Bald & Effective

I Do Like Beards

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Sat, 24 Apr 2010 20:16:00 +0000

Some friends know I like beards. And some send me links about beards. Even though the missus won't let me keep mine longer than just scruff, it's true: I like beards.

I approve of this information visualization that ranks facial hair on a continuum from trustworthy to evil:

It came from here, if you want to look at it full-size and analyze.

I think he should've called the final one (on the evil side of the continuum) "The Charlie Chaplin" instead, just because that would be weird.

New York Governors Watch

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 00:53:00 +0000

What's happening with the New York Governors these days? Who cares? Well, here's a rundown, in case you do...

David Paterson is a lame duck. Since he decided not to run again for Governor, he's hasn't been in the news nearly as much.

Attorney General Andrew Cuomo, who hasn't announced that he's running but who I think will be our next Governor, has gone after Pedro (Yes, Pedro) Espada and his profiting-off-the-nonprofit ways. Pedro said something about the "political establishment" going after him as payback. Dude. You're Majority Leader. I think you ARE the political establishment. Anyway, Andrew still hasn't announced that he's running. And he never gives interviews. He's an oddball, this Andrew Cuomo.

Disgraced former Governor Elliot Spitzer is slowly but surely planning his comeback. He's a bit of a Wall Street expert, so he's turning up on TV here and there while financial reform is in the news. Unfortunately for him, it's going on at the same time that the prostitute he made famous is appearing in Playboy. No links. I'm sure you can find it if you want to.

The Governor before Spitzer, George Pataki, still seems to harbor higher office ambitions, and it's like no one's had the heart to tell him that not only do people outside of New York not give a shit about New York politicians (see: "Giuliani, Rudolph" for just the latest example), but that also Pataki has about as much charisma as that third cousin you've met a dozen times but still can't remember his name. Anyway, Pataki who has a reputation for being a moderate is drifting to the right these days. Which is appropriate: his combover too drifts to the right.

My personal favorite former Governor, Mario Cuomo, taught a Fox News reporter how to do his job today, demonstrating a piece of why he's my favorite former Governor. Do yourself a favor and read the exchange. God-DAMN, Mario is a very civil badass. Mario, I hope your son is as awesome as you are. Is he?

Shocking! Simply Shocking! Pass the Chips.

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 00:58:00 +0000

Once (probably more than once, actually) I called New York politics stupid. Another time, I called New York State Senator Martin Espada a Dickhead.

See, when I do that, Google Alerts informs some intern in Martin Espada's office that a ranty blogger with six readers is calling Martin names again. No one really cares.

Today's news, however, is slightly bigger than being named Dickhead by B&E. Someone with actual power (in this case Andrew Cuomo, New York's current Attorney General and, everyone assumes, New York's next governor) is suing Majority Leader Espada for funneling millions of dollars from his health care nonprofit toward his personal expenses. Dinner? The nonprofit will pay for that. Campaign expenses? Let the nonprofit take care of it. Family vacations to Vegas and Florida and Puerto Rico? Yeah, that's what nonprofits are for!

I mean, shit. The suit even alleges that Martin had a severance package ready for triggering that would give him $9 million and bankrupt the nonprofit.

Oh, Martin Espada... When you shut down the New York Senate for your own personal empowerment last year, you were a Dickhead, no doubt. And man, I sure can't wait to be able to call you Shitbird too.

Gosh, you're a loathsome creature.

UPDATE LATER: Please exchange the name Martin for Pedro throughout this post. There's a pretty big difference. Apologies to the poet Martin Espada, who wrote Alabanza. That'll teach me to write when I'm tired.

Hold On... I'm in the Middle.

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Sun, 18 Apr 2010 20:45:00 +0000

Look, B&E readers. I've just been busy, okay? I've got a tough nut of a project that I'm working on in all of my spare time, and it's a bit all-consuming. So you'll have to accept my apologies. If you don't accept my apologies, well, up yours.

Also, it's looking like I'm going to have to migrate this blog soon, because Blogger has decided that it doesn't want to use its resources to allow people like me to use their blogging tools without a blogspot address.

I would say something insulting to Blogger now (like the "up yours" I gave to the readers who don't accept my apologies), if Blogger weren't owned by Google, which is a company that could hurt me very badly without my ever knowing it was Google that hurt me. They're very crafty that way.

Anyway, everything should still be on the same B&E channel, but it's probably gonna look different. That's alright, I suppose. While I'm at it, I'll probably update my links too. Since it's been a few years.

The Mets Lost, But Still...

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Thu, 15 Apr 2010 00:52:00 +0000

B&E readers will be relieved to hear that I made it out to my first game of the Mets season this past weekend. I know you've all been waiting for this report. The Mets had pretty much lost the game by the end of the first inning, so it was really not about the game. But here's a report, according to the notes I took throughout.

Pre-game
I take the trusty 7 train, and a man in Mets jersey is offering what advice he's able to a Scotsman, who's trying to find his way to Long Beach. The Mets fan has a southern accent, and considering he's on the subway to New Shea, he knows very little about the 7 train. I chime in, resulting in being heartily welcomed into their circle of conversation.

The Scotsman announces he doesn't know the first thing about baseball. The Mets fan says that it's like rounders. This is something the missus tries to insist upon, and not knowing anything about rounders, except that it's played mostly by girls in schoolyards, I try to defend baseball's honor.

The Scotsman is from just outside of Glasgow, and has one of the most incomprehensible accents I've heard. I realize that part of the Mets fan's difficulty in giving directions is his inability to understand what the Scotsman is asking. I've had a little practice with the Glaswegian accent, so I help out. After the Scotsman gets off to grab the Long Island Railroad, the Mets fan and I agree that if he has to ask anyone else for directions, it's going to be a real challenge.

The Mets fan is from North Carolina, just in town for the weekend, but he's somehow a Mets fan. We never get to the point in the conversation in which I learn why he roots for the Mets. We wish each other a good game and get off the train at New Shea.

The Mets have upgraded New Shea to include more of Old Shea and Mets history, the lack of which has been the biggest complaint about the new stadium (my biggest complaint is the new stadium's name, but I fear I'm in the minority on that one). One of the first things you notice as you come down the stairs is Old Shea's Home Run Apple.

I'm a fan of Old Shea's Home Run Apple. It's charming in a beat up, low-rent sort of way, and watching it pop up after those rare home runs added some humor to the celebratory event. I'm among those that wish they'd transplanted this Apple right into the new stadium, but the Mets front office sees it differently.

But I'm happy to say that it's right outside the stadium now, where everyone can enjoy it.

You can just see a really happy kid poking his head into the photo there.

It's a bit of a spontaneous trip out to New Shea, so I need to buy my tickets at the stadium windows. I have an uncanny ability to choose the wrong window every time. Today is no exception. The guy in front of me has a very hairy neck.

Maybe it's the slowness of the ticket line (a lot of walk-up buyers breeze by me) or just that I'm exceptionally cheap when it comes to buying tickets to New York Metropolitan games, but my seat is about as far from the action as it can be.

1st Inning
On the way to my seat, I decide to stand in the back of the field level to watch the first batter. Johan Santana deals to Nyjer Morgan of the Washington Nationals, and he immediately hits a triple. I decide that maybe standing here isn't a good idea.

By the time I get to my seat, the Nationals have loaded the bases, and before I know it, Josh Willingham has hit a bases-clearing triple that, upon further review by the umpires, is ultimately ruled a home run. A grand slam in the top of the 1st inning, and I've only just gotten to my seat.

The blind spots in this stadium are not insignificant. I can't see a large portion of the outfield. That's another complaint about the new stadium.

The first half of the first inning finally comes to an end, and I realize that I've forgotten to put on sunscreen. Well, my doctor says I need more Vitamin D. This is the view from my seat.

It's a pretty nice day, despite the score.

2nd Inning
The Mets look lackluster out there. Gary Matthews, Jr. comes to bat to James Brown, but Gary doesn't nearly bring the power that James did.

3rd Inning
The bathrooms are actually pretty nice at New Shea.

The Mets are in trouble again, but then bright spot Jeff Franceour throws a bullet from right field and ON THE FLY nails Adam Dunn at the plate. Dunn is out by such a distance that he doesn't even bother to slide or knock over the catcher. Jeff's got a cannon out there.

Johan Santana has Carlos Santana playing over the loudspeakers when he's warming up before the game. But I'm pretty sure he comes to bat to Michael Jackson's "It Don't Matter if You're Black or White." Which is unexpected.

4th-6th Innings
I pay a visit to the New Mets' Hall of Fame and Museum, which is small (insert joke here) but quite satisfying. Plaques of Mets legends adorn the walls, video of previous World Series teams play on a loop, game-used equipment and other pieces of Mets history are presented behind glass. My favorite is probably the handwritten notes Casey Stengel took about his ballplayers on the hapless 1962 team.

This is a cute sculpture of Casey Stengel.

Isn't he cute?

A record of better days in Mets history: the 1969 World Series trophy.

Plenty of room in the Mets Hall of Fame for more of those. I suspect that won't happen this year.

7th Inning
I go for some food. I find that the item I return to at New Shea is the fried flounder sandwich at Pasternak's Catch of the Day stand. It's just good. I think it's even crispier this year.

Tasty, right?

I wonder when the Mets decided to sing "God Bless America" during the 7th inning again.

8th Inning
I take a seat in a shady area near my section. A punk guy is screaming profanities, and the two punk girls sitting with him are detached and amused. He's very tightly wound. He leaves before the game ends.

Still, there's some excitement, as Mike Jacobs, who's hearing the boo birds pretty early in the season, hits a two-run home run. It feels too late, though, which is weird, considering it's really not.

9th Inning
Francisco "Pink Eye" Rodriguez hits a batter in the 9th, and even though there didn't appear to be any altercation, suddenly the benches are clearing. I love watching the guys from the bullpens run toward the action because, of course, by the time they actually get there, they have to turn right around and go back to the bullpens. It's a funny tradition, the clearing-of-the-benches. Everyone is required to clear the benches, even if you have no intention of participating in any sort of physical violence. Ah, baseball tradition.

Jim Bouton actually has a very funny story about this tradition in his groundbreaking book Ball Four, the first of the sports tell-all books. I'm not going to retell it here because it feels like it would be too much work.

The Mets go out like a lamb in the bottom of the 9th.

They don't look good, B&E readers, I don't mind telling you. But a day at the ballpark is still one hell of a way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Out Crazying The Crazy

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Wed, 14 Apr 2010 00:44:00 +0000

A while back, I'd wanted to draw my six readers' attention to a creative counter protest in San Francisco in response to perennial protester Fred Phelps. But then time went by, and you know how these things work.

But hey now! It's relevant again! So here I go!

For those who may not remember Fred Phelps and the Phelps Family Singers, they're the "God Hates Fags" people, recently in the news because a dead Marine's father was ordered by a judge to pay the Phelps' family legal costs, because the Marine's father sued the Phelps for protesting at his son's funeral. Bill O'Reilly ended up stepping in on behalf of the Marine's father and paying the legal costs.

This is but one example of the Phelps Horror Show.

Anyway, San Francisco! So you might be surprised to hear that there are some freaks out there. And freaks are funny. So the freaks made some crazy-ass signs to out crazy the Phelps' crazy-ass signs. I'm partial to the one that just says, "ME!" but there are a couple of real gems in there.

Also, you can play around with your own crazy signs here. I made this one:

So how is it suddenly relevant again? Well, a fella called Jason Levin received his inspiration from the wackiness of the sign makers in San Francisco and, in the tradition of the Yes Men, has come up with an idea that's part performance art, part activism, and part sheer lunacy.

The short of it is that Jason hopes to destroy the Tea Party movement by infiltrating and pushing it further away from the mainstream, so that Everyman looks at them and says, "Well, that's too fucking crazy for me."

His people may or may not be the people saying the craziest of the crazy shit you hear coming from the Tea Parties. So if members of the Tea Party start claiming that Obama performs deviant sexual acts, a member of Jason's group might say, "Yeah, and the president also fucks goats!" The best part is that the Tea Party won't know who's legitimately crazy and who's just fucking with them. Maybe a real Tea Bagger thinks that the president fucks goats. Just maybe. Who can tell?

Go, Jason.

It's More Like This, Actually

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 13:37:00 +0000

In general, I try to avoid hearing the smug, bitchy voice of Sarah Palin, which doesn't lose any of its shrill in print. (As a quick aside, I also sort of hate using those types of words to describe the voice of a woman in politics since they scream of sexism. But in this case, I just can't think of other words. Her voice hurts my head. Like when Bjork sings.)

You probably heard that President Obama signed a nuclear arms reduction treaty with our Cold War nemesis Russia. And a few days ago, he also changed the U.S. rules of engagement with regard to nuclear warheads.

People on the right say that these things make us weaker. People on the left say that Obama hasn't gone far enough. I tend to agree (surprise, surprise) with the people on the left, but I also get the feeling that nuclear disarmament, more than any other issue Obama has spoken about/acted upon, is the issue of his lifetime. His desire for a nuclear bomb-free world seems utterly sincere to me. In other words, although what he's done so far doesn't go far enough, more than most issues for this president, I trust it's a process, of which this is but one step.

For some on the right, like let's say former half-term governor Sarah Palin, it doesn't matter what Obama does. They'll complain anyway. Hell, Obama could shoot a wolf from a helicopter while signing a law that allows oil drilling in the Arctic Ocean, and Sarah Palin would somehow claim that he's a socialist.

Anyway, about her response to all the anti-nuclear activities of the past few days, Greg Sargent pulled out this quote in his Morning Plum:

It’s kinda like getting out there on a playground, a bunch of kids, getting ready to fight, and one of the kids saying, "Go ahead, punch me in the face and I’m not going to retaliate."

Of course it's not actually like that at all because, you see, the use of nuclear weapons isn't off the table completely, and let's face facts: we have an enormous arsenal of non-nuclear warheads at our disposal that can just as easily destroy things. See "Iraq, Baghdad" for details.

So really it's kinda like getting out there on a playground, a bunch of kids, getting ready to fight, and one of the kids saying, "You punch me in the face, I will take this shotgun, blow a hole in your head, and fuck your skull. How strong does your fist look now, next to my shotgun and cock?"

Dude. Watch Your Choice of Words.

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 01:43:00 +0000

Tiger Woods is back and he gave a press conference and blah blah blah blah.

I have to admit that one little soundbite caught my attention. Referring to the support he's gotten from his fellow golfers at the Master's, he said, "The encouragement I got, it blew me away."

Even more so than the oral sex he received from his many mistresses! Zang! Zzp-POW! Wocka-wocka-wocka!

Thank you, B&E readers. I'll be here all week.

Soak It In, B&E Readers

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 00:50:00 +0000

Oh, You're SOOOOOOOO Persecuted

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 00:59:00 +0000

Some of you may have heard that the whole sexual abuse scandal has reared its ugly head again for the Catholic Church. It turns out that the current Pope himself, back when he was just a measly cardinal, mishandled a specific case including one priest who abused more than 200 deaf children.

"Protect the church at all costs." That seems to be the rule that required following. More so, say, than, "Let's protect children."

And now that it's become public just how badly the Pope screwed the pooch in this case, the Vatican is doing just what it's supposed to. They are groveling before their parishioners and begging forgiveness.

In other words, they're attacking the New York Times and just about anyone else who dares to wonder why the current Pope once failed to do the right thing when dealing with an abusive priest.

Today is the holiest day in the Christian calendar: Good Friday. Jesus Christ died on this day. It's a mournful, atoning sort of day.

So it only makes sense that a senior Vatican priest would compare this current persecution to the persecution of the Jews. "[Jews] know from experience what it means to be victims of collective violence and also because of this they are quick to recognize the recurring symptoms," he said in discussing a letter from a Jewish friend, who is appalled at the "violent and concentric attacks" against the Catholic Church.

Now I don't know if this is a real letter from a real Jewish person, but even if we assume that it is... Dude, you can't fucking do that. Just because Clarence Thomas and his wife are Tea Party supporters, that doesn't mean the n-bombs thrown by Tea Baggers at members of Congress are okay.

What I'm really saying is this... The Times is reporting on documented facts (there's a paper trail, for crying out loud) about a seriously bad judgment on the part of the Pope and the Catholic Church. Implying that that is somehow the same thing as killing 6,000,000 Jews is fucking offensive. Shame on you. Seriously. Shame on you.

You've handled almost everything about this badly, Catholic Church. And you seem determined to continue to do so. Well done.

Disingenuous Much?

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Thu, 01 Apr 2010 00:37:00 +0000

There's a new tax on the table for consideration in New York - a tax on sugary soft drinks. You know, the ones that are all really, really bad for you and are, probably more than anything, responsible for the obesity epidemic in America.

Like all states, New York's got a budget crisis. And let's face it: everyone's got a health crisis. All of that sugar, high-fructose corn syrup, and especially the fake sweetener is killing us. So yeah, I say tax the shit out of it. Anything that'll encourage people to drink something healthy instead, like, say, water, gets my support.

There are advertisements running in support of, and opposed to, the tax. I see the ones opposed more often, and I've seen two of them. The first was utterly unconvincing. It features the owner of a grocery store supposedly speaking on behalf of his customers who shop on budgets, and how this is "just another way for Albany to reach into our pockets."

I'm fortunate not to have to watch every penny while doing my grocery shopping, but the missus and I have a general budget for the food we buy. If I had only $20 to spend on my weekly groceries, why in the hell would I spend even $1.69 on a two-liter bottle of poison? If the tax dissuades me from buying it, I've got another $1.69 to spend on something that's better for me. I'm not going to pocket the $1.69. I'm almost certainly going to get something else, now that I've got an extra $1.69 in my groceries budget.

In other words, the shop owner will still be getting his money, so what's his fucking problem? (Hm... Smaller markup on healthy items? Maybe...)

The one I've been seeing more recently features a mother complaining about how much more money she'll be paying on soft drinks for her kids. Gee, lady, why don't you buy less of that garbage for the sake of your kids' health?

And of course, the American Beverage Association is the money behind the ads. Well, ABA, I'm not buying your shit any more than I'm buying that shit on the shelves.

Just Another Reason to Hate the Phone

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 21:54:00 +0000

That's right, B&E readers. This is another complaint about cell phones.

Recently the smart phones have been advertising the ability to talk on the phone while simultaneously allowing the caller to surf the net or perform other smart phone functions.

Boy, that's just great. I love it when the people I talk to on the phone (and yes, I admit there aren't many of them) are doing something else.

We are breeding shorter and shorter attention spans and, if I may be hyperbolic for a moment, it will destroy our country! And the world! There will come a day when we can't do anything anymore because we're so easily distracted. I mean, I'd love to finish tying my shoes but ooooooooh! bunnies!

Smart phones will make us all stupid.

Germans Aren't Famous For Humor

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 00:15:00 +0000

At my job, as much as we work in electronic media, we still get the occasional call to print some shit on paper. And for those jobs, we hire printing vendors. Some might call them printers. Before we use a new printer, we like to check out their samples, you know, to make sure they know their business to our satisfaction.

So this week, we got some samples, and as the designers were reviewing, one of them started giggling. For one of samples was a brochure from a company called FAG. We're really just 12-year-olds at my office.

FAG is a German company, and nowhere in the brochure does it say what FAG stands for, but it's full of other terrific information. For example, we learned that FAG makes steel balls. FAG is also known for its industrial lubricants. Oh, yes, but we did giggle.

After all, I'm a 12-year-old too.

We were surprised (and impressed!) that FAG owns fag.com. I won't link to it directly, because you won't know just how wrong it feels to put fag.com into your browser unless you do it yourself.

On the company page we learned that FAG got its start in 1883 with the development of its ball-grinding machine. They also have "modern simulation methods" and "testing facilities." FAG's deep-groove ball bearings make for "very high speeds and low friction." There's also a lip seal that generates less heat and minimizes noise. All of these things are very important for FAG.

It's a website that keeps on giving, B&E readers. Obviously, they must know what FAG means in American English (even the British English translation of "cigarette" isn't great, although the implications throughout aren't nearly as fun), but god bless the Germans: they just don't care about that. I swear, I would think that it's satire, if it weren't a German company.

The FAG print job was fine, by the way.

Okay, show's over. Go about your business.

That's a Spicy Cluster Bomb!

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Fri, 26 Mar 2010 01:37:00 +0000

At the most kickass Thai restaurant in New York (in Queens, of course), when a whitey like me asks for "spicy," the waiters shake their heads knowingly, and say, "For you, medium." The medium will raise your eyebrows and keep your mouth searching for water or something without heat to dull the tingle. Even our go-to dish, the Penang curry, at "mild," is right at the threshold of pleasure and pain for my taste buds, which are more used to bland Eurofood. "Mild" is not a fair description for the Penang. It's got real kick. And it's delicious.

The point is that in the hot climes, they make a hotter cuisine. In this country, count on the Cajuns, Mexicans, African-Americans, and other southern American cookers to wake your mouth up. Once you get into South and Southeast Asian cuisine, we're getting into a whole different ballgame.

Well, the Indians (of South Asia, not the indigenous Americans) are exploring new ways to use their superhot "ghost peppers." They're not just for food anymore!

The ghost chili can be 400 times hotter than our wimpy Tabasco sauce. So what better to do with the chili than weaponize it? The Indian military is going to make some fucking ghost chili hand grenades.

All you gotta do is get yourself some fresh seafood, andouille sausage, rice, okra, and other vegetables, throw them in a big pot along with a delicious seafood stock, then throw one of those ghost chili grenades into a foxhole to smoke out a terrorist, gather up some of the leftover smoke for your pot, and you've got a delicious, spicy gumbo for sustenance during interrogation.

I Heard a Rumor About Health Care Reform

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 01:28:00 +0000

Apparently, Congress passed health care reform last night. Republicans announce the end of freedom and liberty, and Democrats celebrate their self-importance and ability to nearly blow it completely.

Okay, so maybe I'm cynical. Yes, this reform is better than nothing, I suppose. Probably. I can talk myself out of that better-than-nothing argument for a while, but then I come back to the 30+ million people currently without health care who will certainly benefit. That's like all the people in the New York City, Los Angeles, and Chicago metropolitan areas. Gosh, that's a lot of people.

Some disappointment was inevitable, I suppose. After all, I believe that anything short of a single-payer system (i.e. Government-paid-for, Medicare For All, or socialized medicine, depending on your preferred language for it) isn't acceptable. Whatever else this bill does, there is still a profit-making entity between patients and the best care possible. That's some bull... shit.

Greg Sargent raises an excellent point with regard to the bending-over-backwards that the administration did to woo Bart Stupak, the anti-abortion zealot who almost derailed the whole thing. His voting bloc stuck together. The progressive caucus, especially the ones who "demanded" a public option, gave in pretty early, leaving Dennis Kucinich out to try as the lone liberal holdout until a couple days ago. Come on, liberals. Look what you might have accomplished simply by sticking together, a la Stupak.

Anyway, to those on the right crying that this is a government takeover of health care, you either need to pay attention or stop lying. This bill doesn't expand Medicare at all. Hell, it doesn't even offer the citizenry the choice to enter into a public plan.

Without a public plan, the only reaching the government is doing is, perhaps, a reach-around, since our elected officials, even the ones who condemn socialized medicine, have socialized medicine.

From what I can tell, the best news to come out of this is that Rush Limbaugh will be leaving the country. Unless that was a lie too. I'd be shocked - SHOCKED! - if Rush were lying. That's so unlike him.

That Doesn't Make It a Hairline

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 01:09:00 +0000

On my way home from work the other evening, I saw a most curious fella. He seemed like a day-laboring sorta guy, at least in terms of his wardrobe. Work boots. Nothing he wore was hip or fashiony. His backpack was pretty dirty.

At the same time, he seemed to have some concern about his appearance. For example, I'd be very surprised if his eyebrows weren't waxed. They were perfect in that way that most men's eyebrows just aren't.

Curiouser than that, however, was his hairline. From what I could tell, this African American fella wasn't at all bald. He kept his hair cropped short, but it was there. And again, he didn't seem to have any sort of issues around male pattern baldness. (I only had a front view, so I couldn't see if he had a bald spot in back, but he wasn't receding.)

About an inch below his real hairline was a fake hairline. A black tattoo masquerading as hair.

At first I thought maybe it was one of those dark birthmarks you sometimes see, but no. It was a perfectly drawn hairline (even with angles coming down in front of his ears), filled in solid black. The solidity of the tattoo ink went back into the area where he had hair, and I couldn't see if it continued over his whole scalp, or if it faded away part of the way back.

I used to work with a Latino woman who was very big on lip liner. She said that she had friends who had actually tattooed liner onto their lips.

This hairline felt like taking the lip liner tattoo to an extreme. And it's not something a white person could get away with. What the hell color could I tattoo my head that would come close to matching my hair color? Even if/when this man goes gray, he'll just be all salt and pepper.

And I can't even say that it looked particularly bad. It definitely looked odd, but not really that bad.

I wonder if tattooed scalps will be something we'll be seeing more of in years to come, sort of like tattoo-covered college basketball players and government-mandated private insurance.

Hey, Manhattan! Your St. Patrick's Day Parade Can Suck It!

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 01:49:00 +0000

Tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day, which is a pretty big deal amongst the drinking set. No other holiday lives up to the stereotype quite like St. Patrick's Day. Well done, Irish people.

Most New Yorkers already know that the main St. Patrick's Day parade - the one in Manhattan that goes right by St. Patrick's Cathedral - doesn't allow any gay people to march. A court ruling upheld the prejudice a few years ago on the grounds that the parade is run by a private entity and therefore had the right to do whatever it wanted.

Beginning 11 years ago, my neighborhood, which has a large Irish community, started hosting the St. Pat's For All parade, usually a couple of weeks before the big, bigoted one on the holiday itself. I went to one of the first St. Pat's For All parades back in the early aughts, but hadn't been for quite some time.

Oh, yes, B&E readers... It really is "for all." And it really is a good time, as the photos will demonstrate.

Lest you think it's just another gay pride parade, let's kick things off with a photo of the bagpipes. Bagpipes! Never mind that bagpipes are Scottish; they feature prominently at any good St. Patrick's Day parade, even the ones that include the gays. And why not? The pipers are men in skirts!

There were probably a good half dozen or more LGBTQ, etc. groups marching in the parade, but this one had the best banner:

God may have made this dude queer, but being a pirate is a choice.

In case you didn't notice, that's a live parrot on his head. I've actually seen this particular pirate outside of Mets games. He is not easily forrrrrrrrrrrrrrgotten.

Perhaps the single biggest thrill of the day was when NY1's very own Roger Clark came to a stop right in front of us. The missus and I complimented him until he was appropriately embarrassed. He may have also felt a little threatened by our zeal. But look, B&E readers! Roger Clark is happy to see me!

These African American and Latino Irish dancers from P.S. 59 in the Bronx have gotten some national recognition. But only because they're fucking awesome.

The Rude Mechanical Orchestra made some fun music as they strode by. They were, as you might expect, heavy on the trombone.

The Central Brooklyn Independent Democrats really stress the "independent" in their name.

The biggest hit of the St. Pat's For All parade every year is SUDS, the Sunnyside United Dog Society. It's true. They are united.

Except this poor bastard who lagged behind just a bit. I think he was drunk.

Those of you planning a trip to Sunnyside should make sure your visit coincides with the St. Pat's For All parade. I didn't even see any barfing, and I'm guessing that's not something Manhattan's prejudiced St. Patrick's Day parade will be able say. They'll be heavy on the barfing and light on the queers. What the hell kind of parade are they running in there?

That's Two Down...

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 01:58:00 +0000

Carlos Beltran is already missing the beginning of the Mets season, having had surgery on his knee a short while ago. Now it appears that Jose Reyes will also miss the beginning of the season.

I've been keeping an eye on the Mets during spring training, as any B&E reader would probably expect, and there's been some real hope. Some of these youngsters can play. Last year, all you heard was that the farm system was depleted. Now, some of those so-called depleted players are showing off some real skills.

No one has heard of Chris Carter, but he's got a good sports name. Vince Carter is a hell of a basketball player. Joe Carter was a decent baseball player. Gary Carter is a Hall-of-Famer. And don't forget Jimmy Carter. That guy can throw the hell out of a peanut. But anyway, Chris Carter! Three home runs in three at-bats. Nice work.

Twenty-year-old Jenrry Mejia is suddenly in the running to be the Mets setup man, when he was expected to begin the year in Double-A. He's had a hell of a spring, and Jerry Manuel can't hide his excitement.

And it's just a matter of time before Josh Thole takes over as the everyday catcher. The Mets have a plethora of catchers at spring training, and they're mentoring the hell out of that kid.

But this news about Jose Reyes, and his elevated thyroid levels, is turning the 2010 Comeback Mets (or however it is that they're marketing this team in their desperation to sell tickets) back into the Familiar Mets of 2009.

Screw you, Mets, for getting my hopes up with the youngsters.

By Ironic You Mean...

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 01:16:00 +0000

I can't say I'm all that surprised to hear that Governor-for-a-Short-Time Palin used to head across the border to Canada to get her grubby paws on some free health care.

She said in the interview, "I think now, isn't that ironic?"

Um, no. It's not ironic. It's outrageous, perhaps. Hypocritical, obviously. Exploitative, certainly. But nothing about it is ironic.

Jesus Christ.

Did My Eyes Deceive Me?

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Sat, 06 Mar 2010 20:01:00 +0000

New Yorkers know well that the subway system hosts a whole lot of panhandlers. I'm not talking about people from, say, the panhandle of Florida. I'm talking about the people who sell, perform, or otherwise ask for cash on the trains.

When you do same commute every day (in my case, it's two different commutes, depending on circumstances), you get to see a lot of the same panhandlers. There's a dapper little violinist who, despite his playing ten hours a day, really doesn't know how to play the violin. There's a saxophonist I try to avoid on the F train. There are several mariachi combos on the 7 train. There are the kids who sell their candy, "not for basketball uniforms, but to earn a little money and keep me off the streets." There's often a blind dude at the 7 to F transfer.

During my evening commute this week, while walking down the steps to the 7 train, I noticed a dude who looked a bit down on his luck. The train was pulling into the station, and he scurried to the back car. I wandered into the second-to-last car and didn't give him another thought.

Until a seriously disabled panhandler staggered into our car. He was shaking from head-to-toe and could barely walk. He was hunched over and held tightly to the various handrails available for support. It was the same dude I saw walking down the stairs, except that this version of him would never had made it up or down the stairs.

He announced that he was going to take up the next ten or fifteen minutes of our time. This is unheard of. Most panhandlers do their thing and move on quickly.

I was listening to music, so I didn't catch everything the man said as he staggered up and down the car, very slowly, but he talked about injuries, mentioned something about 9/11, and offered to help anyone else in the car who might be hungry.

But it was the physicality that was truly remarkable. People get on and off the trains, of course, and over ten or fifteen minutes, you pull through approximately five to eight stops. One woman, wanting to catch the transfer across the platform, reached out to give him a dollar, couldn't get her money in his little bag (which he'd placed on the floor next to a handrail), and laid the bill next to it so she wouldn't miss her train. He worked desperately to bend, holding the rail for dear life, trying to get the bill until another rider grabbed the bill and put it in his bag for him.

This fella was so convincing in his physical performance that I began to question if he was really the same man I saw walking down the stairs at the station. Even now, thinking back, I don't feel so sure. His performance was that good, B&E readers.

He was doing pretty well for himself money-wise in my car, and he was still going on when I got off the train at my stop.

It was downright spooky. And impressive. Cirque du Soleil should totally hire him.

Lady? Check. Baseball? Check. Knuckler?! Check!

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 02:18:00 +0000

What's not to like about this little tidbit, B&E readers? First of all, it's about a woman. I like women. Secondly, it's about baseball. Gosh, I do like baseball. Thirdly, it's about a knuckleball pitcher. I do love a good knuckleball.

When you roll those things into one, you get Eri Yoshida, an 18-year-old knuckleballer in Japan, who might just become the first female professional baseball player. Watch the video. Like all videos in Japanese it's genuinely confusing and oddly compelling.

Man, I'm glad spring training is here.

Even though the Mets star centerfielder and shortstop are being interviewed by investigators about a doctor who allegedly gave out steroids (or something akin to it), and the star closer is out with pink eye.

Really? Pink eye? Jesus, guys, get it together.

Then There's the Real Reason

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 01:43:00 +0000

Harold Ford isn't running for the U.S. Senate against Kirsten Gillibrand. He explains why in an op-ed piece in the New York Times, which has already given him a lot of press in recent weeks.

I've said before that I've got little opinion about our appointed Senator Gillibrand. She's moved to the left since being appointed by our Governor (who also isn't running - Jesus, I go out of town for a few days and return to Paterson in full meltdown mode), which I like, but truth be told, I just don't know that much about her.

Other people flirted with running against Kirsten. Carolyn Maloney, who represents me according to just about every online advocacy group even if I've never had the option of voting for her at the actual polls, was considering a primary challenge. I do like Rep. Maloney. She's usually a reliably progressive vote. I would've happily voted for her in a primary to Gillibrand.

Harold Ford lumps himself together with Carolyn Maloney in discussing the enormous pressure he received to not run from the party machine. And the lack of party support is one thing he cites in his op-ed about why he won't run.

What he doesn't mention, of course, is that he began campaigning in earnest before he made the official decision to run. And there's one striking absence from his list of reasons for not getting involved in the race.

New Yorkers, particularly potential Democratic primary voters, think he's an enormous asshole. Assholes have won plenty of elections, so assholery is not an inherent deal breaker. But he came off as an incompetent, petty, utterly uninteresting, non-resident asshole.

If we New Yorkers didn't hate Harold Ford, he'd totally run. And he is lying by omission in his op-ed.

That Wasn't What I Expected

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 02:38:00 +0000

The missus and I went to a most excellent wedding this past weekend. It's really such a pleasure to see two (or more!) people you love getting hitched.

The couple in question really did it right. It was a destination wedding. Northwest Ohio is, after all, a destination. And there's no better time to visit northwest Ohio than February. It snowed at least a little bit every single day!

But seriously, B&E readers, if I may be sincere for a moment, I couldn't be happier for this couple, and the missus and I were thrilled to be a part of it all. Nice friends, nice family, one near run-in over a table between a hormonal pregnant friend and some angry OSU graduates, delicious Greek food, some kickass processional/recessional music from the missus, lots of laughter, and no serious drama. I'm telling you, B&E readers... it was a great wedding.

So how about that winter road trip? Some of you may have heard that New York was slammed by a pretty decent snowstorm this past weekend. Thursday, in fact. We were supposed to leave on Thursday, and I won the "genius award" from the missus for convincing her to leave on Wednesday late instead. Yes, it was an extra evening in a hotel, but the idea was to get out before the storm hit.

We drove about two-and-a-half hours into Pennsylvania. When we woke up on Thursday morning, I was pretty convinced I'd been a total idiot (again), what with the several inches of snow and near white-out conditions.

But once we got a half-hour or so west of the hotel, it was smooth sailing, and we made it to our destination.

Naturally, it was a road trip. Road trips mean road eating. When you just want to get to your destination, you're limited to what you see when you stop.

Put more succinctly, we ate at fucking McDonald's.

It's been years since we've done that. Or maybe since whenever our last road trip was. But we really don't do the fast food thing. In the past year and a half or so I've largely given up sugar consumption (apart from fruit), and I've been watching the salt intake for some time now.

So when I ordered that Southern Chicken Sandwich, I was expecting a sodium explosion. It didn't disappoint, but salt was the second flavor I noticed.

When I took my first bite, I actually thought something was wrong with my order. It tasted almost like cake to me. It was just wrong. Once I took the second bite, my taste buds had adjusted, and it was all about the salt again.

But Judas Priest, B&E readers: I couldn't believe that first bite. It was really disconcerting. Naturally, I ate the whole goddamn thing because that's what people do when they go to McDonald's (or anywhere else, really). But I was spooked.

I looked up the nutrition information about a Southern Style Crispy Chicken sandwich at McDonald's, and it looks like there are 6 grams of sugar in there. That's actually less than half the sugar there is in other chicken sandwiches.

Still... That first bite was really sweet. And fucked up. I think I can't eat at McDonald's ever again, even on a road trip. There are other fucked up choices on the road, and those fucked up places will get my business.

I sincerely hope that they will not freak me out with their deliciousness.

Binder & Binder Comments

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 02:39:00 +0000

Comments on the old posts continue. Over a year ago, I had some issues with the cowboy hat worn by a lawyer in a shitty commercial that airs on NY1. Follow the link to the old post if you're interested in reading all of the comments (including one from a former employee! Look out!).

But allow me to draw your attention to one in particular. This week, I received a comment from a fella called Greg, who offered a link to his investigative report on Mr. Binder, Esq. He has conveniently embedded the ad in question, so that you can enjoy the cowboy hat in all its glory. Greg's mom emailed Binder & Binder (awesome), and received a reply to her inquiry about the hat, among other things.

Enjoy the hell out of it, B&E readers, and nice work, Greg, for actually pursuing the information.

And according to Greg, Charles "Cowboy Hat" Binder is bald under that sucker. Nice.

Won't You Take Me To... SEPIATOWN??

noreply@blogger.com (Dan G) — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 01:43:00 +0000

Those of my six readers who also click on the links to the right (so, then, none of you) may be wondering why Virgil's been so quiet these past couple of years. It turns out there's a simple explanation for why he's been denying so many of us bite-sized nibbles of his that nubile mind of his.

It's called SepiaTown, and it's been a massive undertaking that he launched this past weekend.

Its scope is limited primarily to a few cities right now, but the idea is that eventually, anyone can see what their current location looked like in the days of yore. "Gee, I'm standing at the corner of East 9th Street and Broadway. I wonder what it looked like in 1910." Well, it looked like this.

SepiaTown is a "wiki," B&E readers, which means it relies on user-generated content. If you have old photos, go put them in there. If you know people with access to old photos, tell them to put them in there. The more people that get involved, the cooler the site becomes.

As one buddy said, Virgil has gone and "built a goddamned time machine."