I only lived in Chicago for a couple years but I can vouch for the fact that it’s a divided city. Each little section corresponds to a certain ethnicity and the gaps in between are pretty much filled with yuppies. But more importantly, there’s the huge divide separating the North and South sides of the city, a divide best exemplified by the Cubs up north and the White Sox down south.
Although we know all about the rivalry and mutual dislike between the two groups of fans, not to mention their socio-economic disparities, sometimes that difference can only be truly explained in pictures. Moving pictures, to be more exact. And no, I don’t mean Ozzie and Lou. I’m talking Ron Swanson:[youtube http://youtu.be/mtxo4BnYzro]
That, my friends, is a rivalry. Powered by tradition.
I have watched a lot of television. I won’t say that I’m an expert on what makes good TV but, like porn, I know it when I see it. That probably helps explain why things just haven’t been the same since I finished Season 5 of The Wire.
Don’t get me wrong, there are still quality shows out there. AMC’s raft of dramas – Mad Men, Breaking Bad and The Walking Dead – underscore this point and during their best moments, I sometimes forget about the Wire-hole in my heart. But then I see this and it all comes rushing back again:
I think the only event that came close to invoking the same sentiments that the end of The Wire made me feel is when Curtis Granderson left the Tigers for the Yankees. Sure, I didn’t know Granderson personally but it was like I had just lost a friend. The only real difference is that although I’d still love to have Granderson back, it’s good The Wire ended when it did. There’s something to be said for leaving them wanting more.
After a mere two episodes that had the same effect as a handful of Ambien chased by a fifth of Knob Creek, Paul Reiser’s triumphant(?) return to network television lasted about as long as a Milton Bradley welcome party.
I guess this is undeniable truth that US America just isn’t mad about you, Mr. Reiser (*RIMSHOT*).
But don’t worry, Paul, there are plenty of folks out there who are WAY WORSE than you. And of course, the RSBS interns have been working furiously to bring you the shortlist. Shall we?
After signing a $43.5 million deal to be the ignition in an otherwise defunct offense, it only seems fitting that the fate of the Mariners took another giant step backwards as Mr. Figgins continues to be the only thing that smells worse than Pike’s Place fish market. Last year he topped off his .259 batting average with a debilitating case of bad attitude. This year, he seems to be on track for more of the same, only, Wakamatsu ain’t there to box the boy’s ears. Therefore, Chone is definitely worse than Paul Reiser.
Since he is the CEO of the McDonald’s Corporation, I think it’s important that we call out Jim Skinner and everything his company stands for: taking advantage of the masses’ inferior intellect. I don’t care what you do to the labeling, the packaging, etc., “food” that comes from McDonald’s is not f***ing good for you. In fact, it’s killing you… it’s killing you and the rest of US America. When I first swore off fast food (about 7 years ago) I was surprised at how my body reacted by feeling good most of the time. After a year of zero Big Macs, I decided to give it another try. I had a Big Mac, large fry and a Coke. An hour later, I threw up… from both ends. That was my body’s way of saying STOP THE INSANITY. I did and I’ve never felt better.
Also, people are using Jim’s restaurant as a place to throw down. Not cool. So Jim is definitely worse than Paul Reiser.
2010 Jason Bay
This lucky (and smart) Canadian managed to work out a $73 million five-year deal with the Mets after the 2009 season. He followed that trip to the bank by hitting 6 homeruns in 95 games, before he got hurt and missed the rest of the season.
He was bad. So bad that he is STILL worse than Paul Reiser.
NATO wants him dead. That doesn’t make him bad, that makes him SOOP-UH BAD… or, WORSE than Paul Reiser.
I really hate to pick on the Mets here, but, well, the Mets have done a lot of dumb things in recent years… like, y’know, pay Oliver Perez $12 million a year to throw baseballs like my athletically-challenged and oft persnickety colleague, Mr. Krause throws softballs.
Not very good.
Of course, Ollie’s situation comes in way WORSE than Paul Reiser’s, because Ollie is STILL getting $12 million from the Mets this year, even though he’s not on the team.
All of the above are bad. In fact, all of the above are really bad.
But they are also UNANIMOUSLY rich beyond my Joe Plumber @$$, so… the moral of the story, once again, is be bad. Get paid.
Congrats on making the team, Paul Reiser.
Hate me ‘cuz it’s legal, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
My heart is filled with sorrow knowing that Glenn Beck, the insane political entertainment leech that he is, will no longer be employed by the fear-mongering moguls at Fox News. That’s right, dear readers. I, and a collective US America, am in mourning. Please, let us grieve.
Unfortunately, this mutual divorce means no more frog murdering on live television. It means no more psychotic temper tantrums directed towards reason. And yes, sadly, my friends, It means no more *oligarhy*.
But never fear! Glenn Beck is the Washington Nationals of politics! He may be an embarrassment to the establishment, but damn does he make things interesting every once in a while!
In fact, rumor has it, he might even start his own television network!
And just in case he might need some help, the RSBS interns and I got right to work on finding the most appropriate network name. Here’s a short list of what we came up with:
FoSN – The Full of S*** Network
NOGWN – The No One’s Gonna Watch Network
FBC – The Fail Broadcasting Corporation
Can’t wait to see what Mr. Beck finds the most appropriate… though early signs point to NOGWN, mostly ‘cuz I like how it sounds when you try to say it: “Nahg-wahn”.
Hate me. I don’t care. Just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
The first week of the season is nearly over and it has already been a doozie. Just imagine what the rest of the year has in store!
However, since it’s Friday, I wanted to take a second and focus on what Friday’s used to mean to me. Yep, that’s right. TGIF on ABC!!!
To recapture that spirit, here’s a little ditty from Mr. Full House himself, Bob Saget. Listen in as he dispels a persistent little rumor that just never seemed to go away.
Thank goodness it’s Friday.
In baseball, if it’s a joke you want, it’s the Pittsburgh Pirates you get. No question.
In US American politics… Sarah Palin.
Television? The Office‘s “that’s what she said” bit.
And now, for your viewing pleasure, two of those three… put together:
Hate me ‘cuz I know magic, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Do you ever have a revelation right as you’re falling asleep? Where something just kind of hits you and then a second later you’re out? For instance, the other night I was drifting off when it struck me that I really don’t want to be killed by a crocodile. The whole ripping and tearing and drowning, I’m just not interested.
These little eureka moments on the threshold of sleep, somnolent epiphanies perhaps, usually disappear, replaced the next morning by a feeling of loss, like something was in your grasp and then faded away. But not always. Just like my Archimedes moment with the crocodiles the other evening, this morning I woke up with a similar sensation. Let me explain.
Last night I went to bed a little confused after reading Jeff’s post. I mean, he knows I like girls and I wondered why he would make insinuations about my sexuality. It just didn’t make sense to me. I know it had nothing to do with what I posted the other day because it’s obvious that I’m just trying to help him with a very real problem. But as I sank into sleep with these thoughts orbiting around my head, awareness suddenly exploded like a supernova.
Let me take you back a little. Those of you who read this blog regularly or know Jeff well undoubtedly also know that he is infatuated with Asia. The art, the languages, the religions, the peoples. There is no aspect he does not love.
But, if you follow pop culture, you realize that within this arena there are barely understood subcultures, fringes on which things happen that are often hard to fathom. And if you watch 30 Rock or read the New York Times you have become acquainted with possibly the most incomprehensible subculture.
Having watched this episode of 30 Rock just the other day, it’s no surprise that both the show and the article were on my mind as I went to bed. And when that mixed together in my head with a comment that a reader made the other day about substituting a blow-up doll in place of a girlfriend for Jeff, well, I had my eureka moment.
Yes, that’s right. I could barely believe it myself but all signs point to Jeff being in a long-term relationship with some sort of body pillow. The lack of a girlfriend. The callously strewn about accusations. The down feathers that always seem to be stuck in his hair. All are signs pointing toward the inescapable truth.
Now, I am unable to comment on the veracity of reports that this body pillow sports an Albert Pujols jersey. And I almost certainly do not believe the recent rumor that this pillow may actually be Jeff’s common-law wife. That being said, it would explain a lot.
Really, though, I’m here to be a friend and that’s why I just want to say, “Jeff. It’s all right. You can come clean. You’re among friends and we support you.” So, how about it Mr. Lung? Wouldn’t you feel better being able to live your life out here in the open with the rest of us?
Do you hear that scratching? No, it’s not the mice building a warm nest under your floor. It’s not the dog trying to get rid of those annoying fleas. It’s not even your roommate doing only god knows what while watching the NFL playoffs.
That scratching sound is various agents and GM’s tearing apart and reassembling contracts in order to steal your favorite players away and make that new jersey you bought last season immediately irrelevant.
However, I hope that you won’t think ill of these players and curse them for being the wh0res that they are. Remember, like our friend GOB (pronounced Jobe) Bluth told us, they’re really just illusions. Even if they really do seem like tricks.
-Photo via Skull Swap
There are a lot of different kinds of weird. There’s the weird of realizing what had to happen between your parents to make you. There’s the weird of managing to be all tied up after 162 games. But then there’s the weird that, as my old Sunday school teacher would say, transcends all understanding. That’s right, I’m talking about the weird of watching Tom Delay on Dancing With the Stars.
Tom Delay. The Hammer. The man who was able to achieve a veritable cat-herding feat by first organizing the Republican caucus in the House of Representatives and then by keeping them in line. The man who helped redistrict Texas to such an extent that no Democrat will ever win outside their existing district for the next generation. And now he’s doing the rumba.
Let me explain this in layman’s terms. It’s like Ty Cobb quitting baseball to lead a civil rights campaign. Ok, maybe it’s not that extreme but it’s also not that far off. Perhaps it’s more like A-Rod leaving his gorgeous wife to date an over-the-hill pop star. Yeah, that sounds about right.
However, all of this oddness led me to an almost stunningly brilliant idea for another long-serving representative. Picture it: Nancy Pelosi leaves the Congress to lead a b-boy pack that takes America’s Best Dance Crew by storm. Hey, weirder things have happened. Just ask your parents.