Are You All Okay With This Yet?

Jennifer Aniston is a loser.

I've been saying this for years and when it all went south for her and Brad three years ago, I was the only one defending Brad (shocking, eh?). Everybody else was saying what an awful person he was, how Rachel, er, Jen, was so cute, how she handled herself with such class, how Brad was a jerk, how Angelina was a homewrecker, how Brad was a cheater, how Jen was so cute, how Angelina was a nut job, how Brad was a scumbag for being with Angelina while still with Jen, how Jen was so cute, how Angelina used to carry a vile of blood around her neck.

But now that the dust has cleared, we are finally seeing the truth. And the truth is that Brad made the right decision. Did it all go down "the right way?" No. But in love and life, things rarely go down the right way.

Why am I commenting on some nugget of celebrity gossip that is three years old? Because recently, Jen has been seen with John Mayer (which needs to be a whole other post. This guy definitely has a ten inch schlong because I do not understand how someone who wrote the lyrics "One pair of candy lips and your bubblegum tongue" gets the women he gets) and apparently, she said that John Mayer is way better in bed than Brad Pitt.

Classy Jen.

Now, this statement may not be true, but it's been out there for six days now without retraction from Jen. And so I ask you (and by "you" I mean all of you with two Xs in your chromosome pairing) Jen supporters... You still with her?

I've touched on the Brad/Jen/Angie subject before and we all know where I come down. And in matters like this, no one really ended up "right" and no one really ended up "wrong," but when this happened three years ago, I seemed to be the lone Brad defender. Rather than talk about mortgages and babies, all I ever wanted to talk about was the really important stuff... Like Brad and Jen's breakup.

And when I did talk about that I was SLAMMED with comments like...

"Brad is such a scumbag for leaving Jen..."
"Angelina is gross and weird..."
"Why would Brad ever leave Jen for Angelina..?"
"Brad just acts like Angelina and he has no personality of his own..."

And now, here we are, three years later and Jen is making this ridiculous comment regarding her sex life. And in the meanwhile, Brad has conducted himself with such dignity and class. And further, he has somehow- despite being half of the worlds most famous couple- maintained a LOW PROFILE!

I know that many of you will disgaree with me and that is okay, but considering they ARE the world's most famous couple, you don't see them much. Sure, we know they are having kids at rates usually found in rats and cockroaches and we also know they have done some stuff in New Orleans and Africa. And they have also found time to star in and gain critical acclaim for a few movie roles. But what else do we know? What controversy have they stirred? When have they acted like idiots?

They are rarely on shows like TMZ and Entertainment Tonight, they are not jumping on couches confessing their love, they are not showing up on Oprah talking about how they don't use deodorant, they are not talking about how difficult/beautiful/spiritual giving birth is, and they are certainly not comparing their current sex life to their past sex lives with partners Gwyneth Paltrow and Billy Bob Thornton.

On the other hand, Jen Aniston has dated a string of Himbos, no names, and no talents. She has starred in movies where she plays Rachel Green, and she has played the poor, little, cute dumped girl. And then she said her current tool bag of a boyfriend is better in bed than Brad Pitt.

Classless.

And where is the outrage? Where are you now Rachel Green defenders? Is she still the poor, cute, dumped girl she was three years ago? Or is she now a talentless hack who can't get over her ex-husband?

Look, I am by no means condoning what Brad did and how he and Angelina got together. I still feel for Jen every time I watch Mr. and Mrs. Smith (which is shockingly frequently) as I think of her watching it for the first time and saying, "my marriage is over." And I don't care what sort of public persona she puts up, but it has to kill her every time she sees Brad and Angie together. Imagine her seeing the above pic (and by the way, my boy still has it, despite talk that he is looking "weathered"). She has to ask herself, "what are they talking about? Is it loving? Dirty? An inside joke?" And I don't blame Jen for this. I bumped into a girl I dated twice and I hated that she was with another dude. She was supposed to like ME, not HIM! And I can only imagine that it's a thousand times worse for Jen. In fact, sometimes, when I hear a loud thump, I think it actually might be Jen hitting the pavement after she plunged off a building.

But what if Angelina and Brad ACTUALLY like each other? What if they stay together until death and make a family of 47 Pitt-Jolies? Then was it okay for Brad to pitch worthless Jen? Or should he have stayed in a miserable relationship, as so many other miserable couples do throughout America? Should he have given up something real just to stay with Jen? If they stayed together, yet were miserable, would all you Anistonites be happy?

I get it. Jen got hurt and so many of us could feel for cute little Rachel Green with her cute little hair cut because we too have also been hurt by a horrible partner like Brad. But it's three years later and Brad has still never said a bad word about Jen. He doesn't throw Angelina in Jen's face and he certainly doesn't talk about how good Angie is in bed.

I'm not sure why this whole thing still bothers me, but it does. I think it's more about people and their inability to change their minds than it is about Brad, Jen, and Angelina. I often get criticized for "changing" and for some weird reason, that's always an insult. I sure hope that I've changed. I sure hope that the 99 isn't my favorite restaurant- as it once was. I sure hope that Everybody Wang Chung Tonight isn't my favorite song- as it once was. And I sure hope that I don't find hair with lots of Aqua Net in it sexy- as I once did.

Three years ago, Brad dumped Jennifer Aniston for Angelina Jolie. It looked bad and it was easy to hate on Brad. But things change. Brad has done everything he can to make up for his "atrocities" and Jen has... Well, Jen has talked about her sex life with a guy whose 15 minutes of fame is at 14:51 right now.

And three years later, Brad looks like the class act, while cute Rachel Green look like a scorned ex-wife who can't get over her ex.

Game, set, match.

Brad wins.

And it's time you all saw that. It's okay to change your mind. Especially when you were wrong.

Second Place Is First Loser

Losing sucks. You try your best to be a good loser and be gracious in defeat and sometimes, that makes it even worse because the winner is always falsely nice in these situations. Essentially, they are sayin, "I'm so sorry you lost. But not as sorry as I would have been had I lost."

And I know losing. Believe me.

I've lost to Soda Popinski repeatedly, countless Texas Hold'em Hands, six straight times to Denny Doble in NHL '93, an argument about what three players made up Run TMC, 96-20 in an intramural hoop game, the Brady/Bledsoe argument, the eighth grade best dressed superlative, 4996 out of 5000 ping pong matches with my brother, my fingernail when I hammered it, the ability to hit a wiffle ball, Flint's awesome shotgun, Trivia Pursuit when I was up by five pie pieces, my shirt betting against the 2001 Patriots, my dinner the night I played "catch up" with Thornton and Turner at the Bruins game, that playoff game to my brother in Griffey Jr. Baseball for the N64, $85 dollars in change playing blackjack at 10 Hitching Post, my cell phone reception while asking a girl out, my bathing suit in a wave, lots of hair.

I've lost a $50 Banana Republic Gift Certificate, my black Puma pants, my Han Solo Ringer Tee, my Use Your Illusion I CD, my copy of Baby Proof, my copy of Gattaca on DVD, my UMass hoodie, an awesome Empire Strikes Back poster, sunglasses, my grad school diploma, that Whopper Cossari boought me on the way to white water rafting, every arm wrestling match, a huge bass, a margarita off the side of a boat, the cable bill every month, my lucky Hula Popper lure, a slice of Antonios on he street, pictures from high school, my ticket stub to the world premiere of Kill Bill, wiffle balls in gutters, my favorite baseball glove, my ability to form a coherent sentence, my ATM card on consecutive weekends, twelve straight hands of blackjack at Foxwoods, my sweet black bracelet, directions to my VCR, my Boba Fett pen, my ability to pre-game with twelve beers, a favorite pair of boxers, a sneaker in the mud of Mr. Meanie's yard, my big yellow Tonka Dump Truck, Stratego pieces, the spinner to Life, a twelve page paper in grad school, my brothers Bose head phone cover, my chapter reviews for Great Expectations in Mr. Roussell's English class, and countless golf balls across the courses of Massachusetts.

I've lost it while watching Billy Elliot, You Can Count On Me, Stand By Me, The Breakfast Club, Saving Private Ryan, Good Will Hunting, My Girl, Return of the Jedi, Love Actually, The Princess Bride, Before Sunrise, Gattaca, The Sixth Sense, High Fidelity, Sideways, and Before Sunset.

I've lost it while listening to Angeles, Wonderwall, Chasing Cars, The Trapeze Swinger, Pink Moon, Crystal Village, Some Way Some How, A Million Reasons, Sittin On the Dock of The Bay, Into The Mystic, No Mermaid, Chocolate, Tunnel of Love, Torch Singer, Say Goodbye, The Sound of Settling, Let Down, Trouble, Did You ever Look So Nice, Taxi Ride, Tell Me, and Fix You.

I've lost nine straight years in my fantasy baseball league, everything I've eaten on the annual camping trip, the seventh grade science fair, countless arguments, the coin flip to decide who was starting the Pee Wee All Star Game, the RBI title on the last day of the very next season, my temper, my ability to listen, my composure, loads of brain cells, touch with friends, the respect of friends, the trust of friends, memories of childhood, memories of high school, memories of college, memories of my twenties, memories of my thirties, memories of what I had for breakfast yesterday.

I've lost my father, my dog, my childhood home.

I've lost my way, my confidence, my positive attitude, my belief in love, my self esteem, my compassion, and my will to continue.

And I've lost an election.

And suddenly, that doesn't seem so bad.

Mess With This Toy And I'll Run You Over

Before we get to today's post, just want to throw out a belated Happy Mother's Day to my loyal readers (actually, are any mothers who read this?) and a big congratulations to my little bro Mike, who'll be picking up his law degree this Sunday. On to the post...

In case you live under a rock or maybe just don't watch TV, read the newspaper, use the internet, listen to the radio, or interact with human beings, you probably know about that really good looking lady who ran down the Red Sox fan in her car.

As I have long stated, the whole Red Sox/Yankees thing is beyond my scope of comprehension. It used to be limited solely to drunken, moustache toting Bostonians of the seventies, it died out in the eighties when the Sox were dominating and the Yankees were running out line ups with guys named Wayne Tolleson and Dan Pasqua (why aren't they in Monument Park?), and then it became everyone's thing in the nineties and to the present. It's even become something for white trash to enjoy. So now, not only can white trash lay claim to six teeth, Jeff Foxworthy, and Canadien Tuxedos, they can also call the Red Sox/Yankees rivalry their own. In fact, they enjoy it so much and participate in it with such great fervor, that they can mow down someone who disagrees with their opinions of sports teams.

And so this got me to thinking. Why would I run over someone? And what would they have to do for me to run them over? I've had some experience running stuff over, like curbs, nails, and screws (I swear I need a new tire every month), but I've never run over a person. I almost ran over a squirrel as it dashed in front of my car and someone managed to come out on the other side unscathed. But are there people in my life that I may have run over someone had I had access to an automobile at that exact moment? I think there are...

Jeff- We were friends growing up, but one year, the day after Christmas, he pissed me off. Why? Because he ran out and bought the exact same pair of Reebok high tops that I myself got for Christmas. I got the Reeboks just as they were coming out and establishing themselves on the market. They were a nice alternative to Air Jordans and they were certainly classier than those low rent ZZZips. And they were going to look money with my blue paisley sweatshirt and quasi middle school mullet. Most importantly though, I was going to be the only one to have them. So, after calling Mark, Gregg, and Jeff and finding out "what they got" for Christmas, we met up and took shots on Gregg's new net. Jeff, who didn't get my sneakers, took one look at them and apparently, went out and purchased them the next day. I remember Mark telling me the next morning as we were shooting hoops and I absolutely wanted to mow down Jeff. Somehow, I squelched my desire to do this. It also helped that I didn't know how to drive and didn't have access to a car.

Adrian Lynne- In 1987, Adrian Lynne made a film called Fatal Attraction. I opened to rave reviews, was nominated for an academy award and is rumored to be the reason that extramarital affairs dropped by 30% that same year. I actually like the film and when it's on now, I definitely watch it. Mostly I watch it in an attempt to determine if Anne Archer and Michael Douglas' kid is a boy or a girl. But, back twenty years ago, I wanted to run over Adrian Lynne. Badly. He was directly responsible for the most uncomfortable moment of my life. I remember my father bringing home the movie on VHS and so we decided to sit down and watch it. My mother heard it was a good film, so she sat down and watched it too. She rarely watched movies and it was a shock when she sat down. It was an even bigger shock when - out of the blue- Glenn Close went down on Michael Douglas in the elevator. Then, Douglas starts banging Close on the kitchen sink and it all came unglued for me. Before Fatal Attraction, I used to have an uncanny knack for recognizing when the sex scene was coming and I would get up and get a drink. But Fatal Attraction caught me way off guard. And in turn, caused me the most uncomfortable moment I've ever had with my parents. Thanks Adrian Lynne for making me watch sex scenes with my parents.

Rick, Nick, and Dan- When I was on the minor Cubs, I dominated. I was Pedro of 1998. I swear that I threw harder than Danny Almonte from 45 feet. Then, we met the Yankees under the lights at Simonds Park. The Yankees had a "young" guy as their head coach and everybody thought they were awesome. All my "friends" told me the Yankees were going to beat us as we were both tied with undefeated records. I was confident that wasn't going to happen and so was my coach, Mr. Krol who saved me earlier in the week so I could pitch against the Yankees. I cruised through the first two innings and then I ran into some trouble. The Yanks hit back to back doubles and then a single. Before I knew it, I had let up a run and it was first and third. Nick Saia (will get to him in a second) dropped a pop up to load the bases. Our coach argued that it should have been the infield fly rule, but the ump said that was only used at the Babe Ruth level. I remember thinking I should have just bowled Nick over and caught it myself, but I didn't. On the very next play, Dan Kornetzky let a grounder go through his legs and another run scored. I then got a strikeout and an out at home on a grounder back to the pitcher. My boy Alan Crowell was catching and he made a great catch and even tried to turn a 1-2-3 double play. Then Rick Gillette came up. Rick was kind of a skid and he was in the grade above me. I didn't know much about him other than that. I don't remember him being very good at baseball (this was an assumption that would hurt a few pitches later) and so I remember thinking I was going to get of the inning easily. Needless to say, I didn't. In fact, I served up a grand slam. Not an inside the park one, but an over the fence one. You know, the type that happened in Little League about as often as a Tsunami. As Rick rounded the bases, I remember everyone cheering, cars were honking from the parking lot, Paul Martin's father with his ridiculous Texas accent was going nuts from the stands, and loser, young, cool Coach Burnham met Rick Gillette at home plate and gave him a big bear hug. Meanwhile, I had to choke back tears, I asked out of the game circa Clemens in '86 and my baseball career was never the same. I remember Coach Krol being really supportive and wanting me to stay in the game, but I said I "hurt" my arm (who hurts their arm in little league?!?) and got removed. Sometimes, when the demons come, I still remember shitty Nick Saia and Dan Kornetzky misplaying those gimmies. I should have pulled a Wade Boggs and gone up to the official scorer and make sure my ERA wasn't hurt, but I wasn't savy enough for that. If only I were the selfish prick I am now, then maybe I would have been less hurt. I could have blamed it all on Nick and Dan and been no worse for the wear. Boy was being young, nice, and modest stupid. So, Rick, Nick, and Dan, these Goodyears are for you.

Whomever Told Ginger I Was Calling Her That Night- Back in the spring of 1991, I was determined to go to the prom with Ginger, the hottest girl in our grade. Now, what made me- a low tier, unathletic, not tough, minger in the high school social strata- think that Ginger was going to go with me, I don't know. But I did. Of course, to go with her, I had to ask her, which no one believed I was going to do. Well I was going to do it. And to prove that I actually did it, I was going to have a "Calling Ginger Party" in the basement of my house. So, I had Brian, Marc, Dave, Mike, Dan, Al, Gregg, and Kev over (a lame party I know, but I was/am a lame kid) and we played some cards and then at 9pm (the original time was 8, but I delayed), I looked up Ginger in the local phone directory, and dialed her seven digits on our downstair rotary phone. Somebody other than she answered the phone and I said (just as my mother taught me), "Hello, may I speak with Ginger please." The person on the other line said yes and they put the phone down and I waited. And waited... And waited. The total wait was likely ten minutes. I kept telling my friends "Shes, coming, she's coming!" But she wasn't. And she never did. She just left me waiting on the phone. I wasn't sure which of my friends said, "Gerard. She's not going to pick up, so I think you should hang up." But I eventually hung up. I remember being disappointed and needless to say, I didn't go to the prom (with Ginger or otherwise) and I was scarred for a good amount of time. Word spread quickly over the next few days that I asked her and I garnered a a fair amount of respect just for ATTEMPTING to ask her. Years later (seriously, it was years. I found out from her friend who I worked with while in college) that Ginger had been tipped off that I was calling her and had a friend pick up the phone and they planned on doing that all along. Turns out that Ginger was meaner than The Plastics!!! Really, I should have been mad at her, but I wasn't. I was mad at the leak. To this day, I still think it might have been Dave who claimed to be my friend, but really never was. He was one of those guys who had so little about himself figured out that he liked to put his misery on other people. Anyways, had I known who it was, my sweet Cutlass would have mowed them down, no doubt.

Grady Little- Timlin in the eighth, Williamson in the ninth Grady. Not Pedro for his 120th pitch. Thankfully, 2004 happened and so it would have sucked to be sitting in jail right now doing life and getting ass raped Derek Vinyard style for running over a guy who now has absolutely no bearing on my life.

Mike- Yes, this would be my brother Mike. At one time or another, we've all probably wanted to run over a sibling. But this one time in particular, I definitely wanted to mow Mike down (of course, I'm now very happy I didn't, as Mike is directly responsible for introducing me to 70% of the bands I like. Further, he's a pretty good kid. I guess.). Mike used to use my G.I. Joe action figures a lot. It was never a huge problem for me, until the thumbs of figures started to break. The frustration of this sounds preposterous, but most of the fun of G.I. Joe figures was arming them with the cool guns and without thumbs, they couldn't hold guns. So basically, they were rendered useless because how was a thumbless G.I. Joe guy supposed to enter into battle sans M203 or MP-5? I mean, were they supposed to just run around and give orders? Not to mention, how were they going to answer the phone in my fictional world? What if Lady Jane called Flint for a quickie (on the kitchen sink maybe?)? He wouldn't be able to pick up the phone because he was without thumbs (maybe this is why Ginger didn't pick up)? Anyways, Mike used to break thumbs on my G.I. Joe guys. I'm not sure why he was so amazingly skilled at breaking thumbs, but breaking thumbs he did. It wasn't bad when he broke Cutter's thumb or even Gung Ho's because they were lame, but the shit HIT THE FAN when Mike broke Storm Shadow's thumbs. I remember coming home and finding a thumbless Storm Shadow and confronting him on it and of course, he gave me the teary eyed shrug as if he was unsure who broke them. But we both know who did, and because I was an angst filled kid, I went into an absolute rage. I probably slapped him or gave him an Indian Sunburn (that was hardly a racist phrase, huh?) or maybe even spit on him, but whatever I did, I'm sure I freaked. Over the years, I've repaid Mike for that by wearing his shirts and stretching them out, getting a pull on his sweater, breaking his Bose headphones, and never cleaning the blender (man, I think he should have broken MANY more thumbs for all the stuff of his I've wrecked), but at the time, I was pretty upset. And for those of you out there who used to make Storm Shadow and Snake Eyes battle it out with swords (at 34, that now sounds really, REALLY funny), you'll understand me wanting to run over my cute, lovable little brother for breaking Storm Shadow's thumbs.

The Guy Who Invented Alcohol- Very often, I want to hug it out with this guy, but looking back on my life, I probably should run him over because I would have saved myself a ton of money, fat, and bad decisions. Not to mention the fact that I would probably get far more done were it not for alcohol. I'd also probably get far more done if I didn't spend so much time entertaining myself with this stupid blog. Actually, you know what? Now that I've had time to proof read this latest post, I probably should have just run MYSELF over. It would have saved me a lot of irritation. It probably would have saved YOU a lot of aggravation as well, huh?

Even With The Side Wind, The Comeback Is Strong...

Shockingly, I have had a couple (and by "couple" I mean exactly two) people ask me, "where's your next post?" Needless to say, I was psyched.

So because I've gone on blog vacation (and because I was actually BUSY at work if you can believe it) many an issue has backed up in my brain and so I'm going to go with the Ryan/Shaughnessy emptying out the blog desk drawer of the mind...

You might notice the groovy picture to the right. That's me and my roomate and still great friend Brian. The picture was taken by Jay sixteen years ago. His parents found a bunch of Jay's old photogs as they were converting his old bedroom into a play den for the grandchildren. And this is the result. 37 emails and a deluge of memories later, I was so happy Jay spent the ridiculous amount of money he spent to get these pics turned into digital photographs. It turned a lame Tuesday into a phenomenal Tuesday. And if any of you have the ability to do this for your friends, please do it. It was phenomenal in a way that only great memories can be...

Two weeks ago, I saw Tapes 'N Tapes at the Paradise. I don't mean to be the guy who pretends he only sees obscure bands in small venues and so that is not what this is about. But there is nothing better than the few seconds of silence following a band first coming onstage and them ripping into the chords of their opener. Don't care who you are, where you are, or what you are seeing. The anticipation and feeling of complete happiness at that moment is tough to match...

Speaking of music (and Tapes 'N Tapes), with the weather nice last week, it's tough to not want to drive around with all your windows down and crank tunes. That is why I never get mad at people blasting reggatone outside of my apartment because I understand exactly the feeling of wanting to do that. And so my three favorite songs to crank in my car with the windows down RIGHT NOW (this is always subject to change) are Silversun Pickups "Melatonin", Jimmy Eat World "The Middle", and "Le Ruse" by Tapes 'N Tapes. Please, please, please download Le Ruse. This song needs to be a monster hit and if it doesn't show up on an Apple or car commercial this summer, I'll eat my hat...

Back to Shaughnessey. He wrote a column Tuesday (maybe Wednesday) about Bob Lobel that was absolutely amazing. I've often "heard" (you know, because I'm so connected to the industry) that media and print guys never got along and while I've always thought Lobel was a tool, the article by Shaughnessy is pure class. So you can dump on some of his pieces all you want and you can hate him because his opinions are strong and clearly stated, but Shaughnessy writes some articles that are so moving the hair on your arms stands up...

Speaking of the hair standing up on your arms (and ignoring my no movie promise), the film The Orphanage was great. The more I've thought about it, the more I love it. Without giving too much away, it ends up being a film that is a lot more moving that it at first seems it should be. And just so you don't yell at me, it is in subtitles. Get over it...

There really isn't better television than The Bachelor. I love when people feel that they are "above" this show because it is such awesome TV. Not to mention the fact that I am CONVINCED that sociology professors will eventually make it required viewing as the insight into the female relationships are incredible. But the worst part is that Matt is going to pick lame-o Shayne "I'm the daughter of Lorenzo" Lamas and her doughy body. I can't believe he gave Noelle the gate. Noelle, I liked those hips in the Sevens. British Matt may have cut you loose, but if you need some emotional support, I'm here for you. But you gotta wear that same outfit...

My favorite author Emily Giffin (I believe she's an acceptable author to like according to that NY Times piece) has a new book coming out on May 13th. Because she is so damn talented, I'm sure it well be painfully cheesey, super relevant to my age, challenging in a way that chick-lit shouldn't be, really funny, cliche, extremely well written, and difficult to put down. I can't wait...

What's weirder: Watching the Red Sox at a bar and witnessing people go crazy over a guy getting a two out single in the eighth inning of a tie game in April or me and my brother laughing hysterically at the disappointment of said fans when Jed Lowrie gets gunned at the plate..?

I have to be honest. I'm kind of sad I never heard back from my mystery commenter/maker of the Gerard vodoo doll. I was hoping they'd get back to me, if only to keep drama in my life. Maybe this will work: Hey mystery commenter... I'd beat you in Scrabble because I'm way smarter than you and I can do more push ups than you because I'm way fitter than you...

For everyone elses sake, the sarcasm was clear there, right..?

Hopefully, you've all heard about Dr. Pepper's promotion to give everyone in America a free Dr. Pepper when the new Guns N Roses album, Chinese Democracy drops. I don't like Dr. Pepper, but I hear that your taste buds change every seven years, which is perfect because that's when Chinese Democracy will hit stores and maybe I'll like Dr. Pepper in 2015...

I've actually been watching the NHL playoffs (PUT IN KESSELL!!!) and I know absolutely nothing about the game or the league, but I think that working to market Ovechkin and Crosby would be a really good idea. Even I made a point to watch them. Plus, watching the NHL is now cool because to be a hockey fan is to be a contrarian...

On a negative hockey note, I was proud to be a member of Masshole Nation when I heard the stories of Bruins fans pissing on Canadien fans. Between that and Bar Hopping Bostonians rooting for a random white Russian girl as she overtakes the black girl, it might be time to be like white people and threaten to move to Canada...

Anybody see Julia Roberts on Oprah? I didn't, but then I watched it on youtube. Two words to describe the woman who played Vivian Ward: Worth. Less...

Why oh why do I still listen to sports talk radio? It is my version of crack. I know I should quit. I know it's bad for me. I know that the Four Horsemen will eventually drive me insane. But like a crack addicts' high (I'm assuming), those six awesome minutes I get each week of Tony Maz bitch slapping The Big O and making a passive/aggressive comment about Glenn asking Belichik a hard hitting question keep me coming back...

Speaking of football, you likely know that I can't understand the football draft, but people love it and find it entertaining and that's fine. So I ask, why doesn't baseball do the same thing? Make it an all day affair, put it on ESPN (I mean, they are showing the Florida Spring Game, which I'm still not clear on what that "game" consists of), bring in Gammons, Steve Phillips, Fernando Vina, Jayson Stark, and have them break the whole thing down. Yeah, we know nothing about these players, but outside of fifteen guys in the NFL draft, we know nothing about THOSE guys either. We say we do because we read magazines and stuff, but at the end of the day, Tom Brady was drafted 199th, so really, what do we KNOW?!? I mean, I'll help out with MLB draft. I got some canned Kiperesque phrases all set right now: "Nick Young has ALL the makings of a future big league ace. He's got a high 90s fastball, a plus slider, and a dominating circle change. He reminds me of a young Frank Viola sans the porn moustache. The only concerning thing is his violent delivery, which has rotator cuff surgery written all over it." Think about this. I could make "violent delivery" become the MLB version of the NBAs "long wingspan." I'm gonna make this happen, sort of like The National Geographic Channel is trying to make Nat Geo happen...

And lastly, on Marathon Monday while my friends and I were... Um... Watching the marathon (and listening to everyone cheer on the white girl), my sister and I talked about how not impressed we are by people who "finish" the marathon. My brother in law Matt then asked, "well, what are you two impressed by?" A fair question. Here's a few of my responses: Someone who finishes the Sunday Globe Crossword; a person who plays an instrument; the guy who created Stuff White People Like; someone who was valedictorian of their class and never mentions it until I've known them for five years; a person who DOESN'T talk about how smart their children are; someone who asks me how my day is; a person who plays Abel on the jukebox at Magouns; a person who gets a Seinfeld, Pulp Fiction, or Swingers quote; Chuck Klosterman; a person who knows multiple languages; whoever invented flavored vodka; someone who knows Geography; Mariano Rivera; awesome snow boarders; Randy Shugart and Gary Gordon; people who laugh at The Far Side; pilots; people who read The Atlantic Monthly and don't talk about reading The Atlantic Monthly; the inventor of chocolate chip pancakes; people who think Cranium is overrated and boring; someone who is really good at funneling beers; Ken Jennings; Bostonians who like Joe Torre; Nick Hornby; and people who understand and appreciate my irrational hatred of coconut...