Dickhead of the Week - Biology

Biology is at it again.

As someone who's suffered from migraines my entire life, I don't mind telling you that this article terrifies the shit out of me.

Nutshell version: Migrainers are more likely to suffer heart attacks and strokes.

Because, you see, it's not enough to suffer excruciating pain, spastic vision, and nausea on a regular basis.

Fuck you, Biology. First you give me a C in high school. Now you kill me.

You, Biology, are this week's Dickhead.

It's OK, Buddy

I've discussed Mets fans before. There's a desperation there that occasionally I feel, too. I admit it.

At Tuesday night's game, there was a youngish fella whose life depended upon the outcome.

In the 10th inning, when the Mets went down 1-0, this is what he looked like:


In the 12th inning, after Endy's bunt single won it, he looked like this:


Dude, it's OK. It's one game on a Tuesday night at Shea Stadium. Just one of 162. I'm thrilled they won, too. But it's only April. You're killing yourself.

We're Now a Two-Mets-Cap Household

The missus got us some free tickets to this past Tuesday night's Mets game. I tell you, the missus is a fine woman. And the seats may have been the best I've ever had at Shea. Ten rows from the field about thirty feet behind first base. Carlos Delgado is a large fella.

We were so damned close to the action that the missus' napkin ended up on the field.


I'll limit the talk about the game itself to saying that it was the best game of the year so far, with a come-from-behind victory in 12 innings sparked by some outstanding pitching and a couple of bench players.

We also took my Mets money for a spin. It's been burning a hole in my pocket. Foot-long Nathan's and a big fucking Pepsi in a souvenir cup. Then we dropped by the Mets Clubhouse Shop on the field level.

The missus thinks that Shawn Green's a cutie, so she was considering a #20 ladies jersey. I told her that his wasn't the best jersey in which to invest, as he probably wouldn't be here beyond this season. But she has yet to enjoy the excitement of Jose Reyes in person, and no one wants to be Mrs. Wright yet this season.

Alyssa Milano has a new line of baseball fashion for ladies, but we didn't stop for very long at that rack. You might be surprised to learn that her designs are a bit on the trashy side. The missus is not trashy.

So we focused on caps. There were some decent caps for ladies. And she almost went with a nice light blue number made out of a light cotton. But much to the missus' credit, she said, "But what about the caps that look like what the players wear." I swear to Christ, a tear nearly came to my eye.

For some reason, men's caps are huge. I've mentioned this in a previous (and recent) posting. The missus' head was positively swimming in them.

Then, off to the side, almost hidden from view, we saw it. From the Cooperstown Collection. I assume that means it's a classic design, but it didn't look familiar to me. Granted, I didn't pay much attention to the Mets in the 70s.

Still, this cap is beautiful. I'm almost jealous. I mean, I love my new Official Mets Batting Practice Cap, complete with racing stripe and NASCAR style, but the missus found a hat I've never seen anyone else wear. It's simple and lovely.

It's also adjustable, which means that I can wear it when the missus isn't looking.

Dachshunds, Dachshunds Everywhere!

A few months ago, I mentioned the semi-annual Parade of the Dachshunds. Well, in celebration of yesterday's gorgeous spring day in New York City, the dachshunds came out to play once again in Washington Square Park.

This is the second time I've made a point of attending the Dachshund Parade, but my fifth attendance overall. It seems I've got a sixth sense for weenie dogs, perhaps acquired during my formative years while we had our own dachshund in the house.

Overall, I'd say this was a slightly less exciting Parade. Costumes were fewer and tamer, and the organizers were a little slow to gather the people together to sing the Dachs Song.

Still, it was well worth the time and trip, as the following photos will attest. Dachshunds, by the way, are not easy to photograph. They have a bit of a hard time standing still, particularly when there are so many asses-at-nose-level to sniff.

Some dogs don't seem to amused to be the subject of such humiliation:



Others are perfectly happy:



Some dachshunds make political statements:



Note that this little sailor's on a hot dog leash, which is making him salivate:


Then there are the dachshunds that are just being dachshunds:

Your Cell Phone Is Killing Bees

As many of you may know, it is my goal to be the last New York City resident without a cell phone. I've been accused of being stupid, Luddite, contrary, and (perhaps most frustrating to some) unreachable. The only reason I don't want a cell phone is that I don't like them.

I have myriad reasons for not liking cell phones: I don't like talking on the phone in general, I want to be truly unreachable sometimes, I believe in making plans, the worst pedestrians are usually on the phone, there's no goddamn peace anywhere a phone is allowed, cell phones kill bees, and more.

That's right: there's now some hard evidence linking radiation from cell phones to Colony Collapse Disorder, which has wiped out between 60% and 70% of apiaries on both US coasts. Watch the price of honey explode first. Then sit back in wonder as the pollination process declines. As the article points out, Albert Einstein said that once the bees disappear, humankind has four years of life left. Good times.

And as if I needed more reasons to stay away from cell phones, the bottom of the linked article also proposes still-unproven theories (only because long-term effects can't be known yet) of health problems caused by handsets, including brain tumors, low sperm counts, the death of brain cells resulting in early senility, and "text thumb."

Text thumb? Text thumb?!

It's only a matter of time before cell phones are proven to cause homosexuality, premarital sex, and abortion.

Enjoy your cell phones, everybody! You can reach me at home on my goddamn land line. Although I probably won't pick up. So email me instead.

Aw, crap. I bet my wireless internet is killing bees, too. I'm going back to bed.

Me Likey the Mets Money

In what might be becoming an annual tradition, Ma got me some Mets Money for Christmas. Use it like cash anywhere at Shea Stadium! Thanks again, Ma!

A few weeks ago I "won" a lottery giving me the opportunity to buy tickets to the Mets home opener (the second-to-last home opener at Shea Stadium). So I scheduled a day off from work and lined my pockets with Mets Money, waiting for the moment to arrive. It was this past Monday.

The game was great, etc. Come-from-behind victory and lots of booing on Jimmy Rollins' head. Exciting.

But e'en more exciting was that I used some Mets Money to buy myself my first-ever properly-licensed, not-given-out-for-free-at-the-stadium Mets cap. It was 40-degrees at game time, so I was wearing my pirated knit Mets stocking cap, and the freebie FoxSports Met cap has been long ruined by my sweaty tendencies.

Inside my souvenir stand MasterCard-sponsored gift bag, however, was the most exciting purchase I've ever made at Shea (and more exciting than the Carvel ice cream in souvenir mini-helmet is pretty goddamned exciting): The Official Mets Batting Practice Cap.

I've tried to buy Mets caps before. But the official caps have always been too square for my head. They look absolutely ridiculous on me. As you can see, this Official Mets Batting Practice Cap has a rounded top. It lays nicely over my bald dome.

Plus, the Official Mets Batting Practice Cap is kind of tacky. Note the orange racing stripe and the black stretchy material above the ear. It gives it a sort of NASCAR feel. Most of the other people wearing this cap at Shea on opening day were giant Italian dudes. I like fitting in with the giant Italian dudes.

During spring training I read an article about how some of the players hate the newly designed Official Mets Batting Practice Caps. This is another reason I like it. It's controversial. Like Imus only not racist.

But perhaps the biggest reason to love my Official Mets Batting Practice Cap is its technology. It wicks sweat away from one's head. As I mentioned, it was sweat that ruined my freebie cap. I'm a sweater. No denying it. It might be snowing at the beginning of this baseball season, but eventually, it will be nearly 100-degrees, and I'm gonna need help keeping my poor, bald head dry. My white-trash Official Mets Batting Practice Cap will do that for me.

I wear a cap of some sort every day (I have to protect my tender scalp from the sun during my walk across the Brooklyn Bridge). And I've been working at the new job since the end of September. In the cooler weather, I've been wearing a Scottish tartan wool golfing cap or a stocking cap to protect my ears.

So yesterday, when I put on my Official Mets Batting Practice Cap to leave for the day, the response I got from coworkers was, "You don't wear baseball caps!"

Oh, colleagues. I don't just wear baseball caps. I wear the Official Mets Batting Practice Cap.

I Thought Seals Were Lazy

Long-time readers (first-time commenters?) might remember a little post from September 2005 about Hurricane Katrina allegedly letting loose counter-terrorism-trained dolphins into the Gulf of Mexico. The US military would neither confirm nor deny the reports.

We still may not know what happened to those dolphins, but this week, the US Navy unveiled 75 dolphins and 25 sea lions at a military base in San Diego that have been trained to detect terrorists and underwater mines.

The crazy part? They work together. The article states:

Working in unison, the dolphins can drop a flashing light near a mine or a swimmer. The sea lions carry in their mouths a cable and a handcuff-like device that clamps onto a terrorist's leg.

Now those are some fucking Navy Seals.

Happy Easter!

As you tuck into your leg of lamb this evening, I hope you'll remember the true meaning of Easter.

For when the angel rolled the stone away, and Jesus presented his resurrected self to those still mourning his death, his first words were, "I've been to hell and back, so give me some freakin' chocolate." They did, and behold: it was good.

So gorge on chocolate, dear readers. It comes in many delicious forms, and any should be considered appropriate for Easter:

Chocolate kisses, chocolate nuggets, chocolate eggs, chocolate bunnies, high-end chocolate, low-end chocolate, domestic chocolate, imported chocolate, fair-trade chocolate, children-made chocolate, organic chocolate, conventional chocolate, liquid chocolate, solid chocolate, molten chocolate, powdered chocolate, bittersweet chocolate, semisweet chocolate, milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate, pure chocolate, peanut butter and chocolate, coconut and chocolate, fruit and chocolate, caramel and chocolate, peanuts and chocolate, hazelnuts and chocolate, almonds and chocolate, toffee and chocolate, nougat and chocolate, chocolate bars, chocolate cookies, chocolate brownies, chocolate cake, chocolate pie, chocolate creme brulee, chocolate wafers, chocolate chips, chocolate shavings, chocolate ribbons, chocolate drizzle, chocolate icing, chocolate ganache, chocolate-covered cherries, chocolate-covered blueberries, chocolate-covered espresso beans, chocolate-covered graham crackers, chocolate-covered cornflakes, chocolate-covered Cheerios, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and fudge.

It's Easter, and Jesus ate the chocolate, thus fulfilling Isaiah's prophecy. So if you don't eat some chocolate, you're being a bad Christian.

Xady Watch - Remember Who!

Faithful B&E readers will remember Xavier Nady or "Who," whom the Mets traded in a panic last season. Poor Who, who had carried the Mets' offense during a couple of small slumps for the potent lineup, went from playing for the first-place Mets to the last-place Pirates.

Who, who remains in Pittsburgh this season, has been instrumental to the Pirates' early success. For the first time since 1802 (I think), the Pirates got themselves off to a 3-0 start, and in two of those games our old friend Who, in whom the manager has great faith, hit home runs.

Who, whose career batting average hovers around .267, is batting .267 so far this season. But those two homers deserve some love here at B&E. And while Xady Watch will certainly not be a regular feature any longer (after all, I heart the Mets), Who, whom I remember fondly, will remain on the radar.

And wouldn't it be just grand if Who, who plays in the weak National League Central Division, led the small-market Pirates to the post-season? I mean, OK, we're just four games into the season, and the Pirates have now lost a game, but a large-market fan can dream, no?

Who can lead better than Who? If not Who, whom?

(Please don't analyze for grammar. I'm still recovering from my platform vomiting, and I'm fighting a migraine this morning.)

A Tip For Commuters

Those of us that live in New York and ride the subway during rush hour know how crowded trains and platforms can get.

I learned something last night that I offer to you, dear B&E readers, for free:

If you throw up into one of those bomb-proof trashcans on the platform, your fellow riders will give you quite a wide berth.

All the space you could want. I recommend it.

Now That's Rock-n-Roll

Dude. Keith Richards snorted his father.

He's still got it.