My views on politics, life, death, the army, and other things too miscellaneous to mention here. This is a personal blog. This blog is 100% factual.

Bill Duckwing
Poet, Author, Journalist



03/01/2003 - 04/01/2003
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"There are some myths and untruths surrounding the role God plays in our daily lives. To say that religion and politics do not mix, is certainly a myth, unless you ask a liberal. Anything that affects a Christian (and voting is one of them) — enters into the religious realm. Trying to separate the two is like trying to separate oil from a glass of water, it's impossible to do. "
Thursday, October 30, 2003  
Miscellaneous Things in the News/Net/Etc.

The Politics of Annoyance: Michael Kinsley has been setting them up and knocking them down lately. I thought his piece on Bush's take on Stem Cell Research (as a biologist, his position particularly irked me), was a fine wake-up call. His rebuttal to Jay Lefkowitz's party line nonsense was even better.

Granted, the wish for more directness and honesty in politics is a far off pipe dream, and perhaps impossible. But nods towards that general direction are always a good sign. There's only so much bullshit one can take, and I'm sure even the bullshitters themselves tire of hearing the same old spin and waffles come from their lips. Even if Bush doesn't realize it yet, this next election year will find voters slightly more savy, and looking for electable outsiders in the political field just as disgusted as they are with their daily quota of bull.

Cthulhu Uber Alles: As a loyal Fark reader, I am of course a big Cthulhu fan. I also went through a phase of listening to "Fiddler on the Roof" back in the mid-eighties, when "Fiddler" was like the precurser mention in conversation for people who liked mega-musicals and wanted to be somewhat cooler than the other people who liked mega-musicals. It added a little "street cred" by saying "Hey, I liked Fiddler way before 'Cats' became cool!"

Yeah...right. Anyway, I'm not sure there's really anything weirder than a Cthulhu musical based on 'Fiddler on the Roof.' But it does exist, a documentary done by the H.P. Lovecraft Nerd Society, or whatever, called "A Shoggoth on the Roof." The fact that someone actually wrote a script for this, and then decided to produce a fake documentary of a non-existant theatre troupe that tried to produce the musical back in the Seventies, shows that my own relative dorkiness as a pre-teen is a pup compared to whatever fed these guys enough in their adolescence to write this thing.

Honorable Mentions: Links go out to Dimmy Karras and Why I Hate DC for providing excellent diversions from work this week. I really think Dimmy Karras does a great news blog about things I care about, like sports (particularly Boston sports) and some politics. And his comments on my blog have always been thought provoking. I'm a big news junkie, so any blog that actually has news I haven't read anywhere else is a good thing. Why I Hate DC is more of a local thing, obviously. I don't personally Hate DC, but the city can generate a lot of aggravation, and it takes a lot of heat and blame from the residents, which shouldn't be too surprising, as this is a city in which residents are extremely well informed about pretty much everything that goes on in the entire metropolitan region (the local TV news coverage generally runs from 4-11 everyday, and there's also NewsChannel 8, if you miss too much). Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

-duckwing, at 10:33 PM

Monday, October 27, 2003  
Seriously Speaking (the occasional serious editorial from the guys that write the Apple Coda...)

I consider myself to the left of the political spectrum on most things, and on most days of the year. But I think that for most balanced people, the political spectrum doesn't really matter all that much, except as a general guidepost for pundits expected to come out such and such a way to a political issue.

I'm not a political pundit, so in no way do I feel the need to conform to some political ideology to form and hold opinions on current events.

And I say this because sometimes I surprise even myself, when my inner-conservative makes itself known by saying stuff like:

"George Bush is right -we need to pay for the war reconstruction ourselves..."

I know...weird. By, even though I still think the war was totally bullshit, any other position on the war reconstruction issue sounds like the proverbial crying over spilt milk. It has to be done -we engaged Iraq with the (almost) full support of our Representatives, and an "elected" President, the War on Iraq was overwhelming supported by the American People -we should just pay for what we destroyed, and should be held responsible for reparations due to the loss of stability caused by the overthrow of the previous government. No loan, no whining about how things in DC or any other place in America should be given the money instead. And we shouldn't even be bothering the UN by asking the financial help (even though they will, just because they're a great bunch of guys over there). It was our War, we should do the responsible thing and pay for it out of our own pockets, even though giving sovereignty to the UN should still be on the table

But that's not what people from ANSWER and a few slimy Congressmen are talking about. John Kerry, and to my surprise, John Edwards, both voted against the $87 billion after voting for the "Blank Check" resolution authorizing Bush to go to war. Both are now saying that they are against "blank checks" even though this particular blank check actually does have an amount -$87 billion.

In this case, they're both wrong again, and for attempting to apease the radical wing of the Democratic party, the wing that actually makes liberals unconfortable, they will be tarred and feathered.

Gephardt is the only Democratic Candidate for President with legislative privledges (Lieberman doesn't count, Dean doesn't have leg. privs.) who voted for the resolution. Right now he's got the momentum and is right up there behind Dean -in 2nd place.

I'm more of a semantics over syntax kinda guy. The real points of contention it seems are the contracts to Haliburton and other favored coporate defense contractors, and the amount we're funding for reconstruction. I think it's fine to debate these points, as long as the ball gets rolling and we finish what we started sometime this century. I mean, as long as it gets done, I don't really care who gets the contracts, or how much it costs. We're already up to are arses in debt anyway.

When Election 2004 comes around, I know there's someone who'll inject a little bit of bottom line business ethos back into our political system again. Who'll have an executive branch that can smartly and ethically exucute their decisions in a way that makes sense. It ain't these guys, but that doesn't mean we need to stall out our current government so that it can't function, and at least in theory, do the right thing. Which is, repair the damage that both Saddam Hussein and our own Goverment have done in Iraq.

-duckwing, at 10:07 PM

Thursday, October 23, 2003  
Lester Hates Phoebe: A One-Act Play Starring John Gilcrest

Guys, the response to my last post has been truely overwhelming. And the big topic of interest seems to be the ongoing composition of mine: Lester Hates Phoebe, A One-Act Play Starring John Gilcrest.

What is Lester's beef with Phoebe? Who the hell is John Gilcrest, I've never heard of him before? And, most importantly, why is this such a big deal?

Well, I can answer that last question, at least. LHPAOAPSJG is a big deal because I'm going to assemble all of the possible ideas that can be read into the title of my play, both as imagined by me, and from reader comments and reviews, and put them into book form, which will be called: "Elements of Lester Hates Phoebe: A One-Act Play Starring John Gilcrest" (Harcourt, Brace, and World -2004). Here are a few excepts:

LHPAOAPSJG: a Metaphysical Melodrama

We open to a set -one table, one chair. Lester sits at the table, starring at a cup of coffee. Phoebe is leaning over the table, gazing at Lester.

Lester: Phoebe.

Phoebe: Lester.

Lester: And so it begins...

Phoebe: Yes, a cycle of constancy.

Lester: ...

Phoebe: Lester.

Lester: Phoebe...

Phoebe (talking as if in a trance): Lessssss....terrrrrrrr....

Lester (the same): Phoeeeeee....beeeeeeeeeeee....

Phoebe: This is it.

Lester: The Circle of Life.

Phoebe: Alpha and the Omega...

Lester: Yes.

Phoebe: Oh look...(a card falls from the ceiling, and gently flutters to the ground)...a card.

Lester (looking at his coffee): What does it say?

Phoebe (rushing over to the card, picks it up): Oh look! John Gilcrest will be performing a one act play over at the Playhouse. (Clasps hands together) Oh Lester! We should go to see the play tonight!

Lester (stares at coffee): I hate you...Phoebe....

(fade out)

LHPAOAPSJG: as a 1950's Political Satire

We open to one table, one chair. Lester sits at the chair, staring at his coffee. Phoebe paces back and forth, from one end of the stage to the other, and mimes the act of washing dishes at one end of the stage, and putting the dishes away at the other end. An enormous radio in front center stage blares Anti-Communist Propaganda.

Lester: Wow.

Phoebe: What?

Lester: Wow. These are some times we're living in, eh Phoebe?

Phoebe: You said it, Lester.

Lester: What, with the war on Communism. Man, those cats gotta leave those kids alone.

Phoebe: Daddio?

Lester: You said it.

Phoebe: Lester...(pauses to dry a dish)...what are you saying? Are you a Communist, now? Because, if you are, I'll have to turn you in. It's the, uh....what is it?

Lester: ...The Patriotic thing to do...

Phoebe: Yes, that's right. If only I could think for myself...(sigh)...

Lester: It's okay, Phoebe. I was just kidding.

Phoebe: (laughs, almost hysterically, but not quite) I knew it! No husband of mine would be a stinking Red!

Lester: HaHa! You're right! Burn them!

Phoebe: Burn them!

Lester: ...

Phoebe: Lester, I have an idea! Why don't we make posters urging people in the neighborhood to re-elect John Gilcrest for President!

Lester: You mean, make them ourselves?!

Phoebe: Yes, it'll be fun! We could paint "I Enjoy John Gilcrest!" on white posterboard. Or maybe just use magic markers!

Lester: I Enjoy John Gilcrest!

Phoebe: ...

Lester: He'll save us from the ugly omnipresent spector of Communism!

Phoebe: ...

Lester: And, if I do say so myself, I think he'd make a damn fine President...again...

Phoebe: ...

Lester: Phoebe, are you hiding something from me?

Phoebe: (breaks out into tears) I'm sorry, but... I did enjoy John Gilcrest once before...

Lester: ...

Phoebe: It was just once, but I only did it to serve my Country!

Lester: I hate you... Phoebe...

LHPAOAPSJG: as envisioned by Quentin Tarantino

Scene 1:

Same deal.

Phoebe: Well, cut me some slack here. I'm a woman. And that fucker killed my family...except you of course, dear.

Lester: I hear ya.

Phoebe: I was thinkin' about cutting a rug over by the ol' Wash Tub. (seductively...) Wanna join me?

Lester: Not right now. I'm starring at a cup of coffee.

Phoebe: Want fries with that?

Lester: Shut up...I'm thinking. I'm trying to help ya lady. Now, where could he be hiding...

Phoebe: There he is! It's John Gilcrest!

Lester (startled) Where?

Phoebe: Over there! Crouching over there like some kinda coward!

Lester (pulling out a gun): Ah shit motherfucka! There, I see him. (fires gun towards a dark corner on the left hand side of the stage) BANG BANG BANG BANG! Wow...sure got that asshole!

Lester (thinks for a minute): Oh yeah, I hate you...Phoebe...

(fade out)

Scene 2:

Curtains rise. The stage is empty and black. Lester and Phoebe speak as voiceovers from offstage.

Phoebe: Well, cut me some slack here. I'm a woman. And that fucker killed my family...except you of course, dear.

Lester: I hear ya.

Phoebe: I was thinkin' about cutting a rug over by the ol' Wash Tub. (seductively...) Wanna join me?

Lester: Not right now. I'm starring at a cup of coffee.

Phoebe: Want fries with that?

Lester: Shut up...I'm thinking. I'm trying to help ya lady. Now, where could he be hiding...

Phoebe: There he is! It's John Gilcrest!

Lester (startled) Where?

Phoebe: Over there! Crouching over there like some kinda coward!

Lester: Ah shit motherfucka! There, I see him. (fires gun towards a dark corner on the left hand side of the stage) BANG BANG BANG BANG!

A strobe flash accents each time Lester says Bang, as if he's firing at the audience...

Lester: Wow...sure got that asshole!

Lester (thinks for a minute): Oh yeah, I hate you...Phoebe...

Close curtains...

Apologize for the long post -At least it sure seems pretty long from here.

-duckwing, at 10:54 PM

Exciting, Over-the-Top Improvisational Post!

Nope -these are just the headlines I come up with when I actually do want to say something, but nothing specific to blog about really comes to mind.

If you like to read that sort of stuff, by all means, hang on. It's like improvisational jazz, or scat, or beat poetry or something.

If you want to find out how to beat up tourists, or find out who's in the World Series, you can just skip this one, and read on.

But hold on a sec...the song "(Keep Feeling...) Fascination" by the Human League just came up on my mp3 player.

Okay, that's over. That's just one of those songs that makes you want to get up out of your chair and dance all over the apartment. But I have a broken ankle, which is healing, but it's still kinda swollen and sore. Dancing to music in this lamentable state kinda makes me look like Pee Wee Herman, like a flailing fish. So I stopped dancing.

Oh yeah. Revelation time -my sense of humor. When I decide to take a glace inward, and figure out what makes me tick, I usually come out of it with the idea that my sense of humor tends toward the cynical side. But that's not really all that true. Cynical people always have a pervading sense of ironical or sarcastic intent in everything they do, be it in their fashion sense, their political affiliation (if any), and their humor. It's like choosing a brand name, and then snorting derisively at it.

Whoa. Didn't mean to pigeonhole... really! Just came out. Remember, I'm just winging it here. Open post. Really.

My point is, of course, that I'm really not of that stripe. The stuff that really makes me laugh out loud is the stuff that should be really annoying, and actually really is. I was never really amused by the "Wazzup!" commercial, but only because it was just 30 seconds long. If they stretched the spot to 30 minutes of guys screaming "Wazzup!" -sandwhiched between "Oh, nothing much, just watching TV, drinking a Bud..." I would've laughed my ass off.

I guess if you'd want to pigeonhole me, it'd be a prankish sort of humor. When somebody tells me a strange but true story at work, at a bar, whatever, my first impulse is to be like "That really happened? No way!" and then continue in the disbelief mode, saying "I don't believe it!" "You're crazy/kidding!" "I still don't believe it!" "Nope, not yet!" until the person who told me the story has a similar impulse to knock me upside the head. Actually, I think that might've been some sort of sketch comedy thing on TV years ago, but I don't remember where. It has entered my subconsious, and hangs out there with all the other pop culture garbage in my own personal mind dump.

Okay, so what impressions have I made so far in one post. Idiot, annoying, self-satisfied. Poor spelling/grammar/punc. Probably has a retro thing going on, too (I don't, but I am privy to nostalgic stuff for kicks every once in awhile).

Tomorrow, I'm posting up "Lester Hates Phoebe: a One-Act Play Starring John Gilcrest" -which should be self-explanatory. Well, not really. The idea was inspired, of course, by "Waiting for Godot." I haven't read "Waiting for Godot" since I was in High School, and all I really remember about it is that it had a horse named "Lucky" in it and two guys saying stuff like:



"When's He coming?"

"When He's ready for us."


So maybe this will be a pretty loosely tied inspiration for "Lester Hates Phoebe." But whatever. I haven't actually even written the thing yet. It should be fun.

-duckwing, at 12:26 AM

Monday, October 20, 2003  
How to Screw up a Tourist to DC's Life (and feel really good about it...)

People? Tourists! How can you stand them? These god-forsaken people, who come to DC to actively participate in taking in the sights of DC, thus defaming them. Cameras, Hawaiian shirts, fanny packs, sunglasses five times bigger than their fat pudgy wholesome faces! Children... tagging alone on every corner of every block on the great stretch of peace and respectibility and cleanliness that is the National Mall.

As every tourist knows, we DC Nativists hate ALL the tourists. Especially the ugly ones, who ask QUESTIONS, stare at their METRO MAPS, and annoy the everliving SHIT out of US (trying out the capital letter thing quasi-style, just to see it I like it...heh heh).

The Tourist Season in DC is long gone, till February-March, but a few stragglers will remain. Here's some suggestions for those of us FED UP, and willing to TAKE REVENGE:

1.) The Captiol is located in New Carrolton: if you're downtown, and someone asks you if the Capitol is nearby, say: "Oh, no! You're way off target! It's a popular misconception -the Capitol is actually located in New Carrolton, Maryland -just take the Orange line to the end, and you'll be fine." When the tourist says something to the effect of that you're a lying sack of shit, proceed to beat the crap out of him and steal his wallet.

2.) Walk Left, Stand Right: If you see a stupid tourist actually walking on the right hand side of one of the up escaltors in a Metro station, kindly overtake him and explain to him that you must always walk on the left hand side of the escalators, and stand on the right. This preserves order in the Universe, or something to that effect. Then laugh hysterically -while he's distracted, you can take his wallet.

3.) The Pirate Distraction: Put on your finest Washington Redskins sweatshirt, a bowtie, and gym shorts. Go to a bar in Adams Morgan. Proceed to drink ten shots of whatever in 30 minutes. If the bartender cuts you off after 15, stumble out to another bar must consume another shot for every minute you are delayed. After you're tenth (or whatever) shot, close one eye, and open the other widely, so that it's bulging out and twitching (you might have to duct tape the open eye to get the proper effect). Put a bandana on, if you have one. Go up and start a conversation with a tourist. Say something along the lines of: "Argghhh! Got a few gold dublooms on ya to give to a scurvy dog for a bottle of RUM and a cab ride home?" Don't forget to squint. He'll put out his wallet to give you some dough. Make Sure you check to see if he's giving you all of the cash in his wallet. If he gives you only a buck or something, beat the crap out of him, and take his wallet.

4.) The Kensington Nightlife: Tourists always want to go check out the nightlife in DC, only they don't really want to check out the nightlife in DC -they usually wan't a safe cool place near their hotel or off in the suburbs. When asked, always suggest Kensington MD, an outer suburban wasteland of Gas Stations and Dark, Evil Spirits. Just say -"From your hotel, turn left, and follow Connecticut Ave Up, Up, and Away!" You might want to reconsider taking their wallet just in case they actually believe you, as it'll kinda spoil the whole joke.

Just have fun with it. And remember -it's us vs. them. And "they" won't be back in quantities again until next March.


-duckwing, at 10:51 PM

Friday, October 17, 2003  
It's Over...Again.

Less than 24 hours away from the ALCS, and my mind is already far, far away from the World of Baseball.

I am a Red Sox fan, not necessarily a huge fan of baseball, but nonetheless I do check in on them in the papers to see how their doing throughout the year, and if they do well, make it to the post season, I start watching the games.

Call me a fair weather fan.

A true Sox fan would probably never pick the Yankee's to win the ALCS (I did), so that's another strike against me.

A true Sox fan probably believes there is some sort of legitimate curse on the team (maybe not the will of the Bambino, but something else). I don't. Strike two against me.

A true Sox fan has made the pilgrimage to Fenway Park at least once in his lifetime. I haven't. Strike three.

So, given that, the fact that I don't think Grady Little should be fired for mismanagement of the team during last night's game probably comes as little surprise to you.

I think the Red Sox were supurb in Gave 7, and I think that Pedro was doing fine up until the 8th. A little shaky in the 7th, perhaps, but truly an outstanding performance from Pedro.

And of course, once Matsui came up to bat, I was screaming for Pedro to be taken out, but in retrospect, and trying to do away with hindsight, I think that Little made the right choice in trusting Pedro to finish out the inning.

The Bullpen was great in the postseason, but has been shaky overall. That would be enough to make me (if I were Little) think hard about keeping Pedro in just one more inning. Wakefield was available, but putting in two best pitchers in one game, when you're ahead 5-2? Inconcievable.

In hindsight, Little made the wrong choice, of course. In an almost flawless game for the Red Sox, that one mistake easily cost them the game. But I don't see it as evidence of a Curse, unless you wish to argue that statisics cause failure. I watched an excellent, nail-biting game between two excellent teams. And both proved their mettle last night.

Which means I won't be watching another baseball game well into next year.

Next up: News, politics, and all the usual junk.

-duckwing, at 9:05 PM

Wednesday, October 15, 2003  
Have You Seen My Baseball?

It's over, baby.

And all I can say is one thing:

I blame Steve Bartman.

Remember that phrase, it will be the catch-all for all that goes wrong ever in American, the world, and of course, baseball.

The Staten Island Ferry incident. Some claim the wind, but on the day after the huge blow-out of Game Six of the NLCS by the Florida Marlins, in the eighth inning. Clearly the act of a vengeful God who for some reason hates the Cubs, and for some reason, in his Obscurity, Revenges Himself upon...NYC...

And for this, I also blame...Steve Bartman.

Numerology bases many of it's proverbs on the Number 8 -it's is a circular number -tip it on it's side and it reaches the infinite. Just as Steve Bartman, nominally a 26 year old baseball enthusist and Notre Dame grad, in the span of two or three seconds, became the ever-living embodiment of a 100 year curse, formally known as The Goat, but now known as Steve Bartman...

And Cubs Fans the World over known that no amount of goat slaughtering on the Fields of Dreams will appease a vengeful God now, now only Steve Bartman holds the key to the perhaps infinate fallibility of the Chicago Cubs.

And no Steven gets out alive. We got St. Stephen (alternet spelling), the first martyr of the Christian era, and the start of a trend, culminating in the suicide bombings in the Middle East.

No good ever comes out of the Stevens.

Steve McQueen (Towering Inferno)

Steve Hawking (annoying pessimist)

Steve Spielberg (AI)

Steve Dallas (well, y'know...)

This Steve, will, of course, top them all. The cat-call "Steve...Perry!" will have to endure some minor editing...

But, at least he'll have a condo on the waterfront of Florida and bucket loads of steak dinner, courtsey of the Florida Marlin fans.

(S.B.'s name has, by this time, appeared on the national news since he issued his public apology, so I feel no problem with giving his name to the 2 or so individuals who read this. If you want to get his home or work address, though, you might want to check in the Chicago Sun-Times.)

-duckwing, at 11:20 PM

Tuesday, October 14, 2003  
What Am I Missing?

I have noticed that I haven't been putting up any new links in the past couple of months. The reason is that I really haven't found any new sites on the web remotely interesting. Should I link to Google, or Fark, just for the sake of linking?

I write this because I'm annoyed that Al Franken Web tops the list of my most recent links. (my most recent links appear at the bottom of the list) God Damn that Troll -I can feel him smirking at my dilema as I write this.

Not that my permanent links are always quality or whatnot, just that I haven't seen anything to catch my interest in awhile. I've been in hibernation...

That said, RetroCrush is a neat site for thirtysomethings in search of reliving their childhoods in harsh, but amusing ways. I still remember Return of the Living Dead as being the ultimate movie of the 80's for a kid under ten, and if you remember it, you should check out Retro Crush.

See ya tomorrow.

-duckwing, at 10:01 PM

Monday, October 13, 2003  
Ouch Ouch Ouch Ouch

Let me rephrase this, so that's it's less of a subtitle, and more of a quotation:


This is the sound my mouth makes as I'm walking up the stairs, carrying a load of laundry in my hands, my right foot somehow supporting a left foot that for some happens to need a perpendicular angle to my body to feel secure.


The bigger profanities cross my mind, but this is not a sharp pain, not sharp enough to warrant such a gross violation of self-censorship to yell openly. It is but a whimper of pain, and so it yields only an ouch.

But it's getting stronger every day. I can't feel it yet, the weakness is there, and the pain, which originated in my ankle, has found new areas of my leg to express itself. My Big Toe, broken four years earlier, has awakened again, and has taken offense to my request of supporting the rest of my weight at times. Ditto, Upper Calf, and especially, Lower Thigh.

My lower thigh seems particularly irked without justification, kinda like Pedro Martinez (y'knew I was going to throw that one in there). There's no particular reason why my lower thigh would object, given he's been supporting ten tons of walking cast love weight for the past month, but now he just is.

Lately, my doc has prescribed exercise for my leg, which means I'm supposed to walk on it at much as I can, but walk around with my cast on "uneven ground" like when I'm outside, trimming the hedges, mowing the lawn, or walking the dog. The dog really hates my limp walk, which I do out of obvious necessity. But, still I tell him, dude, it's just for a little while longer, till my leg heals -but he still looks at me with sadness, and whines pathetically during a full moon. Sometimes, when I'm cleaning up his shit, I see a tear in his eye, as if he's begging me to put in a little more effort, to put a towel around my foot and pull just a little harder, hop around on my bad foot just a minute longer, for my own sake.

But I'm just kidding. I don't really have a dog.

Oh, yeah, before I get too comfortable-"Ouch!"

-duckwing, at 10:34 PM

Sunday, October 12, 2003  
Cry me a River?

The Curse of the Bambino manifested itself last night in the form of Pedro Martinez.

And, of course, nobody took this game harder than Red Sox fans, all of whom were pretty much tearing out their own fingernails when Martinez knocked the overly-emotional old fart Donald Zimmer into the ground by the dugout.

Nobody beats up on the Red Sox quite like Red Sox fans. And if that doesn’t quite explain away the 85-year old Curse, in it’s own way, it sure explains Boston’s adherence to it.

Not that I’m exactly defending Pedro here –obviously Martinez was being a bit of a cry-baby in the fourth, when he resorted to beaning Garcia in the shoulder in order to display his God-like pitching prowess. And firing off some harsh words to the Yankees club didn’t help. But, even though watching Zimmer being thrown to the ground was horrific to watch, I can’t knock Pedro for reacting.

Pedro didn’t go out to find Zimmer –Zimmer found him. Whether or not Zimmer is loveable old dude or old hard ass is debatable. Zimmer, despite his old age, was a.) very pissed off, b.) approached Pedro aggressively. Zimmer threw a punch at Pedro. Pedro reacted by moving off to the side, and throwing Zimmer into the ground. Zimmer only got a bloody nose out of the deal (so far).

Motivations are, of course, open to interpretation. But seeing that Martinez didn’t approach Zimmer, I’m going to have to believe that Pedro Martinez didn’t mean to hurt Zimmer, but that Zimmer did intend to hurt Pedro.

Sorry about that.

And the Red Sox fans need to get it into gear here if they’re going to continue to be the greatest fans in baseball. They at least have to get over their own melodrama and stop saying things like this:

“I went to bed last night feeling embarrassed to be a Red Sox fan. I awoke this morning and felt no different.”

“As a Red Sox fan, I'm used to having my heart broken by loss. However, in all my years of watching Red Sox baseball, nothing prepared me for the deep hurt inflicted yesterday. While other games may have wounded my heart, this one blackened my soul.”

Baseball is, of course, the most superstitious of sports. And if you’re a superstitious fan, better put away that knife and put on a clean Sox cap for tonight’s game (but don’t launder it yet if you wore it out to Fenway for Game 1), cause it ain’t over, yet.

-duckwing, at 5:58 PM

Monday, October 06, 2003  
Musings, Rants, and Things

Bits, Bats, Bases, and Balls: So far, I’m two for three. I’ll admit, those bastard Marlins trumped me and every other sports writer in the country, but that’s okay. I’m fine with that, because there’s no way I’m going to be trumped again.

The Yankees are going to be big and brutal this post-season. My big assumption here is that at least one team with 100+ wins during the season has to be in the World Series, so the Yankee’s are in by default, given this week’s weak knockout of the Giants and the Braves. It doesn’t matter if it’s against the A’s or the Red Sox, they have to be in the World Series.

The Big Question is: will it be against the Cubs or the Marlins. Cubs or Marlins….hmmm. Well, I think Florida owes this Country big after the 2000 Election debacle, right? Those Cubs have heart, dammit, and no weird ass “hot streak” is going to make any difference this week. Dusty Baker will turn those Fish into lobotomized, limp wristed stool monkeys by Game 1, and the only thing that’ll be decipherable from their pitiful typewritten scrawls will be two words: “We stink.”

And that’s what happens when you try to trump my odds. Cubs over Marlins. Yankees over Red Sox (or A’s). Yankees uber alles.

California, USA: You gotta hand it to Mr. October. Arnold’s finishing strong, but the gaps are closing, and soon, very soon, somebody’s going to have a new Governor. I’m pitching for Leo Gallagher. After this blatant stunt of publicity and all-consuming news, we have no one else to blame but the people of California. For taking days of life from ordinary average, I don’t give a fuck Americans, they deserve a cheap watermelon-smashing clown to runs things in Sacramento for a while. Arnold by a noose. And bring your parkas.

Neal Pollack: In DC tomorrow. The Velvet Lounge on the New U. I’ll be the guy with the broken leg –see you there!

-duckwing, at 7:45 PM

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