Lucy, Lemme 'Splain You Something

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SPRT
Love January. Love it. The five feature headlines in my local sporting green today:
Super Bowl hype.
Tennis.
Memorabilia. (??)
Golf.
Professional lacrosse.

This ubiquity of terrible, terrible entertainment (plus, I'm a Warriors fan, if there can be such a thing) is almost cancelled out by snowboarding season. Sweet fuckin' action! Except that my weekends are spent here in town, waiting tables. And I'm new, so I've been getting screwed, bigtime, right and left. And yeah, my coworkers know I write this.

WRK
One thing about waitering (waitering? waiting? Only girls are "waitressing," and "serving" sounds like you're a fluffer) is you get the world's best five second conversations, like the single-serving friends in Fight Club. (A doctor tells Terrell Owens he can't play in the Super Bowl on his bad ankle. Owens says he wants a second opinion. So the doctor says, "Okay, you're an asshole.") And, as an even newer coworker pointed out -- and admittedly, his perspective is badly skewed by not drinking -- there's no better job for making you a racist. In a town deeply stricken by cultural diversity, I speak only from experience:

CHINESE: Tip a flat 8-10%, no matter how subtly, or boldly, you indicate that 15's pretty much the starting point. They also have a charming method of exclusively nonverbal interaction. They enjoy holding up dirty plates so you're forced to do extra shit at their whim, screwing up their own dining experience by throwing off your timing. They order by pointing at something somewhere on the menu, forcing you to bend and squint to see what they might possibly want. They will not look at you or in any way acknowledge your presence as they do these things, at least until they raise one hand as you take another table's order, with a look like you just peed on their car. Otherwise, if you were replaced by a six foot tall dildo, they would act exactly the same, except, perhaps, to forego that little remark on the way out.

BLACK: Yes, we have free refills. Yes, you can have separate checks (if I'm feeling generous.) Yes, I can bring two extra forks. No, our straws are not "messed up;" no, we do not have some different straws. Yes, I can bring one more fork. Yes, I can bring three more napkins. What, you needed to space this out at ten-second intervals? Try and avoid letting these people see you at all; if they do, they feel obliged to call you over for something else. They will start at 15%, but love to penalize for shit you can't control, to show they've got the power, for once. And you have to chase them down at the end of the meal because they try to pay at the host stand.

MEXICAN: Actually it's kind of cute, because they don't know how to dine out. So as often as not, they're shy about it: for instance, the free refills are like Christmas (which lasts like five weeks down there, right?) So what you usually get is a party of eight, totaling three appetizers (to share,) two entrees (to share,) plenty of bread and water refills to piss off your busser, who's also Mexican, and a bunch of soda refills because you can't resist their grateful stares. Generally they're very nice, and would certainly tip if they knew it was part of the process.

FRENCH: Ah, the French. Everyone loves the French. I speak French. I lived in France. You have to understand about the French: they love food and drink like life itself, and they gave up on any notion of a hard edge shortly after Napoleon. IF everything is the very finest, and IF everything is done just right, and IF you discuss their country, their language, and their politics intelligently and at great length, they're guaranteed the best time of their lives. By the time they leave, you'll hear their sincere thanks, shrug off their preposterous snobbery, and applaud yourself for spending that extra time schmoozing, when you should have been running table fourteen's lemon drops. Of course, it's only after they leave that you realize your new best friends still tip in Chinese.

AND A FRIENDLY NOTE TO EVERYONE: WE'RE TAXED ON SALES. So "not believing in" tipping, ala Reservoir Dogs, is one thing already... but if you order anything at all, the government assumes you ARE tipping, so if you don't, we LOSE money. (And by the way, due also to this custom of tipping, waiters are on the clock at a fraction of minimum wage almost everywhere in the US. And as for those 15 minute breaks every four hours that are required by law? Are you even serious?) Believe me, I've done it bunches of places, and waiting tables involves more intelligence, precision, dexterity, planning, athleticism, and high-speed tightrope walking than whatever job YOUR lazy ass does. So cut us a break.

Oh -- and you may not believe it, but as far as I can tell, the spitting, peeing, etc. in your food myth is just that, a myth.

But don't test us. We're passive-aggressive as shit.

THE DOLLAR FUND: For all you starving waiters at your less classy establishments -- let's just say, hypothetically, Chevy's Fresh Mex (neither Fresh nor Mex) -- I'm starting up a charity called The Dollar Fund. See, a lot of times, you get a bad tip that, for just a dollar more, would have been a good tip. (For instance, on a $21 check: $3 tip=13%; whereas, $4 tip=19%.) In these cases, The Dollar Fund will pick up those last 100 pennies.

Our funding comes from a tax on stupid people having babies.

MR

QWTOFDY
"Look. The people you are after are the people you depend on. We cook your meals. We haul your trash. We connect your calls. We drive your ambulances. We guard you while you sleep. DO NOT FUCK WITH US."
-Fight Club

Quick, Dirty

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TOO
A final (God I hope) followup on my recent topic -- just so you get the idea:

For the last week I've injested a steroid-based "cream" through the webbing between my toes.

--See,
I have a little case of athlete's foot. Which you generally treat with hydrocortizone. Which is a steroid.

Just to keep you thinking.

In other words: "drugs AND alcohol?" In the dictionary under "redundant" it says, "See 'redundant.'"

MR

QWTOFDY
"The most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed."
-Stephen Biko

Martin Brags

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BRG
So, I don't want to brag, but I see that bare minutes after I dredged up that tired old Romanowski tale, the very same story "broke" nationally that he was being sued for millions after all, and that "'roid rage" fueled his behavior. Literally front page. (One detail of the story I missed: the scrubini is actually claiming brain damage. So Romo still packs a punch.)

Again: leave it at that.

So, if I were you, I'd email me pronto and hire me for an investigative sports journalism thing. The really high paying kind. You know, Kennesaw Mountain Landis meets Kenneth Starr.


SPRT
Since the 'roids are still on mind, a brief follow-up to yesterday's McGwire-vs.-Barry post. Mentioned it over whiskey to my roommate, and he had a classic answer: it's the honesty thing. Mac fessed up, the man said, and that made all the difference. Hey, even Tonya Harding confessed eventually. Under pressure. (I forgot to ask him exactly how he felt about the pillar of salt where Jason Giambi was just a moment ago.)

At the risk of giving Mac too much credit, THAT story broke as follows:

McGw: [Walks into St. Louis pharmacy. Buys three bottles of andro from Pharmacist. Briefly notices Guy waiting on another 'roid scrip. Hemorrhoids, in fact.]

Guy: Hey - you're Mark McGwire!

McGw: [Looks around.] Yeah, I guess so.

Guy: Hey - I see those bottles in your hand contain the steroid precursor androstendione!

McGw: Uh... yeah. It's for a friend. My kid. Actually. Little fucker outweighs me already.

Guy [flexing]: Hell, this ain't Olympic track and field. That shit ain't even banned yet.

McGw: Oh. [Beat.] In that case... [Leans down toward Guy. Stage-whispers:] It's for ME!

Guy: Kinda figured. [Indicates McGw's biceps.] Can I touch 'em?


So as you see, McGwire was completely cornered, and only admitted it because others knew already, and because, in the town of touchy-feely baseball love, toting a squeaky-clean image, he didn't have much to lose. (NOTE: he also had Sammy Sosa cast as Happy Sambo Panza.]

Are we saying Barry should have introduced us to The Cream and The Clear in 2k1? With his image?

And that's it for today. Remember, you hear it here first! DAMN it's dull being right all the time.

MR

FACTOFDY
Buecase yuor eeys raed wodrs as a gruop, not one lteter at a tmie, I can sitwch the oredr of any but the frsit and lsat ltetres of a wrod, and yuol'l unrsetdnad waht I maen. As mcuh as uusal, awnayy. Tahkns to "Anut Besty" for taht one.

QWTOFDY
"Life is funny / Skies are sunny / Bees make honey."
-Ten Years After

MR Singlehandedly Breaks Down Sports-Related Societal Misconceptions for your Viewing Pleasure

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SPRT
Two things to cover today, from two uniquely American institutions: namely, the NFL and MLB. We're here to talk about the things worth talking about that no one's talking about.

Thing One: Barrett Robbins. You remember, his team's trying to catch a few winks before their Super Bowl game, and Robbins is incommunicado, tying one on south of the border. Brutal for public relations, of course, not to mention teammate relations.

Now, this Super team happens to be the Al Davises -- I mean, Raiders. The same Raiders, in fact, that saw notorious juicehead (more on this below) Bill Romanowski sucker-punch a teammate on the field, breaking the guy's orbital bone (eye socket) and more or less ending his career... and disciplined Romanowski by boldly implying that he shouldn't do it again. (WHY? Romo was a starter. This guy was a backup. And if that sounds cynical, suppose the scenario were reversed..?)

So, needless to say, Robbins, despite offseason admissions of bi-polar disorder and alcoholism, was eventually welcomed back into the fold, and by midseason was starting again.

That would have been a nice ending for everyone, of course. For Robbins, the Raiders, and the NFL. Oh yeah -- and for Robbins' family.

Of course, if you haven't heard, a crazed Robbins recently attacked several police officers, was shot through the heart, and is currently strapped down to a hospital bed. He remains in critical condition, and his wife thinks he lost the will to live months ago.

Now, I hate tossing around allegations, so let's just say Robbins never used steroids. Let's say, in fact, that he never used any illegal supplements, was not asked to grotesquely distort his body and mortgage his physical future for another productive year or two, was never encouraged to harbor and feed his own aggressive tendencies.

Of course, that would make Robbins the first NFL player in decades (ever) to avoid these influences. So I'll give you your pick: he did these things, as many other players continue to do -- or, if you prefer, he's immune.

Now: what kind of support do you think the NFL will give him?

A pension? Probably. Because, again, he was a pretty good player, not a scrubini. So toss him the pension; he earned it with his service time. How about health coverage? Maybe, if it comes with the contract, is guaranteed by insurance the Raiders already pay for anyway, and doesn't include the things it doesn't include.

Those naughty mental health issues, for instance, which enjoy the same locker room cachet as, say, hardcore gay porn. And how about an investigation? A probe, a study, some sort of reassurance that the NFL would hate to see this happen again to one of their own?

I'd better just stop here. Scan the news. And if you see any such gesture from the league -- please, email me.


SPRT2
...Although really this is the same subject. For starters:

Q: Why is a pretty reasonable steroid deterrent program now in place in Major League Baseball?
A: Because the players, aware of the Robbinses, the Romos, the Lyle Alzados (or have we forgotten him completely?), not to mention the Cansecos and Ken Caminitis (oops - didn't he just fatally O.D. after his little confession?), don't want to be subject to the pressures of juiced competition.

Q: Why are greenies (illegal amphetamines, probably five to ten times as popular in baseball as the 'roids) still completely sheltered from the recent purge?
A: Why do you think? Or, to answer a question with a question,
A: What's the strongest labor union in the United States over the past 30 years?
A: That's right, the Major League Baseball Players Association. Someone still likes their mother's little helpers.

AND:

There's something else at play here. How about a little free association. Ready?

Me: Steroids in baseball.

You: _______________

If you said "Barry Bonds" or "home run record," you're right there with most of America. Now, let me ask you the following questions.

- Why did MLB leak the names of Bonds, Sheffield, Giambi, et al? Remember, theirs was SECRET testimony. And, just like the coke scandal of the 70's (and lest we forget), no player is on trial here. But MLB's motives are just peripheral. After all, it only does what the players (or rather union leader Don Fehr, sometimes beyond even the players' wishes, as in this case) allow it to do. So how about this:

- In two years, Mark McGwire becomes eligible for the Hall of Fame. Though his credentials are not as good as Bonds', his record home run push of the late 90's just about assures him first-ballot election.

Or do you think there will be a massive steroid stink?

What's that? McGwire was never caught using steroids? Well, actually that's true. He wasn't caught, exactly, because he admitted it. Think about it:

Big Mac: Took a steroid precursor (a little like foods that claim "no cholesterol" because your body turns them into cholesterol after you ingest them) called androstendione that, despite prevailing laws of other sports and nations, was not a banned substance in baseball at that time. The same guy who hugged his chunky kid after mashing the record spent late-season press conferences explicitly telling other kids not to do the drugs he was currently doing. The next season, MLB quietly added andro to its banned list.

Barry: Same scenario. Essentially a steroid, technically not illegal at the time. Only differences: we're not actually sure Barry took them; and if he did, we're not acutally sure he knew what they were. Sure, these differences may sound ticky-tack to those who believe he's guilty, but remember: with McGwire, we've got the horse's mouth.

- Now, the big question. If McGwire and Barry both broke the same HR record, if they both used a suspect supplement that should have been illegal but wasn't... well, why is Barry's name synonymous with asterisks and scandal, and McGwire's with wholesomeness and power?

Again, answer the question with a question.

Q: What basic differences, particularly those that contribute to public image, can we think of between Barry and Mac?

A: Only two.

One: Barry's kind of an asshole. Particularly earlier in his career, he earned a reputation for being standoffish -- although his current teammates almost universally like and respect him, and he's never faced any sort of legal trouble at all.

Two: Barry's black.

I'm going to let this one stand on its own, too. And it goes without saying: "I'm not the race-card type." But again: you do the math. And ask yourself, when McGwire glides on Crisco into the hallowed Hall, exactly what it is he's thankful for.

MR

QWTOFDY
"The second one was to let you know I meant the first one."
-Don Newcomb on throwing at batters

Martin goes all Oh say can you see

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POL
Off my chest –

Okay, normally I can't stand polls or pollsters, but this one drips with irony. CNN cries: “Poll: Nation split on Bush as uniter or divider.” Apparently, 49% of us think he is, the other 49% thinks he’s not. In October, it was 48%-48%.

What’s the answer for a question that answers itself?

Ever hear the trial lawyer’s axiom, that you never ask a question unless you already know the answer?

An’ ain’t that just like a woman.


+POL
Anyway, yesterday’s column seems kinda pissy, almost in a John Mardis way, and I thought I’d spin the dial, so for today, I’ll actually tackle something really important that is never properly recognized. Give me five hundred words.

The operative word is “properly.” And the topic is the US. In a land where your bumper sticker speaks for you, sets your gray sedan further apart from my blue one, no one’s of the same opinion, but everyone’s of exactly the same way of speaking, of thinking.

Partisan is a dirty word. So is fuck -- but people do plenty of it anyway. Everyone is accused of having an agenda, maybe because everyone does have an agenda. This dates back to when politics was who got to do the cave paintings while the others had to go kill a mammoth.

Maybe you have to go out of this country, and look in. And I can tell this is one of those things, for me personally, that it’s hard not to be even partly bitter about.

But we have the greatest agriculture. Richest cultural history. Bravest loyalists. Scientists. Hollywood, New York, the Golden Gate, the Indy 500. And, like him or lump him, I don’t see Arnold coming to run for governor in your country.

We could claim that we’ve done about as much good in the world as anyone could or did in our short history. We threw back Hitler. Got a New Deal. And for every scene out of The Untouchables or Bang the Drum Slowly, there’s been a stout chest, a determined swagger, a little tug at the crotch.

We have the most freedoms. We do! Of course we try and give it to everyone else. Even if we’re sometimes the cat who was “just playing with” the mouse, people should know what it feels like to walk down Bourbon street holding five hurricanes at 3 am, or rattling off the list of worldwide celebrities you live near, or even – and I do hate to say this – to pull off the bootstraps thing as well as Condoleezza Rice.

Look, I’m obviously not rah-rah about the Red White and Blue, but I tried living anywhere else myself, and couldn’t even make it out of my own home town.

Have you ever traveled in this country? I don’t mean flown over it. To get in a car or on a bike and do the miles – well, let's just say: Easy Rider, Fear and Loathing, and the ending of The Graduate. And you meet the craziest people!

Other folks' billboards are funny, or confusing. Their cops are assholes in new and different ways. And if you ever want to know where you are, get directions. I mean, you don’t have to listen to the words themselves; just the local brogue. In fact, in half the nation you can basically count the “y’alls" and get within a zip code.

They only eat the dish called peas and peanuts – which is also made with plenty of mayonnaise, and sometimes whipped cream, too – in Mount Pleasant, Michigan. (The people live up to the name. The cuisine – well, it’s almost as good as it sounds.)

So no, it’s not unpatriotic to criticize. And the spread of McDonalds and Britney Spears is maybe not a good thing. But take it for what it is: probably the best country on Earth.

Now finish your dinner, or it’s no drive-through hurricanes for you.

MR

QWTOFDY
“The opposite of a shallow truth is false. But the opposite of a deep truth is also true.”
-Niels Bohr

The Truth -- Upways, Backwards, and Forwards

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FLM
100 Things you should do / see instead of watching Sideways

Well, the Oscars are coming up, and it’s time to say what only the true visionaries have been thinking: Sideways blew. Yes, it gave us a wonderful naked running man – wonder what that casting session was like – but I found myself as if eight joes deep early Monday. But my jitters didn’t come pounding cappuccinos. It's just that I was so bored I was ready to cut myself.

It’s all very nice to have the talented Paul Giamatti – who I guess doesn’t play up that his father was the late A. Bartlett, President of Yale and Poet-Commissioner of baseball – running around complaining about things. It’s a natural, almost like Tuturo in a new Coen Brothers movie. But it’s all downhill from there.

First of all, can you stop it with the Pinot Noir? It’s like those ubiquitous Cheryl Crow songs – a solid premise, then five minutes of pounding it smoothly down your yap. We get it. And I don’t know about Lowell being a best supporting, for that matter. The Dude meets Keanu is all well and good, like surviving that one Wilson brother in Old School – I know I’m not making any friends here – but it hardly beats out, uh, whomever else has been nominated.

See, that’s the other thing about the Oscars. While I’m at it. It’s so full of pomp, I don’t know how to put it… Ultimately, you have to watch because of those Adrian Brody moments.

Then they give you Joan Rivers.

100 Things you should do / see instead of watching Sideways

1- Comb a pony
2- Punch a donkey
3- Call your mother
4- Execute a retarded person (Texas only)
5- Stomp your own grapes instead
6- Mars Attacks
7- Check out http://twinkiesproject.com
8- If the donkey runs at you, you should avoid her dangerous hooves
9- Clip toenails (ladies: pluck eyebrows)
10- Watch Matrix 2 – wait, no, Sideways does have its redeeming moments


Check back later. I prommmise to give you the next 90.

MR

QWTOFDY
"History is history; the future is perfect."
-Orel Hershiser

MARTIN ROWICKY IS VERY TALENTED

MARTIN ROWICKY IS VERY TALENTED

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INTR
Writing. It's like being naked on the stage, isn't it?
It's not. Don't just tell me what you think I want to hear.
What else I know: the cliche is a lost art. I'm here to make you stop and smell the insert joke. This website hereby pledges to uphold proper adoration and exercise of the cliche, along with the innuendo, the exaggeration, the Reagan Passive Voice, the barbaric yaup, and the Frumious Bandersnatch.

And if you've got all that, step on in. You can skip the crap parts.

MR


OBSRVATNS 1/19/2k5

POL
Not the biggest, but the first, headline on CNN.com tonight is: CONDI RICE FIELDS TOUGH QUESTIONS. Is that all, she fields them? It's certainly accurate, though: the tough questions being asked would be headline fucking news.
A good word: got roped into a political conversation at a party last night - always ill-advised and purely a last-ditch effort on my part - and all three of us wound up walking away perfectly happy. See? Alcohol pacifies a person.

ME
I’m reading old journals. Man, I was a prick when I was a kid.

MU
Dusty Springfield’s Spooky cover from the Lock Stock soundtrack. I remember talking with a girl in college – smile if you’re out there, Ginny – about what would go on a killer bedroom mix. John Cusack’s character did it, kind of, in High Fidelity. I will say, the flick sent me running out for Marvin’s Gaye’s whole Let’s Get It On.

QWTOFDY
"I kept wondering, 'Why can't you just believe what I told you, whether it's the truth or not?'"
-Jeff Kent