Breaking News: My Head Is Up My Butt!

More than two years after its debut, my Dickhead of the Week posting about former ExxonMobil CEO Rex Tillerson continues to get (and play!) the hits. But for once, anonymous has aimed his (or her!) observational sites not on my writings about Rex but on my brief aside regarding Halliburton's CEO David Lesar. Anonymous comments:

If "CEO of Halliburton ... profiting off the death and destruction of soldiers and civilians alike." is true, then all the construction workers over there making $10 to $30 and hour are doing the same thing. As well are the folks back home who work for companies that make products that are used by soldiers over there. If you took your head out of your butt you could see that.

You really told me, anonymous! Sing it anonymously from the rafters!

OK, so seriously, anonymous (if that is indeed your name). You're going to anonymously (i.e. cowardly) defend Halliburton? You don't see an enormous difference between working people doing a job and the executives who determine where their profits come from?

And you don't find it outrageous that Halliburton is paying "$10 to $30 and hour" (if we assume your information is more accurate than your word choice) for the truly dangerous work being done in a war zone, while the CEO sits in the safety of his office and builds his personal fortune on their backs and, yes, from the death and destruction of soldiers and civilians alike?

Ah, well. I guess my head is up my butt for not pretending that CEOs and working people are totally the same.

I'm an Adolescent

Because it's a rainy day, making it difficult to do any work, I'm going to share with you the BBC headline causing my afternoon giggle:

Great tits cope well with warming

It's about birds. Grow up, dear B&E readers.

The BBC lobs it in; feel free to hit it out of the park. As for me, I'm enjoying the wheels churning inside my head more than any of the particular comments I have on the tips of my fingers.

Jury Duty, Emphasis on Duty

I had jury duty this week. Queens works a little differently than the other boroughs (I think) in that everyone's on telephone standby. So beginning last Friday, I called in after 5:00 pm to see if I needed to report the following business day. I finally had to go to the jury room yesterday (Friday), on the last day I was eligible. Bummer, man.

Jury duty gives me mixed feelings. It's a time suck and tedious, but it's also a fascinating study of your fellow community members and a glimpse into the system (which I just accidentally typed as "symptom," a potentially interesting Freudian slip, if I'd had enough coffee to examine it).

This was Civil Court of Queens County out in Jamaica. Non-New Yorkers should be aware that Jamaica, Queens has little relation to the island of Jamaica, except perhaps that both are populated primarily with people of African descent. Jamaica, Queens (and there's just no other way to describe it) sucks. Especially once you venture off the main artery on which several court buildings reside, it's just not a place you want to be. Go to a Popeye's in another neighborhood if you've got a hankering for Popeye's.

Mostly you sit in the jury room with hundreds of other people who don't want to be there. In Jamaica they play movies. Over the course of the day I saw parts of Father of the Bride II, Sister Act, and Batman Returns. I'd say that this is an improvement to sitting through daytime TV, except that movies are actually harder to ignore. And even though Batman Returns is rather enjoyable, I was trying to use the time productively, and the movies sort of pissed me off.

Shortly before lunch, I got called as a potential juror. About 25 of us or so were to be interviewed by plaintiff and defense attorneys so that they could determine whether or not we'd be fair and impartial in deciding the outcome of a personal injury lawsuit.

The two lawyers embodied why lawyers have such a bad reputation in our country. The plaintiff was disorganized and (I'm sorry, but there's just no other way to put it) stupid. The defense was aggressive and smarmy. Both lawyers also wore the ugliest wedding rings I've ever seen. I could barely keep my eyes off of them, and I never did come to a decision about which one was uglier. I wonder what this says about me as a potential juror.

They drew names out of a wooden BINGO spinner, and I was the second person chosen. (They interview six at a time.) The plaintiff's attorney (who I will now call Repeat Questions, Esq.) asked each of us many questions, often more than twice each. His questions were unclear and vague, and I think he kept repeating them because our answers were only as clear as his questions. Repeat Questions, Esq. was asking us questions off of four different pieces of paper, like these were the questions some other attorneys had asked their potential jurors and had then provided Repeat Questions, Esq. with copies. By the time we broke for lunch he had gotten only through the first two of us.

After the lunch break it all continued. By this time the room was pretty hostile to Repeat Questions, Esq.

I sat on the jury of a civil trial about six years ago. We found for the defense. (The jury agreed that the woman probably had a case, but her lawyer hadn't done a good job of proving it. So we felt bad but we did our duty as the law required.) Repeat Questions, Esq. didn't ask me specifically about the case (maybe he wasn't allowed), but he asked if money damages were awarded in the case. I said no. He never asked if it was because we found for the defense, but based on the repeat questions Repeat Questions, Esq. asked me, I'd guess that he thought I was somehow in favor of tort reform.

This is where it started getting ridiculous. He'd mention (repeatedly) the idea of tort reform. Honestly, I think the vast majority of the room didn't know what tort reform was (the women on either side of me didn't). But he didn't actually ask me what I thought of tort reform. I'm against it, which I think he'd have liked. Instead he asked, after mentioning tort reform, if I had a problem awarding money damages based on the merits of the case. I said no each time. Then he'd ask someone else a repeat question, only to turn back to me and say, "So we've mentioned a little about tort reform..."

I was practically begging him to ask me my opinion of tort reform, but in spite of Repeat Questions, Esq.'s repeat questions, he never did.

Every time the lawyers left the room to confer, people would turn to me and say, "What is it with you and tort reform?" "I have no idea. He's not even asking if I'm for or against it."

It was exceptionally frustrating, and all I could think was that the plaintiff was truly screwed. Through stupidity and tediousness, Repeat Questions, Esq. was alienating his potential jurors. When Repeat Questions, Esq. finally finished with the first six (a couple of hours later, and I'm not exaggerating), the defense attorney (Smarmy Aggressor, Esq.) took over.

Now I'm under the impression that they're not allowed to argue their cases in front of us during jury selection during which a judge is not present, but Smarmy Aggressor, Esq. spent most of his time disputing the claims of Repeat Questions, Esq. He even disagreed with Repeat Questions, Esq.'s interpretation of the blindfolded lady holding the scales of justice outside the building.

Finally, Smarmy Aggressor asked each of us leading questions to which there was only one right answer (e.g. "You can do that, right?") and spent a little time buttering each of us up.

On my turn, for example, he said, "Your wife is a music therapist, right?"
"Yes."
"Have you seen her at work?"
"Sure. Actually, I'm not sure." (Sessions are, after all, confidential and private.)
"They do amazing--AMAZING!--work. I have a disabled son, and his music therapist has worked MIRACLES! with him."

Sounds nice, right? The problem is that I can't quite capture Smarmy Aggressor, Esq.'s tone. It was smarmy and aggressive. So I quietly agreed with him that yes, the missus does amazing work.

"You really have to--HAVE TO!--watch her work some time."
"OK." (I didn't mention that sessions are confidential and private.)

A moment of levity during Smarmy Aggressor, Esq.'s questioning: He was trying to make sure that the jury wouldn't be prejudiced against a medical expert who was being paid to take the stand. "If you understand that the medical expert is being paid for his TIME! and not his OPINION!--being paid for his OPINION! is WRONG!--would you have a problem with his testimony?"

The woman sitting next to me, a fellow Sunnysider to whom the question was not directed, muttered, "Is he getting more than forty bucks a day?" (That's the daily juror's payment, in case you don't get it.) Smarmy Aggressor, Esq. laughed, although he did it in a bit of a smarmy and aggressive way.

Once they were done interviewing the first six of us, they went into the hallway to converse. They're each allowed three dismissals without explanation. So if a Klan member is suing the insurance company for damages suffered to his burning cross, the Klan member's attorney can dismiss the black juror and doesn't have to say that it's because he's black. This gives the lawyers some latitude to follow their instincts and prejudices.

When they returned, they pulled my juror card (and one other) out of the paper clips on their clipboard and dismissed me. "What'd I do?" I asked. They didn't answer. I'm guessing it had to do with tort reform, not that I was ever once asked about actual tort reform. I took my stuff and went back down to the jury room to await the next potential trial.

And it never came. It was about 4:00 pm at this point on the Friday before a holiday weekend, and the next time my name was called it was to dismiss me from jury duty for the next six years. I called in for four days, served one day, and that's my duty.

Heh, I said duty.

Sunnyside Drugstore Update

Long-time readers will need to tolerate some exposition.

Sunnyside was once home to Bloom's, the finest pub around. It (and much of the block) burned to the ground. For years, the Bloom's half-block was a hole in the ground. Demolition/construction workers cracked the foundation of a neighboring building. Rumors of a cursed block wafted through the neighborhood (or at least on B&E).

The cursed block became a mostly unattractive apartment building with retail on the ground floor. Because we need our drugs here in Sunnyside, the retail space became a CVS.

That CVS has quickly become the shittiest drugstore in the neighborhood, and we've got one Rite Aid that redefined shitty.

I went into CVS today because the missus and I needed some new hair clippers. With two head-shavers in the family, we can burn through the $20 clippers. Anyway, the hair clippers were locked up (fair enough). There were more employees in that store than customers, and it still took a good ten minutes before someone could help me. There was a line clogging up the entire front of the store, and every time someone left, the alarm system went off. They had one employee standing by her register waving people through. And it just sort of feels dirty in there. Dirt-dirty and a little sleazy-dirty both.

In other words, dear B&E readers, that block remains cursed.

And I also really like linking to myself. (Those are just a couple of random selections.)

Some Quick Updates to B&E

I've been thinking of the many ways I could debunk Mitt Romney's claims to be the savior of the economy (beginning with the failed logic that someone who knows how to become individually super-rich will also be good for the people, the masses, the country), but instead I opted for some housecleaning on this here blog.

That's right, dear B&E readers: Link updates!

I won't tell you who's now gone, but suffice to say some of those people don't update their sites enough. Nothing personal against any of you who may still visit B&E, but I was getting tired of clicking on my own links to your sites only to find posts leftover from almost a year ago.

Because of the addition and subtractions, I've reorganized the links back into their original two categories: Bald & Effective.

Under Bald Links I give you bravenewfrickenworld. Why she's bald and why it's a bravenewfrickenworld will become clear upon reading. This woman can write her ass off, so be prepared for enlightening frankness.

Flabbypants I predict will be a baby/motherhood/why-do-my-nipples-hurt site for a while, which may interest some of you. The writer throws up the occasional gossip item as well, and she remains on the Bald Link list because for reasons I can't recall we decided she was going bald in high school. Hey, Flabbypants, were you going bald in high school?

Other than the missing, we've got the usual suspects, clickable over there to the right. A couple of reminders if you haven't checked them out lately. In addition to our new links above, under Bald Links:

Foster Park is a new photo link from a regular linked presence.
Frank Dodge continues his misadventures in the woods of Vermont.

On the Effective side of the links, I'm happy to introduce you to I Don't Know, which rather likes to ponder the larger questions in life and manages to find some genuine insight in her outlandish claims to not know. I'm onto you, I Don't Know.

Then, the other usuals under Effective Links:

Titivil offers smart snark in addition to his diligent posting schedule.
Virgil's always there with an absurdity (more frequent updates, please?).
bshort takes the pretty pictures.
Babble On keeps me up-to-date on life in Topeka.
Early-Adopter comments on the art world.
Hall Farm continues its terrific arts and education programming.
The Nation reminds us what all journalism should be.

And by the way, with my two lists a little unequal in size, I'd appreciate it if any of you Effective Links would be willing to admit that you're bald enough to be included in my Bald Links. Just let me know if you think you are bold and bald enough. I'm talking to you, The Nation.

How Many Five-Year-Olds Can You Take?

I can take twenty-four.

A colleague said I'm a heartless prick because I was willing to use a five-year-old as a human shield. "Look," I said, "I'm taking out five-year-olds. I'll put one on my front and one on my back if I have to. I'll wear armor made of dead five-year-olds if that's what it takes."

This is Scotland Calling

It's that time of year again, dear B&E readers, when instead of having no excuse for not writing, I have a perfectly good one. I'm heading out of town for a few days, and I don't expect there to be much happening here at B&E.

But hey, maybe one of my resolutions for 2008 will be posting more often than twice (and sometimes thrice) weekly. That'd be a worthy resolution. We'll see if I bother to resolve, and if I do bother, whether or not it sticks.

Whatever you celebrate, I hope you celebrate well. Git stuff't wi' ye Rabbie Burns kilt-wearin' selves on a plate o'haggis. And while that doesn't actually mean anything, it sure sounds Scottish to me.

I Have a Crush on Naomi Klein

The missus and I occasionally play that game, "If you weren't married to me, who would you like to marry?" For the missus, it's been Ciaran Hines and Matthew MacFadyen and other British fads of the day. Right now, though, it's James McAvoy.

You see, he's Scottish and handsome and has been in a Jane Austen-related film. Plus he's about to be in the film adaptation of Atonement, which is just about the finest novel around. If one believes buzz, then the film should be quite a good one. And I'm sure that James' performance will be solid and attractive. Yes, he's a fine choice for the missus.

For my money (not that I'd ever pay for it!) if I weren't married to the missus, I'd go with Naomi Klein.

Naomi is smart and writes one hell of a Nation column. And look at that smile! You can get high from that charisma!

I don't know much about economics, but I've had a hunch that this free-market, Milton Friedman, globalized approach to the world's monetary system is immoral. If I were trapped in a room with a free-marketeer/economic rapist, he or she would almost certainly argue me down to a little nub. Because I don't know shit.

Fortunately, for me, I have Naomi Klein to explain the logic behind my uninformed hunches and offer a promising alternative to globalization, currently taking place in South America.

Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez's government subsidies feature prominently in Naomi's piece, and I offer this gem for your enjoyment:

Chávez's many critics have derided these initiatives as handouts and unfair subsidies, of course. Yet in an era when Halliburton treats the US government as its personal ATM for six years, withdraws upward of $20 billion in Iraq contracts alone, refuses to hire local workers either on the Gulf Coast or in Iraq, then expresses its gratitude to US taxpayers by moving its corporate headquarters to Dubai (with all the attendant tax and legal benefits), Chávez's direct subsidies to regular people look significantly less radical.

Oh, Naomi, you know just what to say...

The thing that I like about Naomi Klein as my answer is that it demonstrates a certain depth to my crushes. James McAvoy could be an idiot. Maybe he's not, but who the hell knows? The missus' crush on James is based on looks and maybe a little talent. My crush is based on intellectual fervor and flawless politics and a hell of a smile.

I mean sure, I could choose Salma Hayek or Keeley Hawes, but then I couldn't also be smug in my answer. And I do love feeling superior.

More than that, though, I do love the missus.

Ian McEwan, Good With the Words

I've been reading fiction again. In recent months, it had been a struggle. Hell, I've always been a bit of a reluctant reader. As a kid, I much preferred playing outside. I couldn't keep my eyes on a page if my life depended on it. I couldn't take in the information. I'd flip pages and have no idea what I'd been reading.

It wasn't until college that I managed to begin really enjoying reading. Sometimes I would read standing up in my dorm room to keep from dozing off. Still, I was able to read books. Real books. It was a revelation to be riveted by 850 pages of Anna Karenina. I didn't think it was possible.

Still, reading's never been easy for me. Since college, just for the sake of continuing to read, I've been much more likely to pick up a "good read," rather than a "good book."

Which leads me to my point. I'm six years late, but I finally read Atonement by Ian McEwan. I bought the damned hardback when it came out in 2001, and except for my two attempts at reading it, it's been doomed to live a life on my bookshelf.

Meanwhile all my smart friends and the smart missus have told me how great this book is. E'en so, in my previous two attempts, I never made it past page thirty.

For some reason, on the third attempt, I was riveted from page one. It finally hooked me in a way it hadn't hooked me before.

And yes, it's fucking good. Read it.

I've read other McEwan books, and they've all been great. (A couple were more like "good reads," I admit. I'm thinking of you, The Innocent.) Atonement is my favorite.

McEwan not only has a deep understanding of human emotion but he's also able to express said understanding. Let's face facts: this is why he's a writer. Or rather, this is why he's a great writer.

Some of you may have heard of September 11th (sometimes known as "9/11" or "Giuliani's Political Ambition Realized"). It was a day that happened in 2001. Look it up.

I was here in NYC, and I heard the boom of the (second) plane, I saw the burning towers, and I saw some jumpers, and for quite some time after, I couldn't make any goddamn sense of what had happened. Who could?

Actually, Ian McEwan could.

To this day, it amazes me that the Guardian published Ian's essay on September 15th. So he wrote it on the 14th or earlier? Holy crap. If you're ready to journey back at all, read the man's essay, but I offer this tidbit to you, as it was this line that brought me to tears at the time:

There was really only one thing for her to say, those three words that all the terrible art, the worst pop songs and movies, the most seductive lies, can somehow never cheapen. I love you.

I was brought back to this line again while reading Atonement. It turns out that Ian borrowed it from himself for the essay. In the book, he uses the sentiment for a much smaller moment in the context of the world, but no less earth-shattering for his characters.

A film adaptation of Atonement comes out this fall. I implore you all to read the book first. Ian McEwan's writing makes us better people.

That Other B&E

Two words for you today, B&E readers: Bald Eagles.

Some say bald eagles represent America. But it's so much more. Bald eagles are the symbol of all things bald. They represent total liberty from hair. Freedom from follicles spread across their wings like peanut butter across a slice of Wonder Bread.

And good news! Now, bald eagles off the endangered species list.

It's grand that bald eagles are making a comeback. But the truly good news is that I can have one of these fellas in my home. I just have to go out and shoot the shit out of one, get it stuffed, and staple it to the wall.

As a bald man, I've earned a bald eagle. Hell, I've earned as many bald eagles as I can kill. They represent me. I am a bald American.

I Gotta Go to More Games

Anyone who's been paying attention lately will know that the Mets have been absolutely terrible during June. Yes, they're in first place still, but that's only because the rest of their division has been doing just as terribly.

But I have the answer to the Mets' woes. You see, I've been to six ballgames this season so far, and the Mets have won all six. Their overall record at home as of this morning is 19-18. Without my six games, they'd be 13-18.

I've sat all over the stadium - above the foul pole (as pictured), level with third base in the corporate seats, in the mezzanine above home plate, ten rows back from the field a few yards beyond first base, and smack in the middle of the upper deck. The result has always been the same: Mets win.

If my budget and schedule allowed, I'd be out at Shea every day. I could single-handedly win the Mets a World Series ring.

Cause for Celebration

Break out the Corona and lime and mash up some guacamole. Today's a day of celebration.

It's Cinco de Mayo, and I've never known why today is a day of celebration. All I know is that at every Cinco de Mayo party I've been to, while everyone else sucks down Coronas, I'm bogarting the avocado goodness. And regardless of the history of Cinco de Mayo (which I'm sure I could find on Wikipedia or somewhere else on this information superhighway some insist on calling the World Wide Web) I've got my own reason to celebrate...

The missus left her first comment ever on B&E.

That it was in response to another comment and not about my actual posting I will try not to take personally.

Welcome to B&E, missus. And thanks. You're not so bad 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.

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.

Idiot Me

So I totally forgot to bring a lunch-sized portion from my goddamn mammoth fucking pot of chili today.

What I Did Today

I tell you what: I've got one goddamn giant fucking pot of chili on the stove right now.

I was going to amuse you all today with a posting about how bald people are being stereotyped as evil in this season of 24, but instead I made this goddamn big fucking pot of chili.

I was also going to work on one of the writing projects I've got going in perpetuity, but nope: I made a goddamn gigantic fucking pot of chili.

I was also going to take a big chunk out of the novel I'm currently reading and maybe get started on the relatively new Mao biography, but instead I gots me a goddamn enormous fucking pot of chili on the stove.

If you think I'm not going to enjoy my goddamn massive fucking pot of chili this week you are sorely mistaken. It's a goddamn large fucking pot of chili, and it's going to be goddamn bloody fucking delicious.

All About Me and You

I've spent much of my spare time since the holiday known by Christians as Christmas doing two things:

The first is filling my iPod. This is time-consuming because my iPod is considerably larger than my computer (in terms of memory, not physical size). So I load a CD, transfer it onto my iPod, then erase it from my computer again. There's probably an easier and quicker way, but since I don't know what it is, this is how I'm doing it.

The other has been the retooling of B&E, which I mentioned in a previous post. Blogger is no longer in beta and can do things it couldn't before. So I've now labeled most of my previous 750+ posts with headings. Hilary, for example, has been wanting to read just my baseball writings for years. Now she can. In fact, if she wants to relive the play-by-play of my Mets live-blog during the playoffs, she can click on "Mets." Or if she wants to read all my non-Mets baseball writings, including my own baseball-playing adventures in Vermont, she can check out the entries labeled "baseball." Hilary will never be without my baseball writings again.

There are still some problems, though, I must admit. The archives, for example, don't seem to link to the archives. This is a problem.

I've also added a few links. Under "Bald Links" you'll notice two old links renamed. And I've added Frank Dodge and Ali. I've never met Frank in person, but I'm assuming he's bald. If he's not, he has my apologies, and I will alter the location of his link sometime in 2009, when I get around to it. The other bald link is Ali. I went to high school with Ali, and for reasons I can't quite recall, we used to tease her about going bald. She wasn't remotely going bald. But I wanted to even out my list of bald links, so for our purposes, Ali is once again going bald.

Under "Effective Links" I finally updated Ballpeen Hammer's name to Virgil. And I added a link to The Nation because everyone should read The Nation.

Then I added some "Topeka Links" for my Kansas people. Most of you know that I grew up there, and these are the people who (with one exception) knew me then (Ali was among us, of course, but it's funnier to keep her under "Bald Links"). Early Adopter is actually a New Yorker now, but we knew each other back when we looked alike. And Early Adopter, let's not let our current greatness cause us to forget our humble beginnings, eh?

Current greatness. That's a good one.

Doing a Little Retooling

Blogger got all upgraded on my ass, and now I'm spending more time than I want to be spending making updates to B&E. Eventually, I assume, this will include updating some links.

I've already begun doing some labeling, with the idea that if you want to see all the Dickheads at once you'll be able to do so. Labeling more then 750 blog entries is fairly time-consuming, so you might have to wait for that process to be complete. The labels, though, aren't appearing on the actual site where it says the labels will be on the template, and I'm finding this to be very upsetting at the moment. The labels look stupid where they are right now, and they're supposed to be under the comments, which is what makes sense. I think I'll complain.

It's Saturday and I have to go to the post office. Some of you, then, will know why I'm feeling a bit cranky.

The Only Amazin' Thing Is That I Slept At All

dachshund
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I try to be understanding during the playoffs, even when the Mets are involved, so when the missus suggested we see a movie last night, I agreed. It was an early-ish, after-work screening, so I could still get back in time to see most of the Mets game.

We saw The Departed, and it was by far the best Scorcese film I've seen in the last decade. Very intense. Yes, film snobs. I know it's based on a Hong Kong movie called Infernal Affairs. But Infernal Affairs doesn't have Marky Mark in it. And Marky Mark plays one of the best badass cop motherfuckers in the history of cinema. It's a supporting role, but a juicy one, and Marky Mark handles it as well as he used to handle his pectoral muscles during his Marky Mark days.

But I left the multiplex feeling very stressed out. My solution? Watching the rest of the Mets game. The Mets were already losing 3-2, and they were listless. After the Cardinals made it 4-2, the Mets almost got something going in the 8th inning, but when they failed to deliver, I got too annoyed and angry to watch the 9th. It was one of those games I could tell would have no surprises. Which pissed me off.

So I went to bed and read my book for a while. Anytime I read a trade paperback, the pretentious side of me doesn't want to share the title. It must be a crappy book if it's in trade paperback form. But fuck that. It's Perfume by Peter Suskind. And it's about an scent-obsessed mass murderer.

There was no respite from the stress, dear B&E readers. Movies, baseball, and books are all relaxing activities for this bald man, but alas, it was not to be last night.

(I had to use flickr to get this thing posted. Something wrong with blogger. So I thought you'd all enjoy seeing the dachshund again. Ain't he cute?)

But, Wait. I Have Something to Say...

I really want to post a little ditty today, but I have to go to my job now. Hopefully, by the time I get around to writing what I want to write, the content won't be irrelevant.

Thanks for visiting. Sorry to disappoint. But there are some nonprofits that need me to write some shit for them today.

Well Done, Boys

clinch
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

It took about three days too long, but the Mets' magic number was finally reduced to zero, as they defeated the Marlins last night, thereby winning their division. As everyone is saying, it's been since 1988. Last time the Mets won the division, I hadn't had sex yet.

I selected the photo of David Wright and Jose Reyes partially because Jose's champagne-protecting goggles are sweet. But the main reason is that I want to start a rumor that the left side of the Mets infield is engaging in a homosexual relationship. A long-term monogamous relationship to go with those long-term contracts they both signed. Lookin' good, boys.

And a word about B&E (those of you who bleep over the baseball posts will miss out on this perhaps, but it serves you right for bleeping over the baseball posts, you anti-baseball bastards)...

As I've stated, I begin a full-time job today. I leave in a half-hour. I don't yet know how well I'll be able to keep up the regular posting. I hope that I won't slack off too much, and I hope that I can continue to please you effectively with my bald prose.

But that there is the preemptive disclaimer in case I struggle to keep up. I love you all, and hope to make sweet blogging love to all of you for many years to come. You're totally hot.

I'm Doing Laundry on a Monday

laundry bag
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

For the past five years I've enjoyed performing tasks typically saved for weekends on weekdays. And I do those tasks with a quiet smugness as I imagine all my friends slaving away at their office jobs. Yesterday, you poor bastards fought for a dryer. Today, the laundromat is my oyster.

I'm doing laundry today because I start a full-time office job tomorrow. I bought some pants for the occasion. But I will be wearing those pants without underpants unless I do laundry today. While that's something I may feel comfortable doing over time, I don't think I want to go commando on my first day. So I'm doing laundry.

From tomorrow forward, I will be like the rest of New York -- filling the laundromats on weekends, missing an open dryer because I've run out of quarters, bumping elbows over counter space for folding.

Oh, who am I kidding? With my new increased income, I'll probably just spend more money and drop the shit off.

Oops.

I didn't post anything today because I forgot. That's not terribly effective of me. Rest assured, I am still bald.

Five Years

Upshot_Event
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

So last night, some former colleagues planned a little get-together to celebrate the fifth anniversary of the demise of our employer. Fifth anniversary. Five years. Five.

Five years ago I was in my twenties.

Five years ago I wasn't married. Hell, I don't even think I was dating.

Five years ago, September 11th was just another day on the calendar.

Five years ago, the biggest problem I had with the Bush administration was that they stole Gore's victory.

Five years ago, I had no debt. (Student loans don't count.)

Five years ago, my dad was alive.

Five years ago, I wasn't playing baseball.

Five years ago, the Mets were terrible, masquerading as a contender.

Five years ago, I had about twelve different crushes on the incredibly hot women I worked with. Holy crap. I don't know how they did the hiring, but it was good work. (I think the men at our gathering last night were disappointed that only two of those hot women showed up. Bit of a sausage festival, actually.)

Five years ago, I was a miserable corporate hack, renting my soul for far too little money to a company that not only marketed liquor to minority children, but also took away "Summer Fridays" only to reinstate a half-assed "Summer Friday" policy that began at 3pm, instead of noon.

Yes, fair B&E readers, It's been five years since I've worked nine-to-five (what a way to make a living!); five years since I've worn pants every day.

The gathering last night reminded me that I worked with some fine people. And at least one jackass. Then again, they worked with me, too! But the gathering got me thinking a bit about my life now vs. my life then.

I'll take my life now, thank you very much. The missus, the baseball, Hall Farm, a (slightly) more flexible writing schedule, and the loveliest, most attractive friends on earth (especially those in Sunnyside!) far outweigh the financial instability, the loss of a parent, and even the debacle that is the current Bush administration.

And anyway, at least one of those present-day negatives is reversible.

I'm working with a guy, Dad. Get ready for reanimation!

A Very Special Shout-Out

cotton
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I'd like to give props to the missus, who, as of today, has officially survived two years of marriage with me. For the cotton anniversary, she gave me the hankies pictured and embroidered a special message just for me.

The missus won't actually see this here posting for another week, as she's in New Mexico working on the Don Imus ranch for kids with cancer and blood disorders. She has expressly forbidden me to write about her ranch experiences at B&E. Too bad.

Anyway, we celebrated before she left. The missus is a fine and thoughtful gift-giver, by the way. 100%-cotton sweat mops for my head is more than a little appreciated. I also had the opportunity to take my birthday present for its first official spin yesterday. She bought me a bamboo bat for my baseball league up in Vermont, and yesterday I took some batting practice with it. Boy, it's a work of beauty, the bat, and I hit some nice line drives with it. I take it for a real test run on Saturday, as we play the Ludlow Cops.

Actually, I don't know that they're called the Cops, but they are a bunch of cops. And we're playing at a ball field in Ludlow, which is situated among the Green Mountains. It's a great location for baseball, and I hope to use my new bamboo bat to hook one around the foul pole in the short porch in left.

Oh, missus, you are a fine woman. Happy anniversary.

Might Be Spotty

pretty farm
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Dear B&E Readers,

I'm currently at Hall Farm, conveniently pictured for your enjoyment. Although rather than looking like the picture, it's raining like a banshee (yes, banshees rain), and the place is in utter chaos.

You see, it's less than a week before their artist residency season begins, so it's time to finish the beautifying. At the moment, it's mostly just a mess.

I say this because I don't anticipate having much time for regular posting this week. If I did, I might say something about these items...

-- As Phil pointed out, Lastings Milledge (the Mets top prospect) is being called up to join the team because Xavier "Who?" Nady had to get his appendix removed. Looks like I was a bit hasty with the Xady Watch this week. Ah, well. So Who's on the DL, and now we'll get a chance to see if the prospect is all his prospectus says he is. Boy, if he is, I'll gladly retire the weekly Xady Watch. Although it might be fun to have reports from the recovery room... Hey, Who! A guy on the McNeill's Brewers was pitching less than a week after an appendectamy. And he's not getting your salary. I'm not calling you a pussy or anything, Who, but if you're not back on that field by Monday, I'll be considering it.

-- Dickhead of the Week would almost certainly be Senator Bill "Frisky" Frist. Frisky's about to introduce a constitutional amendment based on discrimination. Discrimination against whom, you ask? Well, the queers of course. For when the Right fails at everything else, they need to distract the masses by reiterating their hatred for the queers. Fuck you, Frisky. That's not what our constitution is for. What a Dickhead.

-- And then, out of the darkness, a reasonable Republican comes forth. I'd probably give a special Anti-Dickhead of the Week award to Mayor of NYC, Michael Bloomberg. I've got my issues with the mayor -- millions in contributions to Dubya and bringing the Republican National Convention to our fine city are but two shining examples -- but in his radio address this week, Mayor Mike said he's ready to let gay couples marry. If the court says it's OK, he'll go right ahead and have City Hall get on it. He spoke clearly and eloquently about why he thinks Frisky's move is nothing but assholery (my paraphrase), and believes that the government is in no position to say who can marry and who cannot. Good for you, Mayor Mike.

I'm sure there'd be more, and maybe I'll have some time to touch on those mores, but in the meantime, I'm sanding and painting, sanding and painting, sanding and painting...

I hope you, my fine B&E readers, will understand a brief absence.

Technology Fails Me

Oh, sweet B&E readers. I had a special treat for you today. Last night was the New York City Beard & Mustache Championships, and I took pictures.

Alas, my computer has died again (someone remind me why Macs are better), so my photos will remain on my camera until I once again have access to iPhoto on my own system. I could, of course, paint you a fuzzy picture with my rapier wit and colorful prose.

But, you see, that would take a thousand words, and I don't have time today. Instead I need to go to Tekserv.

You might (at some point) get a lady's perspective on the events over at Ali's. Unless she, too, is waiting for my photos. If that's the case, everyone's screwed.

Spotty Posting

Spotty Posting
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I'd like to explain the spotty posting. I mean, I guess it's not actually that spotty. But I did miss yesterday, and it looks like I can't do a real one today.

It's that time of year, B&E readers. Grant time. For reasons that escape me, many grants are due at the beginning of May, and since a large portion of my job for Hall Farm is grantwriting, I become particularly busy during this time.

I hope, through my efforts, they are awarded at least as much coin as is pictured.

Oh, damn. I didn't choose a Dickhead this week. Feel free to post your nominee in the comment section. I'm sure they're out there. I just haven't been paying attention.

What Do You Really Want From Me?

I have one of those faces, and so people stop me to ask directions a lot. It happened again last night on the 7 train platform at Queensboro Plaza.

I try to shut off from the world when traveling. I'm not a big fan of strangers, and I don't like talking to them. Strangers are bad, nasty, evil people, as my mom used to tell me. So on planes, I listen to music. On trains, I write in a journal. On the subway, I read. And never -- never -- do I deviate. If I'm on a subway, I would never write in a journal. On a plane, I wouldn't dare read. And listen to music? On a train? Don't make me laugh. But I digress.

Last night I was reading my ever-trusty Nation magazine, when I was approached by one of these strangers I fear and loathe so much.

But I'm also unable to be rude to strangers, so if someone strikes up a conversation with me, I feel like I have to play along.

Right. So I'm in the middle of an article about how Latin America is getting all socialist, much to the chagrin of the Bush administration, when this Asian woman asks me, innocently enough, "Is the express train still running?"

"I don't know what time it is, but if it's not 10pm yet, you can still get an express."

"Good, it's not 10pm yet. What do you do?"

Shit, she wants a conversation.

"I'm a writer."

"Here's my card. If you want to buy an apartment, or if you have an apartment for sale, call me."

It takes her a long time to find her own card, while I try to figure out what my being a writer has to do with real estate. She's got a pocketful of other brokers' cards.

"Thanks."

"You must have a lot of wisdom if you're a writer."

"Well, I don't know about wisdom, but I do have a lot of thoughts."

"If those thoughts come from God, I'm sure there's a lot of wisdom."

"Gosh, I certainly hope so."

"If you have the love of God, you will be a successful writer."

"Gosh, I certainly hope that's true."

"If you have the love of God, it is already true. Express train!"

She got on the train, and I realized that this female stranger wanted three things from me in less than a minute: directions, real estate, and a conversion to Christ.

Stupid, demanding strangers.

WTF?

If you do a Google search for Rex Tillerson, B&E's DotW entry for April 7 is at the top of the second page of searching. I did the search myself because for reasons I couldn't quite explain, this old entry has gotten a couple of recent comments.

I'm so Bald & Effective I'm taking over the internet(s)!

Bwoo-ha-ha-ha-HAAAAAAA!

Family Member I Never Knew I Had

I learned this morning that my first-cousin-once-removed-in-law is named Mungo.

Mungo.

Heh.

Mungo...

Bees and Money

bumblebee
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

It's midnight on a Sunday (now Monday, of course), and I've spent the majority of my weekend working on a grant application for the National Endowment for the Arts. It's a big, complicated application.

The only break I've taken was to participate in a board meeting, during which we talked about the grant. OK, there was more to the meeting than that, but let's just say that this grant has taken over my life. And I can't think about anything else, no matter how much I try.

Tomorrow (later today, now), I put it in the mail and forget about it, until the end of November, when we hear whether or not we get the sucker.

In the meantime, if someone asks me to work on another NEA grant in the next few months, I have my reply:

I'd rather chew bees.

Carolina On My Mind

Off to the Carolinas for a few days. I've no idea if there will be a means to connect to the internet(s) while there. Keep a lookout for the Dickheads for me.

And don't forget to go to Hank's on Monday! Country karaoke! Oh, the humanity!

So I Never Did Find That Damned Cable for My Camera

bookshelves
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

The missus and I have been considering moving into a larger apartment, as we've got far too much crap for our current one. The only trouble is that a recent influx of hipsters has made our previously under-the-radar neighborhood desirable to outsiders, causing local rents to jump a tad out of our reach. Our current place, on the other hand, is rent stabilized. So we're doing what we can to make the current place inhabitable.

Sunday and Monday were spent putting together a giant book case. It's not the one pictured, as that one is outside and useless to us, but it's huge and holds a lot of books. Almost floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall.

It also was holding a lot of books when half of it collapsed Sunday night. Good times.

Monday I woke with a migraine in my bald head, which made me ineffective all day, while the missus put books on the repaired bookshelves. We're now certain they will have no problems. (A quick shout-out of thanks to Virgil and Ian for their help in designing and doing the labor outside the skill set of me and the missus.)

This evening, the missus will return home from her job to a new bed frame and drawers, which I put together today.

Our apartment, like life, is a process. And isn't that a fucking deep thought. Shut up.

Happy Presidents' Day, Bitch

mattress
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Today the missus and I did what all good Americans do on Presidents' Day: we shopped.

We've got the foulest, flimsiest, most disgusting mattress in the world, and we've lived with it for the length of our relationship thus far. So off to Sleepy's-the-Mattress-Professionals-for-the-Rest-of-Your-Life, we went. We felt like grown-ups.

And nothing makes you feel more grown-up than spending nearly a thousand bones on something you can't really afford.

But we were helped by a really nice Romanian woman. Actually, I have no idea if she's Romanian or not, but she was clearly from the former Soviet bloc, and all those Eastern European accents sound the same to me. And since we have a restaurant in our 'hood called Transylvania, and through small talk I learned that she lived on the same street, I'll call her Romanian.

So as Romanian Rose (not her real name) is ringing us up, we make a lot of chit-chat. After learning that I'm a part-time worker, she invites me to join the Sleepy's team. I'm tempted. Selling mattresses would be right up my alley. I could wear pajamas and look comfortable all day.

Then she tells us about some big hubbub in Congress. Apparently some Congressman called "the First Lady, but not Laura Bush, the other one, Clinton, Hillary" a bitch. For a saleslady, she really put a lot of oomph into her story, especially when it came time to say, "bitch!"

I don't want to say that Romanian Rose lied to me, but how come I can't find anything about this on the internet(s)?

After a Short Break...

I think I'm back up and running. I'd like to thank you, dear B&E readers, for your patience as I've been transferring my domain name over to a new host (or whatever the fuck the technical jargon is).

A special shout-out to bshort, whose photography you should all go look at now, while I figure out what to post next. Without bshort (the man, not the photography), the transfer would never have been possible.

In the meantime, I'll need to figure out what to shoot you all in the face (and heart!) with first...

Good News From Scandinavia!