mostly fantasy football preparation), etc.
Yet our conversation quickly took a turn, one that I was prepared for based on my experience with John. Below is the actual IM transcript.
Jamie (7:09am)
hello
hello
Jason (7:09am)
hi!
Jamie (7:09am)
are you there?
Jason (7:09am)
yep
my FB chat is kinda screwy today, methinks
what’s going on?
Jamie (7:10am)
i am in a bad fix over here
Jason (7:11am)
oh gosh – what’s wrong?
Jamie (7:11am)
i am stranded in London
Jason (7:11am)
what??!?!
what do you mtean “stranded”? what happened?
Jamie (7:12am)
yeah
got mugged at gun point last night
Jason (7:12am)
get the fuck out of here
where?
by whom?
did anything get stolen?
Jamie (7:13am)
all cash,credit card and phone was stolen
It was a Brutal Experience but Thank God i still have my life and passport saved
Jason (7:13am)
well good!
did you contact the embassy?
you can still get home, right?
Jamie (7:14am)
yeah
my return flight leaves in few hours but having troubles sorting out the hotel bills
really need your help
Jason (7:14am)
oh gosh
what can I do?
Jamie (7:14am)
wondering if you could loan me some few $$ to sort out the hotel bills and also take a cab to the airport
Jason (7:15am)
of course!
how much are we talking here?
Jamie (7:16am)
about $700
Jason (7:16am)
wow
that’s a lot of money
Jason (7:17am)
but hey, I think I owe you something for all those times you came over late at night when we were back in NYC
Jamie (7:17am)
i understand
Jason (7:17am)
you really could handle a D, girl
Jamie (7:18am)
i promise to refund you once i get back
Jason (7:18am)
oh, I’d like a little something more than that
we should give it another try
or at least, i don’t know, go upstart again and just get wild on each other for a weekend
*upstate
not upstart
(sorry, getting a little excited and my spelling is suffering!!!)
what do you think?
Jamie (7:19am)
i can promise to refund you once i get back
Jason (7:19am)
yeah, and that’s fine
not concerned about that
remember those boots you used to wear?
man, those were really fucking hot
I keep trying to get my wife to wear something like them, but she’s a total prude
ice bitch
Jamie (7:20am)
if you can send the money, i can tell you how to do it
Jason (7:20am)
oh come on, girl – I’m just playing
you used to LOVE to play
I gotta say, even though I’m at work, I’m getting a lil’ bit of a chubber
let’s talk a little shit – might calm you down
Remember when you just to make me say, “One of People’s 50 hottest bachelors is giving it to you right now!!!”
Jason (7:21am)
I’m sorry, that was wrong of me
Jamie is no longer online. The following was not sent:
I’m sorry, that was wrong of me (send as a message)
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Hey, nothing wrong with a little cyber sex to start your Wednesday morning.
Allow me to draw your attention to Ian Kinsler, second baseman for the Texas Rangers (bear with me). From a fantasy baseball perspective, I love Ian Kinsler, who is currently batting .245 with 79 runs, 26 home runs, 69 RBI and 24 stolen bases. Sure, the average is not hot, and maybe he’s a bit of health risk (he’s never played more than 130 games in his young career, though he should surpass that this year), but the power-speed numbers, especially coming from a 2B, are hotttt (yes, several “t”s).
Here’s something you might not know about Ian Kinsler: he has the lowest BABIP in the league. BABIP stands for “Batting Average on Balls In Play” and it’s exactly that – the average of a hitter once he puts a ball in play. The league average this year is around .310. Kinsler’s is .234.
Now by itself, this appears to mean that Kinsler has been very unlucky. Maybe he’s been robbed of a few hits by slick-fielding SS here, a ground-eating CF there, or maybe he’s just hitting balls right at defenders. Bummer for him. But here’s another fun stat about Mr. Kinsler: he’s got one of the lowest line-drive percentages (LD%) in the league. Again, the stat is what it sounds like – what percentage of a batter’s hit are line-drives, solidly hit balls. League average is a tad over 19%. Kinsler’s is 13.6%.
So it’s not necessarily that Kinsler’s been unlucky, but that once he makes contact with the ball, he’s not driving it. He’s not getting strong contact. If Kinsler led the league in LD% (meaning he was getting strong contact) and was last in BABIP, we could reasonably conclude that, yeah, the guy’s really, really unlucky and has been getting robbed of hits. Alternatively, if he was low in LD% (weak contact) but high in BABIP, we’d call him a lucky son of a bitch and assume that he regularly played against a defense with a 2B-SS double play combination of David Ortiz and Travis Hafner.
Instead, he’s both low in LD% and BABIP, which we can conclude means one thing: he stinks. Or at the very least, that he’s having a terrible year.
But that’s the thing: Aside from the low .249 average, Kinsler’s got 79 runs, 26 homers, 69 RBI and 23 stolen bases. Those are excellent numbers. So I ask you, dear friends, what kind of monster fucking numbers do you think Ian Kinsler can put up when his LD% and BABIP normalize? Kinsler’s career LD% is 19.8 and his career BABIP is .294. He’s at 13.6 and .234 this year, and still he’s put up 77 runs, 26 homers, 69 RBI and 24 stolen bases.
One of these years – likely in the next year or two – Ian Kinsler is going to put it all together, play 150+ games in a season, and a have historic fantasy season (think 125+ runs, 35+ homers, 105+ RBI, 35+ stolen bases). I don’t think his average will ever get much above about .285, but those numbers coming from a 2B would make him the most valuable player in the game, or at least among the top three.
It’s all right there. I just laid it out for you. You can argue with me if you like, but I just made a claim and backed it up with pure, reliable, unbiased data, taken from a large sample (Kinsler’s had over 1800 at-bats in his career, and the league average BABIP and LD% obviously include hundreds of players and thousands of at-bats from this season).
This is the shit you can do in fantasy baseball. Sure, there’s some luck involved in fantasy baseball, but there’s also science. I’ve made four figures a year ($$$!!!) from playing fantasy baseball in leagues with my friends, year after year after year. I ain’t that lucky. I just enjoy and am good at crunching the numbers and figuring out shit like this.
(And I know what the haters will say: “Wow, so Ian Kinsler’s good? You know what else I heard? Blowjobs feel great. Got any stats to prove that, Copernicus?” Kinsler’s merely an example to prove the vast statistical analysis that one can perform in fantasy baseball. Dick.)
And then we have fantasy football.
Whereas fantasy baseball represents science and order, fantasy football is chaos and randomness. For example, here are the total yards, touchdowns and fantasy points (including -2 per fumble lost) by game in 2008 of one guy who’s going to be among the first five picks in your draft:
W1: 50 yards, 0 TDs = 5 points
W2: 42 yards, 1 TD = 10.2 points
W3: 166 yards, 1 TD = 22.6 points
W4: 49 yards, 0 TDs = 4.9 points
W5: 30 yards, 1 TD = 9 points
W6: 148 yards, 2 TDs = 26.8 points
W7: 48 yards, 0 TDs = 4.8 points
W8: 62 yards, 1 TD = 12.2 points
W9: 91 yards, 3 TDs = 27.1 points
W10: 93 yards, 2 TD = 21.3 points
W11: 117 yards, 0 TD = 11.7 points
W12: 71 yards, 0 TD = 5.1 points (lost fumble)
W13: 102 yards, 1 TD = 16.2 points
W14: 70 yards, 2 TDs = 19 points
W15: 162 yards, 0 TD = 16.2 points
W16: 88 yards, 0 TD = 6.8 points (lost fumble)
This player produced an average of 13.7 points per week. But note that he put up between 4.8 and 27.1 in games, a 22.3 point difference. At face value, we can see that he put up better numbers in the second half of the season (average of 15.4 in the season half versus 11.9 in the first). But what else can we deduce?
- I didn’t reveal this above, but I’ll let you know that he’s slightly better on the road (15.2 ppg last year) than at home (12.1 ppg).
- In W6, this guy went against Denver on the road, a bad run defense, and scorched them for 26.8 points.
- In W7, he came home and played Cleveland, another bad run defense team, and put up only 4.8 points.
- In W1 @ TEN, he got 5 points. In W10 at home against TEN, he put up 21.3 points. Sure, different venues, but same personnel, and a 16.3 point swing (and yes, Albert Haynesworth played in both games).
So what am I going on and on for? What I am trying prove? Maurice Jones-Drew is a good player, but unreliable. It’s not his fault, though. When it comes to fantasy football, nobody knows shit.
I play fantasy football, but I don’t like it. I don’t like reading fantasy football analysis, predictions or projections. I think it is a tremendous waste of time to spend energy analyzing fantasy football when, in the end, it’s going to come down to luck, like things like your RB being hungover, like your WR’s coach benching him for two plays for not blocking and causing the other WR on the team to catch a TD, like your team’s usually reliable QB going out and for whatever reason putting up a 0 TD, 3 INT stinker against a pass defense in the bottom third of the league. The NFL has a 16 game season. As such, from a statistical standpoint, there is not enough of a sample to make any real, sound and logical conclusions. Fantasy football is random, orderless, luck.
(What, you want more? Here’s the top ten, according to Yahoo, from 2008 in terms of their performance by the end of the season: D’Angelo Williams, Drew Brees, Michael Turner, Aaron Rodgers, Jay Cutler, Phil Rivers, Matt Forte, Kurt Warner, Adrian Peterson and Thomas Jones. Here’s the top ten from 2007: Tom Brady, LaDainian Tomlinson, Randy Moss, Tony Romo, Brian Westbrook, Peyton Manning, Brees, Ben Roethlisberger, Derek Anderson, Joseph Addai. ONE player is in both: Drew Brees. Total crapshoot, my friends.)
Shit’s going to happen, and all you can do in fantasy football is put yourself in the best position to succeed. With that, welcome to my 2009 fantasy football preview.
(And may God help us all.)
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First, some general, universal rules.
1) Do your research. This may seem obvious, but if you wing it, you’ll lose. Sure, anyone with a fundamental knowledge of football can navigate through the first few rounds, but what happens in Round 8 when you’re looking for a 3rd receiver and are deciding between Lance Moore and Teddy Ginn?
At the very least, visit the fantasy sections of ESPN, Yahoo, and CBS Sportsline to get a general idea of two things: what statistics players put up last year and where players are being drafting. Yeah, odds are good that Peyton Manning will have around 30 TDs and he’s a high pick, but what about a guy like Carson Palmer? Coming off injury, where’s he being drafted in relation to Jay Cutler or Matt Ryan? Can you get those guys after the 8th round, whereas you’d need to draft Peyton in the 3rd?
Go into the draft with some stuff printed out with last year’s stats. That’ll give you a cheat sheet to look over during the draft. Additionally, I like to highlight certain guys I like, making notes on the side. Do whatever makes you comfortable, but you should have a little bit of paperwork to refer to during the draft and to keep you grounded.
2) Lie and manipulate. If you are in a league with friends, constantly engage them in conversations before the draft. Feel them out about their battle plans, who they like, etc and reciprocate with information that is entirely false. The important thing is to be sincere and seem honest. A good way to do this is by saying stuff like, “You know, I don’t even know if I should tell you this, but I think last year was not a fluke for D’Angelo Williams and see him getting even better” when you secretly think that there’s no chance in hell he gets even 10 TDs, let alone the 18 he had last year.
Say you have the 3rd pick in the first round, and your buddy has the 2nd. You really, really want MJD, but think your buddy at 2 is going to take him. The solution: talk up another player. “Dude, I love Michael Turner. I think that Falcons’ offense, with Ryan having had another year under center, the addition of Tony Gonzalez, and Roddy White now under contract, are going to be like the Greatest Show on Turf-era Rams, and Turner’s gonna reap the rewards. But c’mon – don’t take him, dude. I’m calling dibbs on him.” There’s a chance that your buddy at 2 will then take Turner in the hopes of screwing you over, and you’ll get MJD. Remember, the other owners in your league are just as soulless as you are, just much, much dumber. The point is, NEVER show your true hand. Flaunt your fake hand constantly.
3) Know your scoring system and positions. Football leagues often times have different scoring rules and settings. Are QB TDs worth four points or six? Are there points awarded for receptions? If so, how many? Do you start two QBs every week or just one? (I personally think you’re not a man unless you’re in a two QB league; why should the most important position in the field be relegated to secondary status in leagues? Would you draft Cedric Benson before Ben Roethlisberger in real life?) Is there a WR/RB flex position? How many bench spots are there?
These are all important questions that can drastically influence the way you draft. Drew Brees is a early second round pick in a two-QB league. Reggie Bush has a lot more value in a PPR (points per reception) league; Michael Turner, who had a grand total of six catches last year, does not.
4) Don’t panic, and start or stay off the waves. Countless mistakes are made during the draft because the manager was panicking. Don’t be that dude. When your pick is on its way back to you, be sure to have at least two choices ready. This way, if the guy ahead of you takes the player you wanted, you don’t make a rash decision and end up taking a kicker in the 5th round.
A good deal of draft panic derives from position runs. This happens when a number of players of the same position are selected in a row, causing owners to think, “Holy crap! All the [QBs, WRs, TEs, etc] are going! I have to get one now!” The result is that they wind up with a not-as-good player, because they jumped on the wave too late.
My advice is to either stay off these or start them. I usually stay off rather than start them, just because it’s easier. But say you’re in the fifth round, and the guy a few picks before you takes Donovan McNabb. Then the next guy takes Jay Cutler. Then the next guy takes Tony Romo. Then it’s on. You’ll see a flurry of managers selecting QBs that shouldn’t be selected. In this situation, I would back off, take a RB or star WR, and wait a few rounds before taking a serviceable QB (Eli, Hasselbeck, Garrard, etc).
Runs or waves most often happen late in the draft when people pick kickers or defenses. I usually completely ignore these, preferring instead to take a third RB or another QB. Which brings us to…
5) Fuck tight ends, kickers, and defenses. There’s something to be said for having Antonio Gates or Tony Gonzalez, but if you don’t get them in round 4 or 5, forget it. In a 16 round draft, I won’t take these three positions until rounds 12-16. And even then I don’t put much thought into it. I’d rather pick up a different defense every week and draft a backup RB with starting potential than take the Pittsburgh defense in the 8th. And this year, TE is very, very deep – it’s possible to grab a guy like Greg Olsen or Owen Daniels several rounds after Messrs. Whitten, Gates and Gonzalez are gone.
6) Know your enemy. When you’re picking, it’s important to know who the guys around you already have on their teams. For example, say you have the 8th pick in a 10 person league. It’s the 3rd round, and you’re really looking for a QB, but you see that a nice WR has fallen to you. Check to see who the 9th and 10th owners have. If they already have a QB, take the WR with your 3rd round choice and then get the QB on the wrap in the 4th round, following the logic that if the guys picking after you already have a QB, they’re not going to take another one. This knowledge is key.
(This sounds confusing, but it’s not. Basically, if you’re deciding between two positions, look at the people picking after you to see what they need.)
7) Think “best available.” I’m all for filling out your roster positions, but at the same time I adhere to the principle of “best available,” meaning take the best available player, regardless of position. For example, say by the 4th round I’ve drafted two quality RBs and a decent WR. In Round 4, if I see another very good RB who I think has lasted too long, I will take him over a WR that I like, even though I’ve already drafted my two starting RBs and need another WR. Sure, it means that I have one RB too many, but it also means that my competitor won’t have this RB on his team. It’s a wise decision to draft best available because it means a) you’ll have trade bait and b) it’s offensive by being defensive.
This strategy is especially important this year, due to the unprecedented number of RB by committee (RBBC) situations. Previously, it was recommended to go RB-RB in the first two rounds. But this year, by my count about half the teams in the NFL will be spreading their carries out among several RBs. This, combined with the emergence of talent at the top of the WR pool, means the RB-RB approach may not be the wisest course of action this year.
8 ) Handcuff, handcuff, handcuff. Spend the last few rounds making sure you draft the backups of your marquee players. Players get hurt and their backups step up and often times play well (especially in the case of RBs and, to a lesser extent, QBs). Some must-have handcuffs this year include Darren Sproles (SD), Donald Brown (Ind), Chester Taylor (Min), Leon Washington (NYJ), Glenn Coffee (SF) and LeSean McCoy (Phi), to name a few.
So there are your tips. Now onto the positions.
[Note: We will assume that this is a standard scoring league – four points for QB TD, six for others; no ppr; etc – with ten teams playing head-to-head, the position break-down being QB, RB, RB, WR, WR, WR, TE, K, DEF. Lists will be broken into tiers, followed by an explanation. I know I usually do "sleepers" and "busts," but I'll throw some names out that I like and don't like in the explanations instead. I mean, we're already at 3000 words and I said this whole exercise is pointless, anyway.]
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QUARTERBACK
Drew Brees (NO)
Tom Brady (NE)
Peyton Manning (Ind)
Phil Rivers (SD)
Aaron Rodgers (GB)
Donovan McNabb (Phi)
Tony Romo (Dal)
Kurt Warner (Ari)
Jay Cutler (Chi)
Matt Schaub (Hou)
Carson Palmer (Cin)
Matt Hasselbeck (Sea)
Ben Roethlisberger (Pit)
David Garrard (Jax)
Matt Ryan (Atl)
Matt Cassel (KC)
Eli Manning (NYG)
Kyle Orton (Den)
Trent Edwards (Buf)
Brett Favre (Min)
Jake Delhomme (Car)
Jason Campbell (Was)
Thoughts: Most of my leagues are two-QB starting leagues. If you’re in a one QB league, please don’t draft a QB – any QB – before round three. Sit back and grab my boy Donovan in the 6th. If you’re in a 2 QB league, it’s smart money to invest in one, if not two, of the big guns early. Remember, QBs produce more points than any other position in fantasy football. Especially this year, because of the shit-show RB situations all across the league, wouldn’t it be nice to roll out, say, Peyton and McNabb in your 12 team league when other guys might be starting Warner/Pennington, Romo/Flacco, Cutler/Collins every week?
For this year, I’m a little leary of Kurt Warner, mostly because of his age and because his heroics last year are going to get him drafted higher than warranted. Also a little concerned about Cutler (who’s he throwing to, again?), Cassel (absolutely zero weapons in KC besides poor Dwayne Bowe) and Orton (already gotten off to a rough start). I’m all aboard the Carson Palmer and Matt Hasselbeck trains, two formerly semi-primo QBs returning from injury. Brees gets the slight edge over Brady for the top spot, if only because he’s done it for more consistently (and remember, prior to his monster 2007, Brady’s career highs in TD and yards were 28 and 4112, respectively; Brees has averaged 29.3 TD and 4637 yards over the past three years.)
RUNNING BACK
Adrian Peterson (Min)
Michael Turner (Atl)
Maurice Jones-Drew (Jax)
Matt Forte (Chi)
Steven Jackson (Stl)
DeAngelo Williams (Car)
LaDainian Thomlinson (SD)
Chris Johnson (Ten)
Steve Slaton (Hou)
Brandon Jacobs (NYG)
Brian Westbrook (Phi)
Frank Gore (SF)
Clinton Portis (Was)
Marion Barber (Dal)
Pierre Thomas (NO)
Ryan Grant (GB)
Kevin Smith (Det)
Darren McFadden (Oak)
Ronnie Brown (Mia)
Thomas Jones (NYJ)
Marshawn Lynch (Buf)
Joseph Addai (Ind)
Willie Parker (Pit)
Reggie Bush (NO)
Lendale White (Ten)
Knowshon Moreno (Den)
Derrick Ward (TB)
Ray Rice (Bal)
Larry Johnson (KC)
Cedric Benson (Cin)
Jonathan Stewart (Car)
Jamal Lewis (Cle)
Tim Hightower (Ari)
Leon Washington (NYJ)
Fred Taylor (NE)
LeSean McCoy (Phi)
Donald Brown (Ind)
Earnest Graham (TB)
Fred Jackson (Buf)
Darren Sproles (SD)
Felix Jones (Dal)
Ahmad Bradshaw (NYG)
Chris Wells (Ari)
Willis McGahee (Bal)
Edge James (Sea)
Chester Taylor (Min)
Justin Fargas (Oak)
Thoughts: Oh, dear. Remember the good old days, when 14 of the first 15 picks would be running backs? When you could count on two studs like Corey Dillon and Curtis Martin for nearly 3000 yards and 20+ TDs between them? Well, those days are gone. Your first round this year could see three WRs go (Fitzgerald, Andre Johnson, Moss), followed shortly by Brady and Brees and the other few stud WRs. Crazy.
I like that first tier, I don’t like anything about that second tier, and my favorite fantasy RBs this year (for where you can get them) are: Steve Slaton (tremendously talented, can only get better), Brandon Jacobs (the guy’s a fucking beast), Ryan Grant (sneaky good), Kevin Smith (boring name, exciting weapon), Darren McFadden (huge boom or bust candidate, so choose wisely), Joseph Addai (did I miss something? Indy had line problem’s last year and the guy’s only 26), Ray Rice (love him love him love him), Leon Washington (I’m putting the over/under on rushing and receiving yards at 1100 and o/u of TDs at 7.5), Fred Taylor (as long as you’re ok with 800 rushing yards and 7 TDs), and LeSean McCoy (boy, if Westbrook gets hurt, he’s a top ten RB).
A few guys I don’t like this year: Steven Jackson (the line’s better, but everything else on that offense – woof), LDT (fine guy, you sure you want to spend your first pick on him?), Frank Gore (I fall for it every year, and every year I get burned), Ronnie Brown (5 of his 11 TDs last year came in one game), Larry Johnson (don’t want the headache), Cedric Benson (Cedric Fucking Benson?), Chris Wells (there’s not much to like on the ground in Ari) and Willis McGahee (because I think Ray Rice finishes as a top ten RB).
WIDE RECEIVER
Larry Fitzgerald (Ari)
Andre Johnson (Hou)
Randy Moss (NE)
Steve Smith (Car)
Calvin Johnson (Det)
Reggie Wayne (Ind)
Greg Jennings (GB)
Anquan Boldin (Ari)
Roddy White (Atl)
Terrell Owens (Buf)
Wes Welker (NE)
T.J. Houshmandzadeh (Sea)
Marques Colston (NO)
Eddie Royal (Den)
Dwayne Bowe (KC)
Chad Ochocinco (Cin)
DeSean Jackson (Phi)
Roy Williams (Dal)
Braylon Edwards (Cle)
Anthony Gonzalez (Ind)
Santana Moss (Was)
Vincent Jackson (SD)
Santonio Holmes (Pit)
Lee Evans (Buf)
Donald Driver (GB)
Devin Hester (Chi)
Hines Ward (Pit)
Antonio Bryant (TB)
Bernard Berrian (Min)
Laveranues Coles (Cin)
Lance Moore (NO)
Torry Holt (Jax)
Domenik Hixon (NYG)
Kevin Walter (Hou)
Jerricho Cotchery (NYJ)
Percy Harvin (Min)
Josh Morgan (SF)
Ted Ginn (Mia)
Donnie Avery (Stil)
Kevin Curtis (Phi)
Steve Breaston (Ari)
Justin Gage (Ten)
Chris Chambers (SD)
Michael Jenkins (Atl)
Muhsin Muhammad (Car)
Derrick Mason (Bal)
Nate Burleson (Sea)
Thoughts: One look at this list and it’s readily apparent: WR is very top-heavy. The best, they are really, really good. After that, it gets a little messy. My advice generally is to try, to the extent possible, to grab two WR from those first two tiers or three tiers. There’s going to be a lot of good RBs to mine in the later rounds of the draft, but you’re not going to discover the next Steve Slaton, Matt Forte or Chris Johnson from the WR pool, because rookie WRs rarely have an impact like rookie WR.
A few guys I like: all three of the top guys, Anquan Boldin (probably my favorite of the second tier; he missed time due to injury and his per game averages are right there with the best of them), Greg Jennings (could be looking at the Marvin Harrison to Aaron Rodger’s Peyton), Wes Welker (anyone wanna bet he gets at least 90 catches?), T.J. Houshmandzadeh (love him in that offense in a Welker-type role), Roy Williams (some risk, but a 1200+/9+ season would not be a surprise by any stretch), Lee Evans (super, super talented guy who TO’s attention can help), Torry Holt (going late, late, late – not gonna be the old Torry Holt, but Garrard finally has sure-handed WR), Antonio Bryant (another guy who’s super talented, but only realizing full potential – not concerned about injury, but a lil’ concerned about Leftwich being consistently able to get him the ball).
A few guys I do not like: Calvin Johnson (not where he’s going, at least, and not when I can have one of those other guys), Roddy White (so they brought in the most prolific pass-catching TE of all-time and gave this guy a new $48M contract? no thanks), Terrell Owens (it’s just a personal thing), Braylon Edwards (this guy is going so late that I try to convince myself that I like him, but bad hands + bad or young QB does not often equal fantasy success), and Devin Hester (going waaaay high because of Cutler, but here’s the thing: he’s not a good wide receiver).
TIGHT END
Jason Whitten (Dal)
Tony Gonzalez (Atl)
Antonio Gates (SD)
Dallas Clark (Ind)
Chris Cooley (Was)
Owen Daniels (Hou)
Greg Olsen (Chi)
Kellen Winslow (TB)
John Carlson (Sea)
Zach Miller (Oak)
Visanthe Shiancoe (Min)
Dustin Keller (NYJ)
Jeremy Shockey (NO)
Vernon Davis (SF)
Kevin Boss (NYG)
Brent Celek (Phi)
Thoughts: I think that the same TE advice has applied every single year since I’ve started playing fantasy football: if you can’t get one of the big three or four early, forget about it. I’d rather have Visanthe Shiancoe in the 12th than Chris Cooley in the 5th or 6th. All the buzz is about how Greg Olsen could be Cutler’s favorite target and lead the Bears in receiving, but previously leading the Bears in receiving was like winning the Miss Uzbekistan crown – good for you and all, but what was the competition like? So I’ll wait that out and will gladly take Whitten, Gonzalez and Gates if they fall to me in the 4th, Clark in the 5th, or otherwise wait until late to grab someone. I do like Shiancoe, as well as (gasp!) Shockey very late, since he’s no longer considered a premier TE (3 TDs in the last two seasons) and knows his crushing will seriously suffer as he gets crappier; nothing inspires a man the threat of less-frequent or less-quality p-ssy.
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I’m not going to rank kickers or defenses, because if you’re doing anything but picking these in the last two rounds, you’re doing a disservice to yourself. For kickers, pick a guy who play for a team that scores a lot or in a dome or nice weather stadium. For defenses, I usually go week-to-week and pick up and drop different ones; someone’s always going to have to play one of the Detroit, Cleveland, St. Louis, Oakland or KC every week.
Otherwise, good luck. You’ll need it, too, if you’re banking on this preview to bring you to fantasy glory.
Jason,
That’s it, I’ve officially reached the stage where I can’t wait for you to get the fuck out of town so your continuous bitching will cease! In my opinion, your whole negative/bullshit/false LA experience is a direct result of one decision – moving to the South Bay. Let’s break it down:
1) You moved to the LA equivalent of Staten Island and then complained it’s loaded with guidos. Did you consult anyone actually living in LA before moving to LA? How did your agent let this happen?
2) Due to this impossibly poor choice of housing, you lived and died in your land yacht and spent an estimated grand total of 3 nights in LA-proper with any (imaginary?) friends you had already in town. You know, because they actually lived in LA.
3) According to my careful study of your LA posts, I don’t believe you made a single new friend.
4) You love music, but did you see one band at any of the great venues we have around town?
5) Did you go to any restaurants? I loved your NYC reviews!
6) LA is a city of neighborhoods; did you explore any of them? Did you ever travel east of La Brea?
7) Lastly, you also somehow managed to find the three liquor stores in LA that don’t sell 16oz Bud Cans. I have 6 in my fridge right now and don’t think I could find a store that doesn’t sell them. For a while I thought “Bud Bombers” were some Canadian/metric can size only available back east.
Listen, I get your ambivalence about LA coming from NYC, but can you really say you lived in LA? Now that you’re in Westwood, make it your mission go out and bang a summer school dummy before you depart. They’re ripe for the picking!
My bitching aside, I’m a huge fan and can’t wait for the book. Now, I’m off to the fridge to start cracking bombers and get fooked.
- Greg
P.S. California Wok
Thank you for email/dressing down, Greg. I guess the easiest way for me to do is to take these one at a time.
1) I did actually consult with some people (including my agent) before moving to the South Bay, and nearly everyone advised me against it. However, a room opened up at a house where I knew people – a room that was 1/3 of the rent I paid in NYC – and between the cool people who lived at the house and the cheap, cheap rent, I decided to take it, even though I had established contact with a girl on craigslist who was offering a bedroom (and it’s own bathroom) in her two-bedroom, two-bath apartment in that nebulous area known as Beverly Hills Adjacent.
And you’re right – choosing the South Bay was a huge, huge mistake. If I could have done it all over again and changed just one thing, I would have taken that room in BHA. Not only would I have been about three miles/a ten minute drive each way to work (as opposed to the 17 mile/one hour twenty commute each way from the South Bay), but I would have been closer to all my friends who lived in Hollywood, Burbank, Santa Monica, Brentwood, etc. Instead, I spent my first year in LA stuck in traffic, getting angry, and losing what former LA friends I once had because we never hung out.
So yeah. Whoops.
2) I can only recall one night that I spent in LA proper, when I went to Hollywood last year for a night for my birthday. Otherwise, my time’s been spent in the South Bay, with a sprinkling in Santa Monica and now Westwood, and maybe two or three nights in Venice. So you got me there, too.
(I was having a discussion with a friend the other day and he said, “C’mon – you have to have had at least some good nights in LA, right?” And – honest to God – I can’t recall one single fun night in LA. Not even one. Some fun day-drinking days, but there’s not one night I can look at and say, “Wow – we really tore that mother fucker up last night, huh?” Oh well.)
(Wait a minute – when I first moved here, and shortly after I signed the current book contract with HC, I threw a party for myself in Santa Monica. That was fun, especially because my buddy Brian got so drunk that at one point he picked up the jar full of cherries from the bar and, thinking it was his drink, took a sip. That was pretty cool. The $55 cab to Santa Monica and the $80 cab back to Redondo, not so much. And since I can have a lot of fun for $135 in a number of different ways, I don’t think this night counts.)
Verdict: Greg wins #2.
3) My first reaction was to say that this is true, but I have made a few new friends. (Note by “friends” I mean those people who, if you asked them “Do you know Jason Mulgrew?”, they’d say, “Who?”, and you’d say, “The chubby guy with the beard who drinks Bud drafts?”, they’d say, “Oh yeah, I think I know that guy. He’s gay, right?”) However, I will concede that I have significantly fewer LA friends after having lived here for a year-plus than when I lived in NYC and only visited LA every so often. This is due to a number of factors, but mostly because when I was coming here before, it was like going on vacation. Therefore, I was more likely to be pro-active, to get out, to see people, to experience things. Likewise, my LA-based friends would be more likely to out and meet me because, hey, I just flew 3000 miles and am only in town for a few days!
But then once I moved to LA, I became just another shit-dog, stuck in traffic, growing more self-loathing by the day, constantly fantasizing about something better. In short, the true LA experience.
So while I have made a friend or two in LA, because my total number of LA friends has decreased since I moved here, Greg gets this one, too. Crap.
4) Nope, I have not seen any concerts in LA (saw Motley Crue in Vegas, but that obviously doesn’t count). Going to a concert in LA, like seeing my favorite artist last night at the Greek Theatre, eleven miles from my apartment, would require driving and parking and not drinking, so I’ll just download the live CD and booze it up at home, thanks.
(Greg 4, Mulgrew 0)
5) No, no restaurants to speak off. I feel like my agent and I went out a few times – I ate and subsequently pooped my tooth out while at dinner with him, but that restaurant was in a mall, so while lovely, it doesn’t count. I did, however, go to my first Chili’s and first Olive Garden while living in LA, so that has to count for something. Also, I’ve been to Houston’s like a dozen times.
(Greg 4, Mulgrew 1/2)
6) Is Dodger Stadium east of La Brea? I’ve been there four or so times. Also, once I drove through Hollywood to pick up my buddy Brian on the way to San Fran, and have had a couple of meetings in Burbank. So while this doesn’t count as “exploring,” I mean, physically, yes, I have been east of La Brea. I think, anyway.
Greg 4, Mulgrew 3/4
7) This, my friend, I’m willing to throw down about. Sure, I haven’t covered all 4700+ square miles of Los Angeles County, but you can bet your ass I’ve explored many, many liquor stores, supermarkets, beer warehouses and convenience stores all over the South Bay and Westwood, and I have not seen a 16oz can of Bud anywhere. This, finally, might get me to get out and start exploring LA. So if you’ve got a lead on where to find these, preferably within a one mile radius of Westwood and Olympic, please let me know.
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But you’re right, Greg – I guess I can’t say that I’ve really “lived” in LA. And in truth, I have no one to blame about this but myself. But when I moved to LA, I said that I looked at it like a year of rehab, a chance to get well physically, mentally, emotionally, financially. And sure, I’m probably dumber and angrier than I’ve ever been in life, at least I’m in pretty good shape and have some money saved away. Two out of four ain’t bad.
All joking aside, LA is a great city – but you really have to work for it. You do have to get out, have to drive, have to be proactive, go out of your way, to see places, people, things. Most importantly, you have to plan ahead. In NYC, every Friday I’d come home with my aforementioned Friday night special (two sugar-free red bulls to mix with vodka, six cans of bombers), eat dinner, start drinking, shower (while drinking), and then start in on “Jackass” or “Wildboyz” or some VH1 Classic and at about 9:30pm, send a mass text message to about 20 different friends: “What’s going on tonight?” Within 30 minutes and a $10 cab ride, I could be in Gramercy drinking with Philly buddies, in the Lower East Side boozing with my old roommates, or in the West Village, partying with some lady friends. I love NYC because it’s easy, because everything is at your fingertips. The one sentence description that I’d give buddies from Philly or Boston who asked me about living there was, “Well, my local McDonald’s delivers 24 hours a day” (which was true). That’s some crazy shit right there.
I moved to LA from this culture and I still haven’t gotten over the shock. At my place in the South Bay, I could walk a half-mile in each direction and find nothing but houses with lawns. Even now that I’m in Westwood, there’s one bar within a mile walk from my home, and though I love it, boy is it kinda sad (more on this later). Compound this with the fact that I’m naturally averse to “working” at anything, and you get me, bombed and alone in my apartment, blasting the Rolling Stones and writing a will on a Friday night.
(Also, I’m not going to spend $50 in cabs, crash at a friend’s place, or not drink when I go out. I was joking with another buddy that LA would be a phenomenal city if you had a best buddy or roommate who didn’t drink or a wife who was always pregnant to act as your designated driver. That would help with a lot of my LA issues.)
But like someone with a terminal illness, I’ve made peace with all of this, as the end is quickly approaching. I’m about 100 days from moving back to NYC. In the meantime, we’re exactly one month from our big Vegas blowout. Football season is just around the corner, so I look forward to Sundays at the Shack with my fellow Eagles’ fans. And I have a number of visitors coming and a couple of trips on the horizon (I think San Diego has been knocked off the ledger, but we’re still planning a weekend in San Fran in the fall).
So everything’s going to be ok in the end, Greg, even if I could have gone about my LA experience better. Now if you can just send over the list of places where I can find the Bud bombers, I’d be much obliged.
I was a sophomore in high school. I was madly infatuated with a girl named Alison, one of the hottest girls in the whole of the ‘hood, who considered me one of her best friends – in no small part she was 95% certain I was homosexual. (David Spade has a great bit about how in high school he was the nerd who talked to all the girls about their relationship problems, as they thought he was the harmless guy friend, when he secretly wanted to eff all of them. And they’d end the conversations like, “Thanks for being such a great friend, David – I’m gonna go fuck my boyfriend now.” I’m sure you’re surprised to learn that this is pretty much how high school played out for me, with about 25 different girl “friends.”) As such, I owned Elvis Costello’s “Greatest Hits,” the green and black one, for the song “Alison.” I never gave the rest of the album any thought – it was one of the last of the eight free that I had to fill out to get that initial BMG shipment – until I was sitting on my bedroom floor one evening organizing a new a CD tower I’d just bought (not doubt taking only a quick break from repeated bouts of masturbation). My plan was to arrange it so that my shittiest CDs were on the bottom rungs, and my most played were toward the top, for easier access. I pulled out the Elvis Costello CD and was about to place it toward the bottom when I thought, “You know what? I should at least listen to a few songs on this.”
So I put this CD in my Walkman as I went about organizing the rest of the CDs. “Alison” was the first song, “Watching the Detectives” was the second. I was intrigued. With each song, I grew more so. After the “Oliver’s Army” and “Accidents Will Happen” one-two punch (tracks seven and eight), I paused the CD and ran downstairs to call my buddy Kyle, you had told me many times over that I needed to give Elvis Costello a chance. Our phone conversation:
Me: “Ky, Elvis Costello is really good.”
Kyle: “I know, I told you.”
Me: “No, he’s like really, really, really good.”
Kyle: “Uh, dick, I know – I’ve been telling you that forever.”
Me: “I gotta go.”
And that was it. I ran up the stairs and listened to the CD approximately 429 times in a row, and would buy many more EC albums over the coming days, weeks, months, years. From that moment forward, I was hooked.
I’ve seen EC at least twenty times, though I haven’t in several years. His ticket prices are astronomical, and in order to not have to go by myself, I’d have to subsidize a friend’s ticket, so if the total for tickets was $180, I’d pay $150 and the friend would pay $30, since few of my friends are as crazy about EC as I am. And I’ve met him, I’d say, at least ten times, because he always comes out to sign autographs and get pictures taken, great guy that he is. My favorite meeting occurred in 1999 after a show at the Tower Theatre in Philly, when I asked him, while he was signing my ticket, if he needed a bass player (at the time he was touring only with his piano player, Steve Nieve). The people near us, and Elvis himself, laughed, and in that split second before he answered I thought, “You know, I could postpone college for a year to tour with Elvis. I could definitely do that.” But he just chuckled and said he was all set for now (or something to that effect) and kept on signing. Now that I made him laugh, now that I could see that he thought I was funny, I was sure more than ever that he truly was a genius.
And yet here on this website, almost nothing. Sure, I’ve pimped a few songs of his here and there and dropped his name a few times, but never much more than in the context of “I love Elvis Costello.” But that’s it. It’s weird how I’ve put so much of myself on here, how I can write thousands of words on jerking off into empty Pepsi cans or the different types of blowjobs or the best five steaks in NYC, and yet almost nothing about the one artist whose music has had more of an impact on my life than anyone else’s.
I did an audit of the 458 Elvis Costello songs in my iTunes over the weekend (yeah, I know – living it up in the city of Angels, baby!). I have a very complicated – or at least, very thorough – system of organizing my music on iTunes, so an audit basically is a reassessment of the backbone of this system: the star-rating. As of right now, I have just over 9500 songs in my computer, and all but about 100 have star ratings, ranked 1 (“why is this song even on here?”) to 5 (“I peed a little after hearing this song but the pee is white and thicker and it smells kinda like bleach”).
So if you’ll allow me, on the day when EC is playing at the Greek Theatre here in LA (I’m not going, since this would require me to leave my apartment), I’d like to totally geek out about Elvis Costello right now. If you don’t like him, you can stop reading now. If you like him a little bit, you, too, can probably stop reading now. This one is strictly for the hardcore Elvis Costello fans.
Some random thoughts about the music of Elvis Costello:
- I don’t think that there’s a better opening track on an artist’s debut album than “Welcome to the Working Week” from “My Aim is True.” If you have a better one, send it to me. The best I can come up with is “Good Times Bad Times” from the first Zeppelin album, but I still think that “Working Week” is better, if only because “Good Times” was derivative of the Yardbirds stuff that Page was already doing. “Welcome to the Working Week” is two minutes of perfect, unique rock, both angry and melodic, that says “Yep, here I am.”
(Confession time: I have a playlist called “To Hell With You, Woman!” and “Welcome to the Working Week” is the opening track. “Living in Paradise (early version)” from the bonus disc of “My Aim is True” is also on there, mostly because of the “And you’re/Already looking for another/Fool like me” outro. EC’s pretty, pretty pissed there.)
(“Miracle Man,” also off “MAIT,” is on the playlist, as well.)
- “The twitching impulse is to speak your mind/I’ll lend you my microscope and maybe you will find it/Is it in that ugly place, that’s just behind your face?/Where you keep my picture still, despite the fact that you had me replaced.” Um, ouch. A little more articulate than “Oh yeah, well, you suck,” wouldn’t you say? (from “All the Rage”)
- Probably my favorite seventeen seconds in music occurs from 1:16 to 1:33 in “Wednesday Week.”
- If you can teach me how to play the honky tonk version of “Blame It on Cain” on guitar, I will play it for you in the nude (private audience, additional persons $40 extra).
- I almost can’t believe that I’m going to write this – and I ask that you give me the benefit of the doubt here – but “I Throw My Toys Around,” EC’s duet with No Doubt from the, ahem, “Rugrats” movie soundtrack, is an exceptional song.
(If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, I understand, but at least listen to the song first.)
- “Just About Glad” from the Costello & Nieve 1996 box set – sublime. The studio version from “Brutal Youth” is terrific, but boy, that live version is something else, let me tell you.
- Really, the whole Costello & Nieve box set is terrific. My personal highlight – not to go back to the well here – is the “Alison -> Tracks of My Tears -> Clowntime Is Over” medley. Just work it out, Elvis.
- I can’t believe I gave “Hoover Factory” a two-star rating. It’s obviously a four-star song. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.
- I’m sorry, but I don’t get what all the fuss is about “Shipbuilding.” Never liked that one.
- Elvis’s real name is Declan Patrick MacManus. I love the name Declan, because, really, how cool of a nickname is Dec (pronounced like deck)? However, I’m not sure if this name is better suited for a male child or a male dog. I’ll let you know when/if I figure it out.
- As I get older, I’m getting more and more into “Imperial Bedroom,” arguably EC’s most critically-acclaimed album. I still find it very dated, but it’s growing on me. Slowly. (Though I’ve always secretly enjoyed “…And In Every Home” a little too much.)
- Aside from the obvious “Goodbye Cruel World,” I think that “Spike” is my least favorite of his albums. “Pads, Paws and Claws,” which I’ve seen live a half-dozen times, is almost unforgivably bad. Jesus, Elvis.
- For my favorite album…it’s nearly impossible to pick. I should mention that I started collecting EC albums chronologically, so because I got them first, I feel a great deal of love toward “My Aim is True,” “This Year’s Model,” “Armed Forces,” etc. I think that if I had to pick one, it would have to be “Get Happy,” which follows sequentially, but man, it’s tough.
- Two sleeper albums that when I listen to them, I think, “Wow – this is some good shit right here”: “Trust” and “Blood and Chocolate.” Honorable mention: “When I Was Cruel.”
- “Big Sister’s Clothes/Stand Down Margaret” from the extended version of “Punch the Clock,” when the band starts to break into “Stand Down Margaret” (a cover of the English Beat song), I mean, that’s the reason God invited legs right there. If that doesn’t get you up and moving, somethin’s wrong with you, friend.
- Still working my way through this year’s “Secret, Profane and Sugarcane,” EC’s latest country-flavored album. I was initially disappointed, but I’m warming up to it, and love the country/bluegrass cover of “Femme Fatale.”
- Some of my favorite songs (in no particular order): “Busy Bodies,” “Imagination (is a Powerful Deceiver),” “Town Where Time Stood Still,” “Miracle Man,” “Rocking Horse Road” (prefer the demo), “Boy With A Problem” (from “Trust”), “Crimes of Paris,” “Secondary Modern,” “Episode of Blonde” (listened to this about 429,104 times after the break-up with a green-eyed, blonde-haired ex-lady – so dramatic, was I), “Just a Memory,” “From a Whisper to a Scream,” “London’s Brilliant Parade.” I should stop now.
– Um, he’s pretty good. I know that for the most part, I leaned heavily toward his earlier stuff with this. But like I said, aside from the green and black greatest hits, I collected his albums chronologically. Those first four hit me like a goddamn freight train, and I was filled with an excitement/enjoyment that was almost unsustainable. So it’s unfair to compare any of his more recent releases (“North,” “The Delivery Man,” “Secret, Profane & Sugarcane,” etc) with those earlier albums. Just life, is all.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming. Thank you for allowing me to geek out. Now we can never talk about this again.
(Actually, strike “likely” – mine was definitely on at the time.)
And because of you, I now have become a real-live journalist on par with Woodward and Bernstein, Fainaru-Wada and Williams, and, you know, other excellent journalists or whatnot.
It began earlier this summer, when I got a call from an associate of mine who works in the entertainment news/celebrity television industry. He (or she) was calling me from the passenger seat of a car and was out of breath. He (or she) responded to my “hello” with a terse “So I’ve got a little tidbit for your blog…” And that’s when my source mentioned that his/her office had just gotten a call from their own source at Michael Jackson’s house that MJ was being rushed to the hospital, that it looked bad. My associate was en route to MJ’s with a news crew and said that if I wanted to, I should write about this on the blog, because it had the potential to be the biggest thing to hit the internet since, well, nothing. It had the potential to be just about the biggest thing ever, so there was nothing to compare it to.
After we hung up, I thought about it. While it would be cool to break a story like MJ being rushed to the hospital, that’s not my bag. Nothing against celebrity blogs or bloggers, but man, I could not give less of a shit about celebrity culture and all that junk (I swear, if I ever find one single, goddamn woman who doesn’t have at least three US Weekly’s at her apartment at all times, I might just have to marry her). Also, what if it was nothing? What if he was fine and then I went ahead and (quite uncharacteristically) wrote something on here about Michael Fucking Jackson’s health? That would look weird.
So I took the middle road and posted a Facebook status update that said if Michael Jackson died, I was concerned about what would happen to TV, the internet and life over the following days. And while I can’t say that I “broke” the story about MJ’s eventual demise, I can say that I was among the very first people to write something about it. People immediately starting commenting along the lines of “Wait, what?” Shortly after the update, I got up to take a whiz, and when I came back to my computer, I had a dozen Facebook IMs from people asking me what I was talking about it. And then we all know what happened: he died and the world fell apart.
And you know what? There was definitely a little bit of satisfaction that I was able to tell so many people first. Not a whole lot, because, again, who really gives a shit, and because about ten minutes later, it was all over the place, already the biggest story to have hit the web/world/life/God even before MJ actually died. But it was cool – someone who I am acquainted with because of this blog knew insider, secret, potentially ground-breaking info and he (or she) wanted to share it with me, so that I could tell a whole shitload of people. In that moment, I became a journalist, a trusted custodian of knowledge. Yes, I realize how egotistical this sounds, but there’s this: eff you.
But once that day passed, the coolness was gone. The rush I got was fleeting, replaced by disdain for the producers of “Dateline” who cancelled potentially awesome murder shows for Michael Jackson show after Michael Jackson show and for local bar DJs (and really, all bars with jukeboxes) who basically put MJ on a loop for the following three weeks (“Great – ‘Dirty Diana’ again! Terrific!”). My moment in the sun as story-breaker was over.
Until earlier today, that is. I was sitting there on gchat, minding my own business and pondering whether I should reheat last night’s pizza or splurge on the hickory burger from Houston’s on the walk home, when I got a curious IM from another person with whom I have a relationship from this blog. The IM read, “Dude – Vick’s going to sign with the Eagles. Thought you’d might like to know.”
Um, whoa.
I popped open several new browsers and started both googling my heart out and F5′ing on various sites that might have this info (ESPN, SI, Deadspin, Philly.com, etc). But nothing, no word of Vick signing with the Eagles anywhere.
But this was a trusted source, someone who works within the league, a good man (or woman) – and thorough. Before I could respond, my source then wrote “1 year/$1.6 mil.”
I thought about the MJ situation, but this was different – this was something I cared about, desperately and passionately. And this was big, big news. Sure, not exactly a pop icon dying, but a convicted dog killer and ex-con – and also a tremendous athlete who may have never realized his full potential – joining my favorite team. Hell, to call the Eagles my favorite team is incomplete; in my order of importance in my life, it’s me, the Eagles, boobies, beer, God, beer again, fantasy baseball, boobies again, the Phillies, long showers and fresh mozzarella cheese (oh, and money/luxury beats everything).
So we went back and forth for a bit. I quizzed the source on what they knew, how they knew it, how it had gone down, what the next step was, etc. And after our conversation, I came away convinced that my source was telling the truth, that Michael Vick was just a few minutes from physically signing with the Eagles, that in a few hours it would be announced. And so, once my journalistic inquisitiveness had been sated, I did what any responsible journalist in this crazy 21st century digital age would do: I posted it on Facebook.
Three hours later, it was officially announced on ESPN: Michael Vick was going to the Philadelphia Eagles. And unlike the MJ thing, I can say for sure that I was the first person to break this story, thanks to the source (we even got the contract sort of right; it’s a two-year deal, but the first year is for $1.6 million, like the source told me, but with a second year team option for $5.2 million, plus $3 million incentives).
And this time, the feeling was much greater than the MJ thing. I cared that so many first learned of this story from me (included the approximately 22 friends that I sent a mass text to, and kept updating until the story was confirmed), because this was real, because this was important. After the story was announced and the praise started coming in, I realized that yes, I was now officially, truly a real-life journalist. Perhaps it was time to put down the penis jokes, and pick up the phones; to worry less about all the different words I can use for “breast” and focus more on furthering connections with people in the know; to forget about making people laugh via poop jokes and work to inform people about significant events.
However, all that sounds like a lot of work. So I think I’ll stick with the third grade humor, thanks. But in the meantime, if one of you guys learns something really juicy, you know how to reach me (and I will pay you back with a beer, promise).
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I can’t write 1500 words on learning about Vick’s signing with the Eagles without offering some thoughts on the subject itself.
- From a football perspective, I don’t think this is a bad signing. The Eagles have been one of the worst red zone conversion teams in the NFL for the last several seasons. Now can you imagine Brian Westbrook, DeSean Jackson and Michael Vick (and McCoy and Maclin, too) on the field at the same time in the red zone (or anywhere else, for that matter)? That’s a lot of speed that needs to be defended, and it’s also a lot of versatility on offense. For $1.6 million with a second year club option, it’s worth a gamble on a man once considered one of the best athletes on the planet.
- I don’t think this threatens McNabb’s job security, although McNabb is about as sensitive and insecure as the chubbiest sophomore at the school dance (male or female). I can’t imagine what would happen if this team is 2-3 and in his first game back, Vick scores twice and McNabb throws two or three picks. Chaos. Brutal, brutal chaos.
- From a PR perspective, well, that’s another story. I think that Philly is a good town for him, to be honest. Yeah, it’s a tough place to play, but if Vick can help the team succeed, the Philly fans will forgive him. I wrote on Facebook that sure, while I think what Vick did was deplorable, if Hitler could help this team in the red zone, I’d be one of the first guys calling sports talk radio saying, “Hey, take a flyer on the German! He’s got soft hands!”
- Speaking of Philly fans, I’m amused at all the vitriol being spewed by Eagles fans on Facebook right now, and I’d like to see how these same people feel once Vick breaks a 38 yard TD run against the Giants. Fucking soon-to-be hypocrites. I think most intelligent, rational Eagles fans that I’ve spoken to/emailed with have expressed something along the following lines: “I think what he has done is despicable and it remains to be seen if he is genuinely sorry, but I will give him the benefit of the doubt. From a football perspective, considering the team has been trying to get over the hump for about ten years and it cost them very little money, the signing makes sense.” One more “I h8 ThE EaGLes!!! ViCK is KILLAH aN sHoulD bE HUnG!!!” update on Facebook and I’m going to go on a murder rampage.
- While we’re here, I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating: God made animals for us to conquer and subsequently eat, wear and/or ride (it’s true – look it up). Society has evolved to the point that we no longer have to do this, which is a very good thing. Michael Vick hung and electrocuted dogs, which is a very bad thing. But the man spent 23 months in prison. This doesn’t mean he should be automatically forgiven, but let’s take that into consideration. If it turns out he’s a dick, then so be it and let’s run him out of town. But maybe – just maybe – he’s actually contrite and, with Tony Dungy at his side, he successfully turns his life around and works with PETA, helps work to eradicate dog fighting, etc. Just hear the guy out.
I love dogs as much as the next person. Really. Every time I take off or land I say a little prayer that asks God that if anything should happen to me, He take care of my parents, my brother and sister, my family and friends, and Lucky, my dad and sister’s dog. But the uproar over the dogs thing…I mean, Donte Stallworth was drunk, got behind the wheel and killed a man – a human being with family and friends, who touched people on a daily basis with his words and actions, a person who loved and thought and felt – and Stallworth went to prison for 24 days. Do you hear people going crazy over that? Who do you think is more hated, Stallworth or Vick? It’s the latter, and it’s not even close. Doesn’t seem totally right to me. So just everybody take a deep breath, please.
(And yes, if he signed with the Cowboys, Giants or Redskins, I’d be the first one organizing the boycott.)
- In the same vein, I really wish the media would stop playing up the hate for Vick, both by Eagles fans and by other football/sports fans. Again, I think that most rational Eagles fans are of the mindset that I mentioned above, and it’s the vocal minority that’s calling for Vick’s head. Of course, “I hate the Eagles and they’re the worst team in the league and I’ll never forgive them for this” makes a better story than “Meh, let’s see what happens,” so I don’t expect the media hate-mongering to quit anytime soon.
But let me say this: I am a Philly fan and proud of it. No, we may not be the most attractive fans, or the most in-shape fans, or even the most intelligent fans, but I dare you to name a more passionate fan base. The city of Philadelphia lives and dies by its sports teams, and more than anything, I’m concerned that this will portray my beloved city and us fans in a negative light. For example, I saw one Facebook moron comment: “[the Vick signing] officially puts Philadelphia at the bottom of my list of desirable places to live/be/visit.”
Really, friend? You’re now filled with disgust for an entire city – the sixth largest in America, with a metropolitan population of about 1.4 million people – because its football team signed a convicted dog-fighter? Like, the whole city? For real, the whole entire city? And everyone in it and its institutions, culture and history? Everything?
Obviously, the guy who made the comment is a stone cold asshole moron. But this country is filled with morons (see: national prominence of Sarah Palin). The most important thing to me, even more important than an Eagles championship, is that my home town, the city I love, is not cast in a negative light because of something its football team decided to do. Feel free to take your wrath out on Michael Vick, Andy Reid, Joe Banner, the entire Eagles organization, and I understand completely. But when you start saying that the fans of Philly are assholes for this or that the city itself sucks because of the decision of a handful of men who work at a company there, then you and I are gonna have some problems, you heard?
(Before we continue, I should note that one way in which I am actually trying to enjoy LA is by getting out of LA. I was supposed to go on a road trip last weekend, but that failed; there may be a road trip to San Diego this weekend; and I have other LA-based trips forthcoming, including the big Vegas weekend in September. So there’s that.)
The good news that if anyone knows how to have fun on a budget, it’s me. Sure, I like to go out and eat my $45 steaks and drink my $15 Manhattans, but I am equally content staying in with the AC blasting, a few beers in the fridge, some good rock music playing, and a handful of murder shows on the Tivo.
What makes this process easier is that I live near a place called Wally’s Wine. Now, if you are a woman, love wine, and are capable of having an orgasm (my personal research indicates that only around 4% of women are actually capable of having an orgasm), you will undoubtedly orgasm upon entering this store. I mean, they have lots and lots and lots of wine (like, lots). But it’s not a wine warehouse; it’s all very manageable and navigable, and they have a very nice and attentive staff. Couple this with the fact they also have cheese and meats and glassware, and, really, if you’re one of the lucky 4%, you’re going to pop off. Probably.
What I like about Wally’s is that they also have a very impressive beer selection. While I generally fear and sometimes hate change, I’m always looking for new and exciting ways to get fucked up and subsequently spend my following afternoon in the shower recovering. In my younger days, my taste in beer was similar to my taste in women: I like them cheap and American, and I like for them to go down easy and have as little taste as possible (Editor’s Note: Ewwww!!!). While this is still how I prefer my women, I’ve gotten a little more adventurous with my beer, dabbling in browns and reds and IPAs, but preferring to stay away from wheats and whites. While at Wally’s last Friday and thinking about the massive amounts of Guinness I’ve been consuming lately, I decided to get some advice on the wonderful world of stouts.
Guinness, next to Bud, is my go-to beer. First, it’s a gentle kind of fucked up, one that doesn’t make you angry or (overly) horny, but takes you by the hand, dancing, and draws you into a world of warmth and happiness and blurriness. Second, not only am I convinced that I could have twelve Guinnesses and still be able to fly a plane, but the Guinness hangovers are much less severe than others (though the next-day pooping is usually not so good). Third, I like Guinness because when I drink it, I feel like a gentleman. If you have fifteen pints of Bud in an evening, you’re a slob. If you have fifteen pints of Guinness in an evening, you’re Irish and charming and wonderful. Big difference there.
(Please, I’m not coming down on Bud or saying it doesn’t have its place. When I’m in a strange hotel room, preparing for a night of getting bombed and texting a long ago ex-lady, nothing gets me to where I need to go like an ice-cold Bud bomber. In truth, if LA had these 16oz cans of Bud, I’d like it a lot more out here. But, alas.)
When looking at the various stouts, my first thought was to grab one each of about twelve of them. But then the guy who worked there starting talking to me and recommended starting slowly with two or three, with a bottle or two of each. So I walked out with three varieties of the stouts, two bottles of each, to complement the other beers I had at home.
I started the evening, as is my wont, with a vodka and sugar-free red bull, just to get my attention. I’ve been starting my drinking sessions with a vodka red bull for so long – back in NYC, I purchased my “Friday Night Special,” two sugar-free red bulls and a six-pack of bombers, every Friday night on the walk home from work – that it’s taking a special place in my heart; just as ginger snaps might remind one of Christmas or the smell of fresh apple pie might cause one to recall the halcyon summer days of their youth, the smell, and that first sip of the vodka red bull, reminds me that I’m about to most likely spend over $100 on alcohol, probably sing “Easy Lover” to the point of making others uncomfortable, and ultimately wake up with a small string of cheese from the previous night’s slice in my beard. A better way to kick off the weekend, I can think of none.
After that one vodka red bull, with the air-conditioner blasting, my belly feeling warm and my mind sharp and focused, I started on the stouts. This is where things started to get tricky.
First, before ye pass judgment, know that man is no closer to God than when he gets drunk alone. I am in no way ashamed to admit that I – a 30 year-old young man of means, talent and charm – spent my Friday night in Los Angeles, California getting absolutely, positively shit-canned alone in my apartment. If you can’t see that this is awesome, I feel genuinely sorry for you.
Second, I gotta be honest, I’m not really sure how it all went down. The guy at the beer store warmed me about the stouts, saying that they were strong, but I just assumed that he was a total pussy. It’s beer. And there are only six of them. I can drink – and regularly do drink – that much while showering. So step off, gaybird.
But boy, that gentleman was correct. The first problem was that the stouts were delicious. I can only remember the name of my favorite, the 8-Ball Stout from Lost Coast Brewery, but my goodness, it was like drinking pints full of clouds – deep, dark, rich clouds that made you want to call up your ex-wife, just to check in, or, if you don’t have an ex-wife, troll Facebook for as many bikini pictures that you can find.
(A confession: I get unreasonably excited when a girl lists both “Men” and “Women” in the “Interested In” part of her profile on Facebook. Really. I’m like a retarded boy eating a Pixie stick: I start fidgeting around, sweating, maybe make some barely audible grunting noises and bouncing up and down a little bit, etc. It’s really quite embarrassing, but I am powerless to stop it.)
What added to the fuzziness of the next few hours was the re-discovery of an old friend, an album called “Tattoo You” by a little band out of the UK called The Rolling Stones. Many moons ago, I owned this album, but I bought it for “Waiting on a Friend” and didn’t give the rest of it a shot, since the first song on the album is my least-favorite Stones song, “Start Me Up.” I’m not sure what inspired it, but I purchased the entire album on iTunes this particular evening, having decided to give it a shot.
Most of the album sounds like the soundtrack of the darkest, most smoke-filled bar that you’ll never be cool enough to drink at. This is the best way I can think of to explain it, but I’m not doing it justice, since it’s kind of indescribable; I can tell you that at one point, I actually went online to find out if the song “Slave” was ever used in a movie, because it surely should be. But any way you look at it, it’s ideal getting fucked up music – serious, strange, moody, bluesy, ballsy, cocky music, made for serious, strange, moody, bluesy, ballsy, cocky drunks. Highly, highly recommended.
Somewhere through the third playing of the album (or thereabouts), the wheels completely came off. Inspired by the egregious shot-taking that goes on in “The Wire” (I’ve finished season one and am working my way through season two and, FYI, still not really getting what all the fuss is about), I thought it might be a good idea to do some shots of vodka – which, of course, turned out to be a not a good idea at all. I don’t remember much of the next few hours, but there was a lot of mustard everywhere when I woke up. I still can’t determine what the mustard was put on, but the leader is dry slices of bread (as I have no cheese or lunchmeat in my apartment).
The next morning, fighting through the hangover, I did a fantasy football draft and was up for a few hours, recovering, before I noticed a document on my computer’s desktop called “Will.” I clicked on it, and, sure enough, in my drunken state I had composed my first-ever will.
Well. This was new – even at the peak of my hypochondria, I had never written a will. This was probably because I had nothing to bequeath aside from student loans and some poorly cared for musical instruments. But at this point in my life, I’m not hypochondriacal at all, so it’s not like I thought I was going to die in my sleep (though I could have been legitimately afraid of a mustard overdose). I also still have very little to leave to anyone, so it’s not as though I’m concerned that my family will fight over my vast assets after I’ve left this world. Fittingly, the will was a simple one, a standard form that states my assets should be divided into quarters between my dad, mom, brother and sister. By my rough calculations – and I’d have to check with my accountant on this – that means each will receive the princely sum of $18.46. But again, I’ll have to check with my accountant on this.
But the fact remains: I got black-out drunk, woke up the next morning, and had no recollection of writing an at least rudimentary will. Yikes. Usually when I wake up hungover, only somewhat familiar with the previous night’s events, I’m prepared for a number of possibilities, usually involving inappropriate texts, emails, phone calls, purchases (mostly music or porn) or website visits (craigslist -> los angeles -> casual encounters -> mm4m). But again, a will was definitely new.
Part of me, upon this discovery, wanted to be horrified. A will – how macabre! What demons must have I been wrestling with, between the stouts and the shots and the mustard? Was I really debating my own mortality? Did I fear that my time on this earth was coming to an end? Or I am just losing my mind completely?
But instead of being concerned, I’m actually proud of this. While I am used to doing those stupid things while bombed, writing a will is far and away the most responsible thing I’ve ever done while drunk, and one of the most responsible things I’ve ever done, period. As far as I’m concerned, this is tremendous, tremendous progress. Perhaps tonight I’ll get drunk and study for the CA license test or get the receipts for my 2009 tax write-offs together or apply for a mortgage.
Really, the possibilities are endless. But at least this time I’ll know to take it a little easier on those stouts (way, way too many typos in that will).
I don’t get fancy when I order Chinese, instead preferring to stick to the basics like General Tso’s, sweet and sour chicken, chicken or beef and broccoli, egg rolls, fried rice, wonton soup, etc. And this place was just a menu that was slipped under the door to my apartment building, so I didn’t expect anything mind-blowing. I went with the sweet and sour chicken and some pork fried rice and it was incredible. For a cheap Chinese place (the order, with tip, was not more than $20 or so), the chicken was actual white meat, cooked thoroughly, with no gray questionable pieces that made you think “chicken or thumb?”, fresh pineapple and veggies, and just the right tang to the sauce; and the rice was full of flavor, yet surprisingly light. Also, the entire order was about 3.5 pounds, and constituted two dinners for me.
[This last fact counts for a lot. Those who know me know that I have great difficulty not clearing my plate. In food, as with most other things in life, I almost physically can't stop unless whatever it is before me is gone, whether it's fried rice, Bud Light or my own semen (so much so that when I ejaculated I get a "whooosh!" sound, like blowing air through a straw). And in the case of food, it's not even because I'm hungry - give me a two pound plate of Mexican food and I will clear it and be full, but I will give the same treatment and be equally satisfied with a five ounce, 270 calorie Lean Cuisine entree. I'm just so, so fascinating.]
Off to Boston I went and I thought about that Chinese food often, determined to order it again when I got back to LA. Such an occasion presented itself last night, and so I went to the menu drawer to figure out what to get. One problem: no menu for this place in the menu drawer. While I couldn’t recall the name of the place, I remember what the menu looked like – a pretty glossy one that was folded into thirds.
While I was surprised the menu wasn’t in the menu drawer, I wasn’t too concerned. After all, it had to be around somewhere. See, I live in a one-bedroom place that I’ve subletted, fully furnished, from a woman who moved out of the country for a few months. I basically showed up at this place with my clothes, toiletries and a couple of personal items (computer, books, guitars, etc), but for the most part, since I’m living in this woman’s home, I haven’t really touched anything. It’s not like living in a museum – indeed, I’m not too shy to crack a beer while laying on the couch – but there are many cabinets and drawers and closets that I haven’t even opened, so the “Jason space” in my place is very limited. Therefore, if the menu wasn’t in the menu drawer, it couldn’t be too hard to find.
So I looked. And then I looked some more. And then I looked some more. And nothing.
Panic set in. I loved this Chinese food immediately, so there’s no way I could have thrown out this menu. And I don’t have a cleaning lady, so she didn’t accidentally throw it out. And again, I’m living in a one-bedroom apartment, most of which I don’t get into, so where the hell could this menu be? I tried to remember the name, but I had nothing. Was there a “King” in it? Or a “Ling?” Or am I thinking of “Chin?” Maybe the word “Village” was in there, too. I had no idea.
The night quickly devolved into an orgy of desperation, as I tore apart my previously pristine apartment looking for that menu. It eventually went beyond hunger and into that murky realm of stubbornness, anger and madness – I was looking forward to that goddamned Chinese food place becoming a weekly staple of my life for weeks to come. And if I couldn’t find the menu, it would all be over.
Alas, no luck. After checking everywhere, turning drawers and closets and cupboards inside out, nothing. I went on to menupages to look as well, but there were too many Chinese places, even in the Brentwood, Westwood and Century City/BH areas. That night I went to bed dejected, and said a little prayer to Saint Anthony, once again employing a plea to religion in only the most dire situations (i.e. “Please God, let me find this Chinese food menu”, “Please God, let her not be pregnant – You told me I was sterile!”, “Please God, let that just be a one-time thing – sure he was a good dresser and his bed was comfortable, but his homemade breakfast the next day was terrible!”). It was a sad night.
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The next day, I woke up and turned to the night table next to me to check my blackberry. Then I picked up the iPhone and checked my gmail. Last, I turned to my side to reach down to grab my glasses from the floor (I always fall asleep reading at night, and eventually just drop the book and my glasses on the floor next to me before turning off the light). I couldn’t feel them right away, so I fished around some more and found them somewhat under the bed. I also felt that they were sitting on something glossy and flat. I pulled up the glasses and put them on, rolled over and grabbed what was under the bed and there it was: the menu to the Chinese food place, California Wok.
Whether it was fate, St. Anthony, God or whoever, I can assure one thing: I am going to eat my weight in Chinese food tonight. Then I will have to straighten up the apartment.