Three's Company [With the thing and the thing and the thing]

Some people think that baseball season is too long.

If you meet one of these people, the appropriate response is to hit them over the head with a tack hammer, because these people are attention-deficient idiots.

Part of what makes baseball so great, and the marathon season so appealing, is that over the course of 162 games, you're pretty much guaranteed to see something, at some point, that you've never seen before. I've attended a fair amount of Yankees games in my life -- Here's an interesting little exercise: If you had to put a number to it, how many total times would you say you've joined the faithful in attendance at your favorite squadron's home ballpark? I've got my estimate at 50 in the real Yankee Stadium, with last night marking my second visit to Lonn Trost's House -- and only by virtue of the long season have I been given the chance to see some of the crazy things I've seen at 161 St. and River Ave.

Were the baseball season not seemingly interminable, odds are much slimmer that I'd have been in the house to see six pitchers combine to no-hit the Yankees for the first time in 45 years, a 2-homer game by A-Rod during his torrid 2007 summer, the 'Boston' standings flag flying inexplicably upside down (photo evidence available upon request), or the apocalyptic sight of "Your Opening Day starter, Carl Pavano." In sports with shorter seasons, you're lucky if you make it to a game or two. In baseball, you've got 81 chances to have a foul ball land in your seat while you're in the concourse putting ketchup on your hot dog, only to end up snagging a second foul pop to your section upon returning (And yes, every one of these things happened with this guy in attendance). Sure, every sport has its idiosyncracies and once-in-a-lifetime moments, but baseball's long season affords you the most chances to actually witness one live.

Last night, I got to be a part of another one of those moments. Looking on from Section 312, I watched Nick Swisher, Robinson Cano and Melky Cabrera hit back-to-back-to-back (and belly-to-belly-to-belly?) home runs in the bottom of the second, staking Phil Hughes and the Bombers to what would ultimately end in a lopsided eighth straight win for the Pinstripers. It was the first time the Yankees teed off for 3 straight dingers since 2005, and only the 11th time they've ever done it. I'll even credit myself with halfway calling the third, as I leaned over to my friend Rob and said, "Does Melky make it 3 in a row here, or is that too much wishful thinking?"

Hopefully I'll prove to have a knack for these kinds of moments this year. Fresh off the heels of three consecutive homers, I'll return to The Stadium tonight and try to run my record to a clean 3-0 on the season. And oh yea, Bonnaroo starts exactly three weeks from today.

It's Thursday, and it's absolutely beautiful. Apparently summer decided to just show up. Come and knock on our door.

Wherein the Subway Turnstile Dashes My Hopes [Life Imitating Art]

Sometimes your personal soundtrack syncs with your life just a little bit too perfectly. Case in point, as I'm heading home from work today, I'm head-nodding along to a Phish song called "Possum."

For those that don't know (or don't care about that damn dirty hippie music), "Possum" is a bouncy little number in which the singer "Was driving down the road one day, [and] someone hit a possum." The refrain of the tune culminates with a three part harmony on the word "Possum," held for as long as the lungs will allow, followed by the shouting declaration, "Your end is the road!"

So, as the song is nearing it's jammed out conclusion, I enter the subway station and see the train parked in the station, open doors beckoning. Charging for the turnstile I quickly swipe my card and attempt to run to the waiting train, but feel myself slammed backward by the stuck turnstile as the LED indicator lights up "Swipe Card Again." The subway doors close and I hang my head in defeat, perfectly in sync with the song's final crescendo, having reached the end of my road.

Of course, I got on the next train and returned to the comforts of home. Ol' Possum wasn't quite so lucky.

Being Canadian: >, <, or = Being Disabled? [They're not even a real country anyway]

I got caught in a Jaywalking moment at a party last weekend when I declared "O Canada" my favorite national anthem. I realize this is primarily because I'm obsessed with the South Park movie -- not the point. In defense of my choice, I said, "It's a simple tune but it's poetic, not too long and easy to sing." Then came my Leno-worthy blunder.

"Much easier than, uh... the one that we have..."

Then laughter. Specifically in my face and at me. In my defense, I did immediately remember the title of the STAR SPANGLED (EFFING)* BANNER.

*expletives added for emphasis. and fun.

This all got me thinking about other explanations for my appreciation of "O Canada," and served to up the hype for this year's edition of our annual MLB Barnstorming Tour: Northward, To Canada! The tradition has already produced its share of watershed moments, and the '09 edition is looking like it's going to be a winner as well. I started to wonder what pregame festivities Toronto would have to bust out to top the classics we've been lucky enough to experience-- I don't know that there's anything, but I've been proven wrong before.

Naturally, it wasn't long before I thought of the great Edmonton Oilers tradition of the home crowd singing the national anthem. It's eerie cool, and the video is worth watching for that alone. But this particular version vaults into Unintentionally Televised Unintentional Comedy Hall of Fame status at around the 0:55 mark. As the camera pans close up along the players on the bench, it winds up fixed squarely on a Molson-loaded Canuck in the front row, visible just over the shoulder of some Oiler player -- sorry, this is America, I can't be held accountable for hockey player identities -- belting out his loyalty to Canada like he wants everyone in the building to know all aboot it. I know they're pro athletes and they're in hyper focused playoff mode, but how does anyone keep their shit together with that going on not 3 feet away?



Meanwhile, if this video weren't hilarious enough (Mr. Canadian Cameraman, wherever you are, thank you), now go back and take a closer look at Number 10 standing behind the plate in the Disability Day national anthem video...

Tell me that's not the same hoser from the front row in Edmonton! They match in every respect, from physical looks to over-excitedly Hulking Up at the end of their respective anthems. Get that guy off the field! He's not disabled -- he's just Canadian!

Alright, so you can understand how the Disability Awareness Day organizers might have missed that one...

Rupert Jee does not appreciate your blog neglect

I get so mad at myself each time i come back to one of these blog neglect posts. I'm going to do the same thing this time as I always have when confronted with a dearth of inspiration or an apparent lack of available hours in the day: resolve to write more, stay creating, and soak up all the things that make me happy.

There really has been a ton going on, too. It's like the boulder has just begun gathering steam, and I get the feeling that summer is going to get here and crush everything in its path like a steamroller. But that's no excuse not to express something close to a story, an insight, a joke, a passing thought, a couple of times a week. If anything, I should have that much more to say.

What bothers me most is that while I haven't been posting, I've been tweeting away at the exact same rate as I ever have (as you can see just to your left in ye olde sidebar). I've definitely used twitter as a crutch, which is ridiculous because twitter sucks now anyway (SuperNews, you're really outdoing yourselves).

I guess I'll close for now with a story I've been meaning to tell for too long. Two weeks ago I was on my way to play volleyball for (soon to be ZogSports' first ever Schportng Sampler champions) team Purple Haze when I had a little bogus celebrity moment. My schporting activities are a different post entirely, but I got you, don't worry.

So I'm walking down 53rd St, and I realize I'm going to need some H20 for the game. I follow what looks to be a father/son duo - a pair of slightly portly fellows wearing matching 5k race shirts and looking like they could use some hydration themselves - into the first storefront I pass. Glancing inside I can see a deli counter and a fridge with cold beverages. Perfect.

I don't even realize I'm in Hello Deli until I go to reach for my water and I have to excuse myself around a photo op with Dad and the one and only Rupert Jee. Now, being a bit of a big deal myself, I'm not at all thrown by the sight of one of New York's most beloved late show punch lines. The Dad in the 5k race t-shirt, however, is awestruck, thanking Rupert and telling him, "I've been in here before, but you weren't around." Grabbing two Poland Springs out of the fridge, I can't help but overhear Rupert's response:

"Hey, man, I gotta work."

And I smile.

UPDATE: Wow, this is why I love the internet. A Google image search for Rupert Jee reveals a pretty damn accurate approximation of the exact photo op moment I accidentally walked into. Only difference is instead of me grabbing bottles of water in the background, there appears to be a sweat-soaked Kevin Youkilis struggling to interpret the directions on his beverage.

Oh, and one last thing. Looks like that Countdown to Bonnaroo really worked out. Riiiiight. So, about that -- the last countdown mention came with 65 days to go. As I type, we are exactly 30 days away froom the Big Rooskie.


Well you better learn to move fast when you're young or you're not long around
Cat somehow lost his Kitty down in the city pound
So get right, get tight, get down
Well who's that down at the end of the alley?
She's been gone so long

That's the LAST time we visit the Mexican petting zoo!

'Stand By Me' performed by the world, FTW

The world keeps getting smaller and smaller these days, and while that leads to things like killer pigs destroying humanity (or at least causing Asian people everywhere to break out their surgical masks and revive a little look I like to call "The Shredder"), it also leads to inspirational gems like this clip. Watch and smile--you won't see a better video any time soon (props to @Kramness).

Music P-P-Power

Sometimes I miss Jurassic 5 a lot.

Meanwhile, some most excellent music afloat recently for you and I to listen on.

First, was just talking about this mixtape on the way back from CVille Sunday.
/sigh. why must I always have to come back? college, I miss you
Then wouldn't you know it? Most Bangin'est conveniently re-ups it on Monday.

Cudi is very representative of the generation gap emerging in rap. We heard about your gun for a long time, and now your old.

Next, Kanye's LVs and Autotune 2. I guess when he's not spending lonely nights in the frozen food aisle, the gay fish genius has some time to put together a fresh mixtape.

Saw it (where else but) Pigeons and Planes. Come to think of it, this was playing in the car while Grimace and I rode in the trunk on the way to the glorious Foxfield Races. It wasn't comfortable, but our plot was glad we were there to save the glass-bottled booze on the way in.

Finally, no Foxfield tie-in here, other than that both the races and this mixtape are a big W.
Courtesy of Rock Howard's tumblr (UPDATE: Direct link right here).

Hip-hop fans, meet The White Stripes.
Fans of The White Stripes, meet hip-hop.

— Adrian Champion

Goin Down To Foxfield Gonna Have Myself a Time [But first, we rock]

Haven't posted in a week, and I'd be upset about it if it weren't another insanely beautiful Friday.

Once again, on days like this, you just gotta rock it, so here's Green Day's highly anticipated new video for "Know Your Enemy" to help us do so (P.S. Tour starts July 3 in Seattle. Won't you join me on July 27 for some punk rock fist pumping in the Big Apple?).



I'll be spending the weekend at the most wonderful party of the year, the highlight of any good Wahoo's spring, the always-glorious and debaucherous Foxfield Races. To the uninitiated, please be aware that there is no 'ssss' at the end. Foxfield. Period. For the most comprehensive guide ever assembled to this landmark event, consult the awesomeness that is cVillain's '08 preview (seriously, you don't want to miss the infamous Piss Trough). If you're looking for me among the crowd, I'll likely be found wandering somewhere between "Wastefest" and "Graduates O' Wastefest." Hit me up, we'll toast to the better times (and chase it down with a shot of ice cold water because holy balls it's gonna be hot).

Most accurate Foxfield map ever courtesy of cVillain.

Friday Moneymaker Shaker

It's Friday, it's 5:00, the sun is shining and the Yankees win.

Glorious.

Only one thing left to do: Shake it.

Whether you're a pompous old geezer who gets way too much enjoyment out of silly puns or this little dude I spotted getting his groove on to some Beatles music in Strawberry Fields, the best way to celebrate feelin' alive is to shake what your mama gave ya.

The Dead Weather rock Bowery Ballroom [Jack White rules the universe]

Last night at the Bowery Ballroom, I was lucky enough to be among the tightly packed crowd of about 600 for the public performance debut of Jack White's latest side project/"obj-band"/supergroup, The Dead Weather. For the uninitiated, the rock god of our generation is fronting yet another band these days, wherein he returns to his first love, the drum kit, and continues to rock your face with his trademark brand of dirty, buzzing, crackling blues rock. Joining him this time around are lead singer Allison Mossheart of The Kills, Raconteurs bassist "Little Jack" Lawrence, and Queens of the Stone Age's Dean Fertita on guitar and keys. But you knew all that. Let's get to the part you don't know about -- the actual concert -- because unlike this guy, you couldn't score tickets, which sold out in approximately 47 seconds.

As I mentioned, the crowd was packed into Bowery Ballroom as tightly as we could have been, and I leaned over to Smellson the Music Fairy and remarked on the uniqueness of the situation--600 of us had snatched up tickets instantly and crammed ourselves shoulder-to-shoulder for a band that 6 people not named Meg White have ever seen perform and won't release their first album until June. Who else but Jack White makes that happen? The excitement was clear from the moment the band sauntered onto the stage in their matching black leather, and we knew we were in for some good old fashioned greasy, grimy rockin'.

White is as capable a rocker on the drums as he is on the guitar, and although his kit was set far back and pretty low to the ground, he still found a way to remain the centerpiece of the experience (mostly by playing the shit out of those drums). Mossheart is the perfect lead singer for White's brand of music, and she ferociously grabbed the room by the balls with her stage-stomping, mic-grinding, chain smoking hotness. I was transfixed. I wanted to do dirty things to her while listening to dirty Dead Weather music (which she would of course be singing). During one stretch, she rocked out on a Bo Diddley-style box guitar. Later, on "Will There Be Enough Water," Jack finally grabbed the axe and shredded, like we all not-so-secretly had hoped he would.

To echo the Rolling Stone article, it didn't feel like we were watching a "new" band. It was clear that this crew had practiced together, as it was clear that this was Jack White music. Without knowing any of the songs, I found myself rocking out hard throughout. When they finally got to the one song I did know, "Hang You From The Heavens," I whipped out the digicam and did some of my finest concert camerawork to date, embedded below for your face-melting pleasure.



Another great show in the books, which brings us to Humpday. The Yankees play at 4, which is cool, because that means the last few hours of the workday will sail by as Wailin Suzyn and John "Puns are Fun" Sterling bring me the play-by-play from Tampa. Or is it St. Pete? Or Tampa-St. Pete? Whatever. I'll be watching the game with a bunch of Fackers, so if you want to talk shit with me, head on over here.

Dead Weather links for those who weren't steeped in awesomeness last night:

• Jack White's Dead Weather Debut With A Bang in New York [Rolling Stone]
• THE PERFECT STORM: S/T Corners The Dead Weather for One of Their First Full-Band Interviews [Self-Titled]
• The Dead Weather @ Bowery Ballroom, NYC - pics, video [BrooklynVegan] (Featuring videos daringly captured by twitterfave @kibbe--now available in real life!)
• The Dead Weather [Official Site]