In The City

Swing Your Sword

2012-01-15T16:28:00.011-05:00

During his time at Texas Tech, I really grew to love Mike Leach and his "Air Raid" offense. Having grown accustomed to Ohio State eking out cardiac-arresting wins with its conservative Tresselball offense, Texas Tech's aggressive spread attack was quite the antithesis. And as college football offenses evolved in more creative, wide-open ways in the mid-2000s, I only grew to appreciate it more.

I've always been envious that Ohio State hasn't had an offensively minded coach like Leach who could strategically create mismatches and make teams pay. Too many times throughout Tressel's tenure, OSU either lost close, winnable games, or won games that shouldn't have been so tight by allowing lesser teams to hang around. Either way, the conservative approach has handicapped Ohio State for years, with the players having to rely on their athletic ability to compensate for the poor position the coaches put them in. With an offensive philosophy like Leach's, there would have been higher scores, more wins, and much fewer palpitations.

Leach has had success everywhere he's coached. The before-and-after statistics at Iowa Wesleyan, Valdosta State, Kentucky, Oklahoma, and Texas Tech are dramatic. He's developed ordinary players into stars, whether it's once walk-on Wes Welker or quarterbacks Josh Heupel and Tim Couch, both Heisman Trophy finalists. And even though his oddly named quarterbacks at Texas Tech have earned reputations as system QBs, you can't ignore their success, throwing anywhere from 3,000 to over 6,000 yards a season. If those are system QBs, those are QBs I want in my system.

Leach's recently published biography, Swing Your Sword: Leading the Charge in Football and Life, gives great insight into his coaching philosophies. I've never played organized football, but if I coached it, the armchair quarterback in me would adopt many of them. What follows are the excerpts from Leach's book that I identified with the most.

A Balanced Offense

To me, a balanced offense is one where each skill position touches the ball, and every position contributes to the offensive output. There is nothing balanced about running it 50% of the time and throwing it 50% of the time if you are only utilizing two or three offensive skill positions and only attacking part of the field. A good offense has the ability to attack as much of the field as possible with as many people as possible. You want to put as much pressure on the defense as you can while utilizing all of the space and personnel that you have.

Attacking the Field

I'd always been surprised at how little most teams threw the ball and how even fewer offenses seemed committed to attacking the entire field. We did a lot of things that most other teams on our schedule wouldn't dream of trying. We ran a no-huddle offense. We believed if you gave the defense less time in between plays to get refocused, they'd get frazzled. Plus, the pace would tire them out faster. The no-huddle would drain them as much mentally as it would physically.

The other programs we faced had their offensive linemen wedged together, shoulder to shoulder. We wanted our guys to have wider splits with a three-foot gap between each man. It was an approach we'd seen BYU use successfully. If that was working, we'd widen out the gaps even more. Most people assumed those gaps left your quarterback more vulnerable. For us, it actually did the opposite. It forced the defensive line to stretch so that their defensive ends, who are their best pass rushers, would begin the play even further away from our QB than normal. The wider splits created running lanes and throwing lanes, reducing that glut of traffic you typically have in the middle of the line of scrimmage. And it made it harder for the defense to run stunts that would have otherwise lured our offensive linemen into picking up the wrong man once the ball was snapped.

We were changing the geometry of the game.

We didn't approach the offense with some bunker mentality, "Oh, they're doing this, we have to protect ourselves!" Instead, it was about how we could best attack them: "OK, they're blitzing from our left side. Good, good. Then let's throw a slant right behind it."

We knew that would give our team the flexibility to attack instantly. There's a blitzkrieg quality to it.

Going for It

About 10 years into my coaching career, I was the offensive coordinator for the University of Kentucky. We'd go for it on fourth down about 40 times a year. That's nearly double the amount of everyone else in the SEC. Statistically, the times we picked up that first down led to touchdowns between two and three times more often than our opponent's touchdown rate if they took the ball over on downs.

The aggressive attitude that you're stroking within your players is key, especially if you're coaching at a program where most of the recruits have repeatedly heard how they're not as talented as their opponents. When we're going for it, we're making a statement: You have to stop us. The team philosophy becomes, "We're going for it." The guys take a lot of pride in that spirit. They also know that if they're unsuccessful too many times, you're not going to keep giving them the chance. Almost every player wants to go for it. They don't want the privilege taken away from them. In their minds, they know that if they don't make it, they're responsible. They're determined to find a way to make it work.

Certainly any decision needs to be evaluated, but just because "conventional wisdom" suggests something is too risky doesn't make it so. You think it through, and if you believe the benefit outweighs the risk, then you need to do it.

Running Up the Score

I've been accused a time or two of running up the score. People say "Well, the game's already been decided. Just kneel on the ball and call it a day." Screw that. I don't want the guys I send into the game thinking that way. Next year those third-team guys might be my starters. Heck, if we have an injury or two, they might become our starters next week. Running a team is an ongoing process. Even if it's the last game of the year, you still have another one next season. Regardless of the score, you've spent a long time teaching technique and lifting weights, and if there's some number-three left guard in the game out there yucking it up, I will rip him.

This last one I especially like from a player's perspective. Because after all the blood, sweat and tears a team puts in year-round, they only get to play a dozen games or so. So if you're winning by a large margin, why not give those third-stringers some snaps? If you're getting blown out, why not run your two-minute drill, cut the deficit down a bit with a late TD, and end on an up note? Game time should never be taken for granted. Win or lose, finish it out.

Never Give Up
All of these philosophies led Leach to some great victories. I'll never forget checking the score of the 2006 Insight Bowl, in which Minnesota was crushing Texas Tech 35-7 at halftime. But Leach lit a fire under his team in the locker room and the Red Raiders rallied in the second half en route to the biggest comeback in NCAA Division 1 bowl history. The final score: Texas Tech 44, Minnesota 41 (overtime).

And don't forget one of the best atmospheres and endings to a college football game ever, as Texas Teach upset No. 1 Texas on a last-second play in 2008.

Crime Without Punishment
It wasn't until I read Leach's book that I realized how much Texas Tech screwed him out of a job, despite all the success he brought them. The appendix at the end even has all of the e-mails between university officials and third parties who conspired to oust Leach for allegedly mistreating player Adam James, even though James later confessed that he wasn't mistreated. In fact, he found the whole situation kind of funny. What's more, there are damning depositions that debunk what the media has reported while exposing the smear campaign from a PR agency hired by father Craig James.

Most people were happy to see James leave his college football post at ESPN to run as a Texas senator. Politics couldn't have been a more befitting choice.

Leach has proved his innocence in court, but has not been able to win a settlement due to a clause in his contract that prevents him from successfully suing Tech. How convenient.

Moving On

Leach enjoyed a two-year break from coaching, living in Key West and having a radio show with CBS. But being out of the game left him unfulfilled, and with the coaching carousel spinning wildly toward the end of this past season, it was only a matter of time before he returned to his love.

In November he took the head coaching job at cellar dweller Washington State. While I think he'll be a good fit there, I was hoping he'd land at a more prominent program. But SI.com writer Stewart Mandel explains why he thinks the two were a good match:

The Cougars just scored their biggest win in years... Just as he did more than a decade ago at Texas Tech, Leach will give fans a reason to pay attention to Washington State football. He will produce high-scoring offenses and 5,000-yard passers, put fans in the stands, keep reporters busy, and, if history repeats itself, graduate players, reversing a problem that helped sink the Cougars several years back.

He's not going to fit at a place where the fans and media demand a more polished, traditional coach. That's why he's a perfect fit in Pullman. The coach that led the Cougars to two Rose Bowls (in 1997 and 2003) was a certifiable oddball (and that was before his infamous strip-club visit at Alabama). It worked out just fine. While no coach operates in anonymity anymore in the age of YouTube and Twitter, there aren't a zillion reporters and cameras camped out at Washington State news conferences. Leach will be free to be himself.

And he'll win... For the first time in eight years, fans beyond the West Coast will tune in to Cougars games. When they do, they'll probably see a revved-up crowd (start stocking up on pirate gear, school bookstore) enjoying another 48-45 shootout. If any of those viewers happen to be fans themselves of struggling midlevel programs, they'll probably ask themselves: Why didn't our athletic director hire him first?

Wazzu a Pac-12/Rose Bowl contender? With Leach at the helm, it's entirely possible. And it all starts with helping the Cougars find their inner pirate.

The Emerald Isle

2011-12-18T20:10:00.007-05:00

It's been over four months since I got married, so I figure it's about time I write something about the honeymoon.

We chose Ireland because of our Irish roots, and at least in my mind, because it wasn't where everyone else goes on their honeymoon. On advice from an NYC friend who has Irish citizenship, the plan was to fly in to Dublin and drive a rental car along the west coast, then down south, and eventually back to Dublin.

That was the plan, anyway. Let's just say that our honeymoon didn't get off to the best start. Because our flight from Green Bay to Chicago was delayed, we ended up missing our connecting flights, the last of which was to Dublin. So, option 1 was to rough it overnight in the Toronto airport, take an evening flight to Dublin the next day, and lose a day in Ireland. Option 2 involved taking a red eye into London that night and connecting to Belfast earlier the next day, which would be our new final destination. After being assured that Belfast, being in Northern Ireland, was indeed safe these days, we chose the second option because it would keep us on schedule, even though it meant a longer drive to our first hotel in Galway.

At this point, we were already without our checked luggage because we changed our connecting flight to Toronto, which was on a different airline. To make a long story short about my dogged pursuit of our luggage over the telephone with BMI Airlines for the good part of our honeymoon: Erin received her suitcase about four days later, when we were in Ennis.

Shocked and upset that my suitcase was somehow separated from hers, I ended up receiving mine five days later, which was a mere two days before we returned to the states. Moreover, it seemed that the only reason my luggage turned up was because of my initiative. In any case, I've already written a long letter to BMI and received compensation. At the time, I was just glad my belongings weren't lost forever. But if you notice me wearing the same clothing in most of our honeymoon pics, now you know why.

More challenges awaited us after arriving in Belfast: serious jet lag and inexperience with driving on the left side of the road. Suffice it to say that it's a lot harder than it sounds. Driving in the states is just one of those automatic things you do without thinking too much about it. But in Ireland, having your driving orientation reversed affects you more than you'd think (a left turn is a right turn, and vice versa) and makes it difficult to judge your car's position on the passenger (now left) side. Erin was always on edge because she thought I was about to drive off the road. But it wasn't easy! Especially when you throw in narrow streets, poor visibility, a million roundabouts, and the fact that nothing is familiar. It was a challenge, especially when you're ready to pass out and the shining sun makes your eyelids even heavier.

The good news is that by the end of our trip, the accident count held at 0, though there were some close brushes. All I can say, it was a relief to return to normal, "mindless" driving in the states on the right side of the road. The right side is the right side, the right side is the right side, the right side is the right side....

Here are the first of many pints of Guinness we consumed...

Our tense, arduous 3½-hour drive from Belfast finally ended when we reached Galway around 10 p.m. on Monday, August 8th. We checked in and then headed down to the hotel bar for a late dinner. Almost immediately, two girls at the bar struck up a conversation with me. They were excited to meet an American, especially one with the last name Devine. "Devine?! We know Devines!" one exclaimed. (Her name was Linda.) She and her friend Michelle were from Roscommon, a small town about an hour's drive northeast. In a rapid display of Irish hospitality, they urged us to have dinner at their place the following evening. They said they'd even take us to a local bar formerly called "Devine's", which was one of the goals on my trip. But while we didn't discount their kindness, we knew it was the alcohol talking, and figured they'd regret their invitation whenever the buzz wore off. So we politely declined.

That night, Erin and I slept 14 hours, well into Tuesday. When we finally awoke, Erin was hellbent on updating our Facebook statuses to "Married", no matter how stubborn and horribly unresponsive the faulty hotel-room "computers" were.

A few nights later, we enjoyed a fun medieval dinner party at Bunratty Castle, where we met Veronica and Alessandro, a nice Italian couple.

Oh, and check out what I think is a ghostly orb in this picture I took outside the castle, and perhaps my first encounter with the spirit world. At first I thought it might be because of something on the lens, but the picture I snapped right after that had no anomalies in it. So it makes me wonder....

When we returned to our hotel bar in Ennis later that evening, we ran into Rochelle, an Ohio native and fellow Buckeye fan. They're everywhere, I tell ya.

Maybe my favorite part of the trip was our drive through the mountains in Kenmare and Killarney en route to Sheen Falls Lodge. It looked like we were in Hawaii, and it was hard to keep my eyes on the road as we wound our way up the mountainside. This was one of the fewer days where the sun was out. I didn't realize that most of the time in Ireland, it rains.

Our five-star hotel was memorable for a few reasons. Erin loved the rose petals strewn on our bed. We went horseback riding in the pretty Killarney countryside. And on Saturday night, we met the real-life Chatty Man in Irishman Pat Hurley. He and his friends had gathered around the piano and were singing all kinds of popular songs. They started talking to Erin and before we knew it, I was up talking with Pat and his wife till 6:30 in the morning.

I hate to admit it, but while I enjoyed all the Irish food we ate over there, I did cave in for some American staples a few times. The first was when I made a run to McDonald's in Cork. And the second was when we wolfed down a hot, fresh Papa John's pizza on our last night in Dublin.

One of the best stops on our trip was the Guinness Factory. It's big, educational, and fun to tour. Plus you get free beer. But after being in Ireland even just a few days and seeing how ingrained Guinness is in the culture, you have to wonder what kind of identity Ireland would have without it.

My international travel experience is limited, but having been to Europe once before, going to Ireland immediately reminded me how eye-opening it is to see how different countries do things. Here are my observations:

Every single bar in the country has Guinness on tap. And most bars feature the same array of taps.
Bed and breakfasts are just as ubiquitous as Guinness.
Everyone says "cheers" and "thanks a million."
Irish people don't pronounce their "th"s. So, phonetically, "Thanks a million" becomes "Tanks a million." And "Is that your third drink?" becomes "Is that your turd drink?" It sounds uneducated at first, but endearing thereafter.
Most streetlights and signs aren't above the street—they're to the side. Not always intuitive or helpful.
On an Irish keyboard, the @ character trades places with the " character. That threw me a few times.
"Tires" is spelled "Tyres".
There is no placing an order "to go" or "for carryout"—in Ireland it's "take away".
Public bathrooms aren't labeled as "bathrooms"—they're "toilets". Some of the hotel toilets had two buttons that both seemed to flush, but in different ways. It was nowhere near as unconventional as using the three seashells, but it was a little unclear.
The hotels wisely conserve energy by requiring your keycard to be inserted into a slot to power the lights in your room. Also, there were no clocks in the rooms (kind of like being in a casino).
Ireland runs mostly on military time, and instead of saying "8:30", they say usually say "half 8", which requires a little translation.

You can see videos and more pictures of our honeymoon here. And yes, I feel like I should submit the one I took below to a stock photography website.

Warm Feet

2011-10-30T22:25:00.004-04:00

Photo by Ardent Photography.

I have a confession to make: For most of my life, I was afraid to get married.

Actually, it wasn't really marriage that scared me—it was the wedding itself. For years I'd built up the possibility of my own wedding as the biggest event in my life. There were all kinds of things to worry about—the hundreds of people watching me; pressure to not screw up or say the wrong thing; dancing.

My fear was rooted in being the center of attention, a place I've always shied away from. And if there was ever a time when all eyes would be on me, this was it. But being single for the better part of my life allowed me to put these worries on the back burner. We'd just cross that bridge when we got there.

That's why it's amazing for me to sit here and say that not only have I crossed that bridge, but I had a great time doing it. My wedding was a blast, and in the months leading up to it, I expected it to be.

So what changed?

The fear of the unknown was gone. For the longest time, I had no idea who I was going to marry. But once it became clear, there wasn't so much to worry about.

What also helped me was going second—my brother Chris walked down the aisle last October, so we'd just had a family wedding in the bag.

At his rehearsal dinner, my dad said something that affected me. He stood up to thank everyone for coming, and he closed by reminding everyone to let loose and have fun, for this was a party. It was that simple, but I think the notion had escaped me because I was focused more on my role in the wedding party as one of the best men, a first for me.

But he was right—this was a party, and what better way to celebrate than with people we know and love? And it was exactly that concept that made me feel comfortable while looking forward to my wedding.

Having our wedding in Wisconsin was key. I liked that it was on Erin's turf for a few reasons. For one, I knew it would be a little cooler up north in August than most places. Moreover, there was intrigue in having it in the North Country, a place that nobody on my side had really ventured to. August 6th, 2011 in Wisconsin felt right. Plus, we made sure the date didn't interfere with football season, so we were guaranteed a good turnout from at least her side of the family. (Remember, this is Packerland we're talking about.)

It wasn't until we met with the key wedding coordinators in April that I started to get excited about the celebration, because it all became a lot easier to envision. Everything was conveniently located at Fox Hills Resort, a place with a golf course that was both nice and comfortable. Our photographer was dynamite. The priest was a super-warm guy with a booming voice and a thick Wisconsin accent. We booked an Irish band for the ceremony, and they agreed to play my favorite musical piece from Lost. For our reception, we got the DJ to play entrance music from Tron: Legacy and Kill Bill. And they would bring in one of my favorite beers, Smithwick's, for the reception. Erin did the majority of the wedding planning, but it felt good to make some of the celebration my own.

The life-changing appointment didn't start to feel real to me until the last month or so leading up to the wedding. You just spend so much time planning it that you forget it's actually going to happen. In the days before, a lot of people asked me if I was nervous. I wasn't—I was just looking forward to finally having the experience that we'd been edging closer to for the better part of a year. And so when it finally happened, I really just tried to enjoy the process—the rehearsal dinner, the ceremony, the pictures—because as everyone knows, it all flies by fast.

There were two immediate changes I noticed that marriage brought. The first was getting used to calling Erin my wife instead of my fiancée. I still call her "Girlfriend", though—"wife" makes her sound old!

The second was wearing a ring. As a guy who doesn't even like the feel of a watch or necklace on my skin, it was oddly surreal waking up the next morning to see this silver foreign object on my finger, and what it signified. Powerful stuff.

***

As a postscript, I wanted to include the song list that I painstakingly assembled for our rehearsal dinner. I know I spent way too much time on it, but hey, music is a huge part of my life. After countless hours of combing through hundreds of CDs and thousands of mp3s, I'd be remiss if I didn't give a nod to my efforts here.

Disc 1

Foreigner - Feels Like The First Time [link]
George Harrison - What Is Life [link]
Rod Stewart - Day After Day [link]
Eddie Money - Two Tickets To Paradise [link]
Ingram Hill - Solsbury Hill [link]
Heart - Straight On [link]
Bob Seger - Night Moves [link]
Dire Straits - Walk Of Life [Live] [link]
Blue Öyster Cult - In Thee [link]
Blue Rodeo - Hasn't Hit Me Yet [link]
David Byrne & Brian Eno - Life Is Long [link]
Brett Walker - Everything I Want To Do [link]
Jars Of Clay - Show You Love [link]
Coldplay - Lovers In Japan [link]
Steve Winwood - Back In The High Life Again [link]
The Elms - Come To Me [link]
Train - I Wish You Would [link]
The Traveling Wilburys - Handle With Care [link]
The National - So Far Around The Bend [link]

Disc 2

Coldplay - Life In Technicolor ii [link]
John Mellencamp - I Need A Lover [link]
Barenaked Ladies - Falling For The First Time [link]
The Corrs - Toss The Feathers [link]
Chris Isaak - Cool Love [link]
Ray LaMontagne - Hold You In My Arms [link]
Feel - Under The Radar [link]
Guster - Ramona [link]
Jewel - Two Become One [Country Version] [link]
Jimmy Buffett - Brown Eyed Girl [link]
John Lennon - Stand By Me [link]
The Monkees - I'm A Believer [link]
Mick Jagger - Joy [link]
Ray LaMontagne - Three More Days [link]
David Gray - Real Love [link]
Cyndi Lauper & Sarah McLachlan - Time After Time [link]
The Verve - One Day [link]
Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers - Angel Dream No. 4 [link]
Wilco - You And I [link]
Elton John - Look Ma, No Hands [link]

Disc 3

The BoDeans - Good Things [link]
The Rolling Stones - Love Is Strong [link]
Roy Orbison - You Got It [link]
Jimmy Page & Robert Plant - Thank You [Unledded] [link]
Counting Crows - Sullivan Street [Live] [link]
The Corrs - Joy Of Life/Trout In The Bath [Live] [link]
Five For Fighting - Something About You [link]
Tonic - Waltz With Me [link]
Fleetwood Mac - Bleed To Love Her [Live] [link]
Peter Frampton - Something's Happening [link]
Howie Day - Undressed [link]
The Lemonheads - Into Your Arms [link]
Tom Petty - You And Me [link]
R.E.M. - Strange Currencies [link]
Tonic - Jump Jimmy (Stronger Than Mine) [link]
John Mellencamp - Lonely Ol' Night [link]
Crowded House - Something So Strong [link]
The Beach Boys - God Only Knows [link]
Tom Petty - House In The Woods [link]
Elton John - Someone Saved My Life Tonight [link]

The One

2011-09-26T21:25:00.006-04:00

Well, somehow I got married last month.

I say that not because I didn't know it was coming for a year prior—indeed, it was hardly a shotgun wedding or an elopement in Vegas. I say it simply because after 31½ years of being single, it's strange to think that it actually happened.

During my college days in Oxford, Ohio, I spent more Saturday nights in my dorm room than I care to recall. I remember being confused as I walked around campus seeing how many guys had girlfriends. It seemed so easy for them, but impossible for me. It was harder because I wasn't as social back then, but it was still frustrating because I knew I had a lot to offer a girl. It was sort of like a job search that wasn't going well—I was more than qualified, but no woman was hiring.

Fast-forward a few years later to my post-college life in Nashville. I was still girlfriend-less in life, and at this point it was starting to feel like a curse. I often wondered if something was wrong with me. Suffice it to say that I had a girlfriend complex. But then I finally learned why it was so hard for someone like me: my personality type.

According to the Myers-Briggs personality test, most INFPs (Introverted-Intuitive-Feeling-Perceiving) are very selective when it comes to choosing their partners, and tend to only pursue long-lasting relationships. The test revealed many more truths about all facets of my life that were eerily right on the money, but that was the gist of it as far as relationships go. For anyone who's never taken the assessment, it honestly feels like someone's been spying on you as you read about your type because the test seems to know everything about what makes you tick. For anyone looking to gain knowledge and self-awareness far beyond relationships, this test is essential because it can be life-changing. It was for me.

Jump ahead to early 2009 in New York City. Erin had just started working at TheLadders a few months earlier, and we'd been talking more and more at the office. There was an automatic connection there because we were both from the Midwest, something that was uncommon at TheLadders, even though there was a fair amount of Midwesterners in NYC. We were also tall, which is uncommon to the East Coast. But more than anything, there was a natural chemistry that made for a comfortable, easy courtship. So much so that within a few months of dating, I knew I was in love with her, and that she was the one.

After all the years of sensing that the girl for me was out there somewhere, but not knowing if I'd ever find her, suddenly there she was—amid a gaggle of 8 million New Yorkers; a needle in a haystack. And despite the times when it seemed like the odds were stacked against me and things were never going to change, I finally realized the simple hope of it all: It only takes one.

No matter how hard it seems, it only takes one person and one connection. It's not always easy to find, but I think focusing on the aspect of one is the best way to look at it. Because you could spend most of your life being single, and then with one chance encounter when you least expect it, everything can change. So in the end, it just takes one.

When I was a kid, I remember asking my mom how you know who the right person is to marry. She responded with, "You just know," which is what her dad had told her when she was younger. At the time I remember thinking that it was kind of vague and unhelpful advice, and she thought the same thing when she heard it. But once I knew with Erin, I thought back to this quote and realized how true it was, despite its simplicity. Sometimes the greatest truths are that way.

So why do I love Erin? Let me count the ways:

I love that she's from the Midwest, but not from a state I'm from.
I love the fact that we both have Irish roots.
I love that she's tall, but not too tall (which is taller than me : )
I love it when she puts her hair up in a ponytail, even though she thinks it looks scrubby.
I love that Falling Down—the 1993 dark comedy (as I classify it; watch the clip) starring Michael Douglas—is partly responsible for bringing us together. Watching it put her in the right frame of mind to break up with her boyfriend two months before we started dating.
I love the fact that she likes beer and appreciates food as much as I do, even though she can't eat very much, and she gets drunk after two drinks—like at the courthouse when we got our marriage license.
I love how she balances the thrill of hunting and eating meat with her girly shows, like House Hunters and Say Yes to the Dress.
I love the fact that we can watch football together. More so, I love the fact that she planned our wedding around the NFL preseason.
I love that she's cool with going to Hooters.
I love how she sits mesmerized in front of the TV, even when it's just commercials that are on. The fact that she didn't have cable growing up couldn't be more obvious.
I love her outbursts of laughter, and the way she constantly cracks herself up when she's telling me something. And when she starts laughing uncontrollably at things when no one else understands what's so funny.
I love being entertained with her crazy, unconscious gibberish that she spouts off randomly while dreaming at night—and that which she has absolutely no recall.
I love her sweet nature, her childlike innocence, and general goofiness.
I love her ambition, drive, and "get 'er done" mentality. She's gonna make a great nurse someday soon.
I love the road we've traveled, and the adventure that lies ahead.

I'd like to finish with a line I said at my best friend Shawn's wedding last December: "There's no better feeling than knowing where you're supposed to be in life and who you're supposed to be spending it with."

With our marriage, honeymoon, and exciting new life in Denver, nothing could be closer to the truth.

Closer to the Sky

2011-06-25T23:06:00.025-04:00

NY → NJ → PA → OH → IN → IL → MO → KS → CO

"You're so far around the bend... There is no leaving New York."

Six weeks ago, I embarked on an epic trek out west to Denver. But when it began, New York City wasn't ready to let me go.

I had a 10-hour drive ahead of me on Friday, May 13th, so an early departure was necessary. Unfortunately, the entire morning was eaten up by getting the rental car, picking up my hockey equipment, and retrieving some of Erin's belongings in Brooklyn. I figured it wouldn't take anymore than two hours.

It took four. When it comes to moving, underestimation seems to be my Achilles' heel.

I finally experienced the hell that is driving in New York City. Suffice it to say that both Manhattan and Brooklyn were complete and utter parking lots, with one bottleneck, traffic jam, and construction zone after another. Newfound respect for cabbies, I have.

There was a lot of cursing, frustration, and aggressive driving. There was me going down a forbidden street that came to a dead end, and having to turn around and face the wrath of the construction worker I disobeyed (as well as my girlfriend's).

One thing there wasn't a lot of: turn signals.

But there was something else. Something that will stick in my memory just as much.

There was a New York that I'd never seen before.

As I maneuvered my way through the concrete grid on that cool May morning, there were moments, like when I was making my way around Columbus Circle, or driving near the Hudson in lower Manhattan, where the city was bright and fresh. It was almost as if a veil had been lifted, and all notions of cramped, dirty city living were replaced with a sheen of cool and clean. I chalked it up to New York's last-ditch ploy in preventing me from leaving.

But leave I did—but not before running the hypertension-inducing gauntlet that is Midtown at lunch hour. All I can say is, TGINHTDINYCEA (Thank God I'll Never Have To Drive In New York City Ever Again.)

What follows is my travelogue for the journey.

Day 1: New York to Dayton (10 hours)

Below is a series of Twitter-like thoughts that I had along the rest of the day, once I'd escaped the clutches of the Concrete Jungle.

Best Worst City Name: Krumsville, PA
Forgotten Restaurant of the '90s (and for Good Reason): TIE – Long John Silver's/Perkins.
Note to future self: XM22 - Pearl Jam Radio.
Wait—free laundry and tennis from now on??
Garbage disposals!
Billy Squier: underrated driving music
A joke: What's the capital of Pennsylvania? Answer: Harrisburg.
3:25 p.m.: I become an uncle for the first time.
If Jack Bauer can do it, so can I.
What the sign should say: "GAS GOUGING – 1 MILE"
Just before Dunningsville, PA, I do a double-take as I see one horse mounting another in the field to my left. A close runner-up for highlight of the day, next to finally making it home hours later.
An abandoned rest stop: The spooky scene that should open Season 2 of The Walking Dead.
Yup, the Spin Doctors still get played.
Two words: cruise control.
Not afraid to admit that Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats" is a great piece of songwriting.
Tragedy strikes as yet another country song is ruined by a heavy male drawl.

I pulled into the ol' driveway just before 11 p.m. My awesome parents were hospitable and accommodating enough to not only cook my requested steak dinner, but to actually wait to sit down and eat with me hours after it was prepared. I blame NYC again for my tardiness.

Day 2: Dayton to Kansas City (10 hours)

No road trip can begin without Bill's Donuts.

Day 2 almost gets off to a bad start. There was a slight scare with me being charged for another day with the rental car despite the fact that we were returning it within the hour. But seeing how far I'd come, the Budget guy was cool enough to waive the late fee.

With more rest and a copilot in my brother Ben, I know the sailing is going to be a lot smoother than Day 1. We think it's a good sign when Bob Seger's "Turn The Page" greets us as I turn the ignition. "Well here I go—ON THE ROAD AGAIN..." Sadly, my brother Ryan's "Coloroado" mix CD doesn't play for some reason, even though it played fine in the rental car. An early casualty.

It's after 11 in the morning, and it's not surprising that we're shoving off later than originally planned. So instead of getting on the road and making up for lost time, we go straight to Bill's Donuts.

Not long into our drive, we place bets on Ben's bathroom tally for the trip. Ben has a woman's bladder, so I predict that he'll have to go nine times during transit. Ben chooses seven. In the end, Ben goes exactly five times. So I guess we both lose. (And yes, I realize it's a flawed game to begin with.) Outside of Bill's, the log indicates that Ben went in Bumfuck, Illinois; Boondock, Missouri; El Buttfuckerosa, Kansas; and Pike Shit, Kansas—if that paints any picture of civilization along I-70.

In eastern Indiana, we for the first time see the actual sign for Tom Raper RVs, "where fun begins." If you lived in the tri-state area, you'd understand the significance of the occasion. All our lives we've seen Tom Raper's commercials and been puzzled how a man with that name has stayed in business for decades. Laughs abound.

I think I know why he likes RVs.

Somewhere in Illinois, I have Ben hand me the turkey sandwich he made for me the night before. Only, this is no ordinary turkey sandwich. As a person notorious for mixing my food, this new creation of mine may take the cake: a turkey sandwich topped with a generous layer of BROCCOLI SOUFFLÉ. Getting to eat it only once the night before wasn't nearly enough.

The verdict? Best turkey sandwich I ever had. And I think it's safe to say it's never been attempted before.

Ben and I end up splitting driving duty in half, and between good music and conversation about life's many mysteries, we're in Kansas City before we know it. I still pride myself on lowballing Priceline for a $40 room at Holiday Inn. The first time, and certainly not the last.

Ben appearing to take a leak at our cheap hotel in Kansas City.

Thanks to what proved to be a great recommendation from a Denver friend who'd done the drive before, that night we feast like kings at Jack Stack, probably the best barbecue I've ever had. I'm also reintroduced to Fat Tire beer, an instant favorite.

Best barbecue ever. Big props to John Campbell for his invaluable tip.

Day 3: Kansas City to Denver (10 hours)

The day begins with the realization that we left our turkey sandwiches in the car for the night (as if sitting unrefrigerated for the entire previous day wasn't unsanitary enough). Desperate for justification not to toss the sandwiches (remember, mine was a special one), my thoughts quickly turn to the temperature, which is cold and was all night. But wait! I tell Ben. "It was cold all night—and the air—and the temperature—it was like a fridge!" Yeah, yeah! exclaims Ben, immediately seeing where I'm going with this.

The real test comes a few hours later when my stomach starts growling. Trying to ignore the universal fact that unrefrigerated mayonnaise goes bad, I go to work on the turkey soufflé. Somehow, it's just as good as it was 24 hours earlier. I thank the iron stomach for that one.

Ben opts to eat the day-old donuts before his sandwich. I already had some for breakfast. This shouldn't come to any surprise to Centervillians, but day-old Bill's Donuts still tops Dunkin' Donuts or Krispy Kreme any day of the week. Hell, maybe even two-day-old's. No contest.

As many warned me, Kansas is the worst part of the trip; a type of terrestrial cockblock obstructing your path to Colorado. It just goes on forever. But the Smoky Hilly Wind Farm was a sight to behold.

Just two of hundreds on the farm.

We're in west Kansas, and it's time to stop for gas. Thinking it'll be cheaper in the boondocks, I get off the highway only to find no gas station in sight. Was it wiped out by a tornado? No. Turns out, it's just a few miles down some country roads. We get there to see the price: $4.03⅓.

Opting to get the hell out of Dodge, we get back on the highway and find a less isolated station a few miles down the road. Except this one has been abandoned by personnel. Ben seizes the opportunity and takes piss No. 5 on the back wall of the complex, since the door's locked. I'm also tempted to mark my territory, but I feel like we're being watched.

It seems like it would never happen, but we finally leave Kansas for good and cross the Colorado border. On the brink of a big, symbolic moment that we'd been anticipating from the start of our journey, we envision a few things. A huge "COLORADO WELCOMES YOU" sign. Ensuing honks and cheers. The gleam of a dream in our eyes. Instead, we get this:

So much for that.

A few hours later, with the ultra-cool Tron: Legacy score playing, we ride into Denver. Ben's desperately looking for the mountains to reveal themselves, and eventually he can make them out. I tweet: "Mountains beyond mountains! Journey complete."

As we finish our epic 1,260-mile run on I-70 and head up S.R. 36, we debate where to celebrate the toils of our quest. We end up at Rock Bottom Brewery in Westminster, not far from our final destination. When I step out of the car, I get instant confirmation of feeling at home: an ice arena is just a few hundred yards away.

Closer to the Sky

As I sit here over a month later, the hustle and bustle of the transition to a new life has subsided, and I've been able to catch up with reality. My mind is reconciling the different worlds I've traversed in a short period of time, and I'm getting used to the fact that this is my new home, with NYC now in my rear view.

When I stop and revel at it all, I'm left with one thought:

I did it. Three simple words loaded with celebratory success.

Erin and I have had Denver on our minds for a while now. With our wedding on the heels of our NYC lease that's up on July 1st, we came to realize two things. One: We didn't want to spend another year in New York. And two: Even if we moved to another city we liked, Denver would still be in the back of our minds.

So the mission became clear: Denver or bust. Sure, it was going to make an already busy year filled with wedding planning even more hectic. Our plan was dubious to some, but we knew what we wanted, and doing it sooner rather than later was the lesser of two evils. We could move to our destination city, make a clean break with the lease, and return from our honeymoon to a new, exciting home to begin a new chapter in our lives.

But why Denver?

We were drawn to the landscape and the cool vibe of the Mile High City. We liked the idea of being able to settle down in the western region of the country, territory that was comfortable but personally uncharted. We like the laid-back attitude and the opportunities with the outdoors. We love the microbrews.

In short, Denver felt like home.

This is the third time I've changed my living situation for the better and set myself up for new experiences. And as I look back, I'm proud to say I've lived in Nashville and New York, two of the best cities in the U.S. But sometimes it just takes a few years to figure out where you're supposed to be.

I have no regrets about living in New York. I had unique, unforgettable experiences there that I couldn't have had anywhere else. But after 3½ years, it was just time to move on. In my experience, there's no other personal act that's as incredibly liberating and empowering as a big life change in moving to a different state "just as I'd wanted, and almost as if I'd willed it."

So here I am again in a new place, taking in the sights and asking myself how in the hell I got here. These are the times when I enjoy this surreal, exhilarating phase of newness before it gradually fades.

But for now, I smile every time I gaze into the face of the Front Range. Many years from now, I hope to still be pinching myself.

"It's easier to leave than to be left behind... Leaving was never my proud... Leaving New York, never easy. I saw the light fading out."

Road Warriors 2011

Wake-Up Time

2011-05-19T23:59:00.005-04:00

I got published in Rolling Stone for the second time. I know it's so last month, but I wanted to file this for posterity's sake.

My letter was in response to this article.

See also: The Big Leagues

Hard To Say He's Sorry

2011-03-20T22:38:00.010-04:00

Apologizing for a big mistake is one of the hardest things to do, especially if you're Jim Tressel.

After a few non-apologies for covering up a scandal and then lying about it to the NCAA, the Vest finally owned up to his actions on Thursday, requesting that his two-game suspension be increased to five games for the 2011 season—the same of his suspended players.

"Throughout this entire situation, my players and I have committed ourselves to facing our mistakes and growing from them. We can only successfully do this together," he said in a statement.

Since Tressel was busted on March 8th, this was actually just the second time he admitted wrongdoing without equivocation. The first was two days earlier at Cardington-Lincoln High School when he said "I've made a mistake that I'm very sorry for."

Before that, at the Pro Football Hall of Fame on March 14th, Tressel was in dire need of a dictionary.

"I sincerely apologize for what we've been through. I apologize for the fact I wasn't able to find the ones to partner with to handle our difficult and complex situation. I also apologize because I'm going to have some sanctions."

This doesn't sound bad on the first read. But take another look. Here's what peeved me:

Tressel's curious choice of words. He didn't apologize for what he did, which was hiding the possibility that five of his players sold OSU memorabilia to a local tattoo artist. Instead, he apologized for "what we've been through." He doesn't express remorse for lying to the NCAA about the situation—just that he's sorry he'll be punished for getting caught.
Tressel apologized for not being able to "find the ones to partner with" to deal with the matter, which is interesting considering that the only action he apparently took was keeping the scandal buried. After he received the first e-mail from attorney Christopher Cicero on April 2nd, 2010, he responded with "Thanks. I will get on it ASAP."

But instead, Tressel actually got off it. Two weeks later he responded to Cicero's follow-up e-mail—which included a longer laundry list of probable violations—with "Thanks for your help...keep me posted as to what I need to do if anything."

"Keep me posted"—hardly an active stance, and hardly one Tressel should take after learning about serious allegations that he'd later tell the media were "a tremendous concern to me."

It gets worse.

As part of the school-imposed penalties announced last week, Tressel was publicly reprimanded and required to make a public apology. During a news conference last week in Columbus, Tressel never offered any such apology. So, before he was whisked off following the event, Tressel was asked if this speech served as his public repentance. He looked puzzled.

"I've tried to apologize all along," he said.

This is where a dictionary would serve Tressel well, because how else do you explain his confusion with contrition? It's times like these and after big losses where the man is just out of touch with reality. That or he thinks he can continue to slide by on his hitherto squeaky-clean image and by saying the right things, however untrue, dodgy, or disingenuous.

And that's what troubles me the most—that, during his 10 years at Ohio State, Tressel has seemed to fool everyone on persona alone: his ultra-conservative, Midwestern style; his buttoned-down, businesslike demeanor; his generic, too-perfect book titles; and his post-game lexicon that includes G-rated words like "neat" and "gosh".

Along with owning Michigan, it's this do-no-wrong public face that's given him a politician-like following and made him unimpeachable in the eyes of most Buckeye fans—not to mention the university itself. So it's not shocking that in the immediate wake of this scandal, Tressel's job was never in jeopardy—never mind that his contract merits termination in such a situation.

But it is disturbing, especially when trust somehow endures.

"Wherever we end up, Jim Tressel is our football coach," said Athletic director Gene Smith. "He is our coach, and we trust him implicitly."

Asked if he ever considered firing Tressel, OSU President Gordon Gee gave an emphatic "no," saying, "Are you kidding me? Let me be clear: I just hope the coach doesn't dismiss me."

But the truth is that Tressel's perceived integrity belies the fact that under the same circumstances, he's just just like any other college football coach—or politician—who breaks the rules in order to pursue his best interests.

And with unconditional loyalty bestowed upon him by the Buckeye faithful, it'll take a lot more than one apology from the Senator to lose his seat in the Horseshoe.

Let Down

2011-02-28T09:16:00.009-05:00

Just as I was getting ready to tear into Radiohead's newest album, The King Of Limbs, the eight-track, 37-minute EP-LP hybrid started to grow on me. But the main point I wanted to express didn't change. Which is: I really miss the Radiohead of old.

You know, back when they were a rock band.

Take Limbs' opening track, "Bloom". The song starts out nice enough, with a pleasant Eno-like bed of ambient electronics. 15 seconds later, a cacophonic clusterfuck of disparate snare splices and radio-staticky blips completely sabotage the song.

The only good part is that, five minutes later, it ends.

"Feral" is another instant throwaway. Only this time the cut-and-paste drum loop and lo-fi radio static start immediately. What follows is essentially an instrumental with random synth touches and Thom Yorke's slurred murmurs fluctuating in and out amid a wash of reverb.

"Songs like 'Bloom' and 'Feral' are the type of nerve-shredders Brian Eno used to compose in his sleep. Only underneath the random sounds of chaos, Eno also offered a melody, that on its own, could sometimes break your heart." —Sal Nunziato

I'd like to believe that studio gremlins—and not the band itself—ruined one-fourth of the songs on Radiohead's new album, but it's unlikely.

"Morning Mr. Magpie" is the other song I don't care for, and it's not because of poor production. It's because the song, driven almost solely by a scratch-guitar loop on acid, goes nowhere. And on Limbs, this is too often the case.

"I could use a little less aversion to melody. The King Of Limbs is typically (albeit beautifully) long on experimentation and frustratingly short on old-fashioned songs." —Shawn Amos

It took the world's greatest rock band three years to come up with eight new songs, three of which are demo-quality cuts that would be lucky to be called B-sides? Maybe that explains the band's unheralded, oh-by-the-way announcement on February 14th that their new album would be coming out just five days later.

The remainder of Limbs is listenable with more traditional song structures, and outside of the doleful "Codex", mostly lighter temperaments. Overall though, my biggest complaint is that there are no moments of transcendence—just steady songs defined by funky drum beats, casual guitar noodling, and eerie background noises that we've come to expect from Radiohead.

I doubt the absence of payoffs is a coincidence, considering that the power of the guitars and real drum playing that defined Radiohead in their prime (1995's The Bends and 1997's OK Computer) have been muzzled in favor of Radiohead lite—an intentionally mellow, lo-fi brand of arty minimalism that's appreciated most by the 3 a.m. stoner crowd. This mood music can be heard throughout their catalogue, but was cemented by 2007's In Rainbows.

Limbs' shortcomings don't change the fact that Radiohead are the truest of artists, uncompromising non-conformists who make music for themselves before anyone else. But what bothers me is the notion that the band could one day mock the very pedestal that critics and fans have put them on by intentionally putting out a shit record, and no one would have the balls to say it sucked. Much worse, it would be called "art."

On the album's last track, "Separator", Yorke cries, "I'm a fish now out of water... Wake me up." I'd like to think it's an acknowledgment of the musical limbo Radiohead's in, but I'm not holding my breath for another Bends. Because the truth is that Radiohead was once a rock band with electronic tendencies, but now they're an electronic outfit with rock stylings. And I keep wondering how drummer Phil Selway feels about splitting time with his computerized counterpart.

My hope is that one day they'll return to form, but not by mimicking The Bends—just without the restraint of Limbs, and without being challenging for the sake of being challenging.

Celebrity Sighting #9

2011-01-17T21:20:00.000-05:00

Rachel Dratch isn't the only celebrity who rides the subway.

After the 4 train pulled into Grand Central on the Friday morning commute, I almost didn't see him. But I couldn't miss that brilliant white ponytail just a few feet to my right.

In a second I was pretty sure it was Joel Godard, the former announcer for Late Night with Conan O'Brien. And in the next, I could hear it was him.

"Getting off... Getting off" boomed the unmistakable radio voice as he pushed his way through the middle of the train before the doors closed on him.

Gotta admit: Would have loved to see the rage in the old man had he not made it out in time.

Conspiracy theorists blame shadow government for return of ABC's 'V'

2011-01-06T20:44:00.016-05:00

By Ken Devine

Blasted by critics and despised by television viewers everywhere, only one possible explanation exists for the return of ABC's lame alien-invasion series, V: its importance in disclosure, a clandestinely coordinated effort planned for decades by top-secret government officials to eventually reveal the truth about extraterrestrials to humanity.

That's according to Edward Tussel, spokesperson of the Disclosure Project.

"The concept of disclosure is nothing new," he said. "But the government's desperation has gotten to the point of ensuring that a cheesy B-grade serial with cheap special effects and throwaway characters stays on the air, even though it has no business doing so."

The second-season premiere of V was met by a tough crowd on Tuesday night. Despite heavy promotions by ABC, the episode averaged only a 2.20 rating—60% lower than the series debut last year.

Tussel emphasized the peculiarity of V's renewal in contrast with ABC's cancellation of another flawed 2009 serial, FlashForward, which performed only slightly worse in the ratings but was actually halfway decent.

"At least we could rely on FlashForward for repeated laughs from Joe Fiennes' overacting and his character’s inevitable relapse into alcoholism that ruined his marriage," he said. "Better yet was his hilarious revelation about why his flash-forward was blurry.

"You listening? Check this out, I've got it down..."

"BECAUSE I WAS LOADED, OK?!"

"OK?!"

Once his laughter subsided, Tussel sat back down and sighed.

"But, FlashForward's not coming back."

Robert Covell from the Mutual UFO Network said that the agenda behind NBC's The Event is even more transparent than V, considering that the pilot centers around a black president wanting to announce the truth about aliens to the American people.

"Like humanity, these TV shows are by no means alone," he said, citing just a few recent movies like Skyline, and Megamind, and District 9, and The Fourth Kind. And Race to Witch Mountain, and Cloverfield, and The Day the Earth Stood Still.

But that's far from all. At least five upcoming films that center around the human-alien conflict are also in production: Battle: Los Angeles, Super 8, Cowboys & Aliens, Men in Black III, and Under the Skin.

"Aliens are in vogue these days," he said. "Whoever's funding these projects really wants to prepare us for some huge, intergalactic space battle that may usher in the apocalypse. But what if the aliens that eventually come are actually peaceful?"

Covell also noted that TNT is getting into the mix with Falling Skies, an upcoming miniseries about—you guessed it—an alien invasion. Steven Spielberg is Executive Producer.

Covell questions the motives of the legendary director simply because of his otherworldly track record, which suspiciously includes E.T., Men in Black, A.I. Artificial Intelligence, War of the Worlds, Super 8, and Cowboys & Aliens.

Covell even went as far as to say that Spielberg himself is probably an alien.

"Or at least a hybrid of some sort," he clarified. "Man, that would make a great movie."

ABC, NBC, TNT, and especially Spielberg all declined to comment on this story.

Hellbent: "V producers aren’t letting modest ratings hold them back: The upcoming second season finale is going to finish with a major cliffhanger, sources say. The story decision is crucial as it suggests the producers have some degree of confidence that the series will land a third season..."
Justice: 'V' bows out quietly on ABC
Two for the road: NBC Cancels 'The Event'; No Season Two
David Wilcock Talks The Event, V

The Best Man Speech

2010-12-19T21:08:00.003-05:00

For Shawn Smith
December 11th, 2010
Smyrna, Tennessee

Hi there. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Ken Devine, and it's an honor to be Shawn's Best Man. And now for a story.

About seven years ago, two guys were looking for girls in Nashville on New Year's Eve. These guys spent most of their evening at a local bar, but instead of trying to pick up girls, they just ended up watching college football. So after an uneventful evening, they decided to pack it up and head home a few hours into the new year. But that's when things got really desperate.

So, these guys made it back to the apartment complex where they lived. But despite not having talked to one girl the entire night, they weren't about to call it quits. So in a last-ditch effort, they drove around the apartment complex, just patrolling the streets and combing for any sign of life. And in particular, any female who might have been walking around by herself at 3 in the morning.

As if that wasn't pathetic enough, things sunk to a new low when they rolled down their windows and started screaming things like "WHERE ARE YOU?" and "COME OUT OF THERE!" To no one's surprise, no girl actually took the bait.

Shawn and I came up empty-handed that night, but we never stopped in our pursuit of women. Over the years, we had some success here and there, but never really found the girl we were supposed to be with.

About five years later, it was early 2009, and that's when Shawn met Niki. In the beginning they were friends who worked together at State Farm, and later discovered that they lived in the same apartment complex. And much like me and Shawn, Shawn and Niki quickly bonded over a love for Pearl Jam and rock music and college football.

Now, at the time I was actually living in New York, but I kept hearing from Shawn about this new girl he was hanging out with, and how cool and attractive she was. And I just remember thinking that it wouldn't be long before their friendship developed into something more. And that's exactly what happened.

I didn't actually meet Niki until I was in town for Shawn's bachelor party a few months ago. But when I finally did, my first impression of her didn't change at all. Niki is passionate, energetic, and extremely hard-working. She's smart, strong-minded, and beautiful. And she just has this great, magnetic spirit to her. Niki's just somebody you want to be around.

Now, Shawn on the other hand... No, Shawn's a great guy. To me, Shawn is the most honest, loyal, kind, and understanding person I know. He's my best friend. And in his relationship with Niki, he's grown to not only be this incredible selfless partner, but also a loving father to a child whose now his. And if that doesn't speak volumes about his level of commitment to both Niki and Aidan, then I don't know what does, because that's what love's all about.

But, I think one of the best things about Shawn is that he's a believer. Through all of the ups and downs in his life—whether it's Ole Miss's upset of Florida in the Swamp in 2008, or the really dangerous car accident that he was lucky to survive about five years ago—Shawn's always believed in God's plan. And it's not just something that you learn in church. For Shawn, it's more of a natural sense of God's purpose in his life, and an understanding that no matter what happens, God's always in control. And it's this purpose—this direction—that's led him directly to Niki and Aidan, whom he'll continue to love and bless just as deeply as God has loved and blessed him.

Now, being single for the better part of your life isn't easy. I can attest to just how hard it can be. But what makes me happy is knowing that despite all the loneliness, and after all the dead ends and times of wondering if things were ever gonna change, the best guy I know married the best girl for him. And there's no better feeling than knowing where you're supposed to be in life and who you're supposed to be spending it with. So, while that search is finally over for Niki and Shawn, a great new adventure is about to begin.

All that's to say that with Shawn now officially off the market, and me getting married next year, I think it's safe to say that our days of creeping on girls in apartment complexes at 3 in the morning are over. But that's probably a good thing.

So, with that, I just want to say congratulations to the bride and groom. Niki and Shawn, I also want to thank you for being such great people, such wonderful friends, and for positively affecting the lives of each and every person in this room. It's why we're here for you now, and why we'll always be there for you.

I love you guys.

One Little Victory

2010-09-28T21:20:00.007-04:00

And even Stephen Abraham agrees with me.

"Truth is so hard to tell, it sometimes needs fiction to make it plausible."
—Francis Bacon

• And another: "The perfect excuse for war"
• Filth? Ha!: "Shame on all the skeptics"
• Rebuttal: "Shame on all the skeptics"

On The Night

2010-09-05T16:50:00.012-04:00

One of the best things about music is the discovery process, because by and large, music is a constant pursuit. This explains why we often only like music that we find ourselves.

Last month I discovered On The Night, a gem of a live album by classic rock outfit Dire Straits. This was a treasured find for two reasons. One, because Dire Straits' already great songs sound greater live, where the band has room to explore their unique sonic textures. And two, because I can't help but feel that this album was overlooked when it was released in 1993, lost in the shuffle of grunge's heydey and the twilight of a career.

Fronted by Mark Knopfler, one of the most masterful finger-picking guitarists of our time, Dire Straits made music that was always a little left of center. The British quartet emerged in the post-punk era of the late 1970s to play what was decidedly not post-punk. Actually, their body of work makes for an interesting study, given the melding of roots rock, blues-jazz stylings, MTV-made singles, and slow-burning ruminations. And even as their sound grew to incorporate some of the cheesier earmarks of the '80s, Dire Straits maintained a pop sensibility while never losing their mature edge.

"The band's music was offset by Knopfler's lyrics, which approximated the winding, stream-of-conscious narratives of Bob Dylan."—Allmusic

On The Night works so well because it does what any live album should do, which is capture a band at its peak with the intangible energy that can't be felt from a studio recording. As evidence: the exuberant buildup of the already happy-go-lucky "Walk Of Life"; the realization of arena-rock power on "Heavy Fuel"; the dark intrigue and palpable eeriness of "Private Investigations"; and the simple romantic beauty of the three-note licks on "Romeo And Juliet". Although some of these moments are represented musically in their studio counterparts, none can actually be felt.

But the greater success of On The Night is the transcendence of the songs themselves, over half of which are augmented with more progressive arrangements. With the free reign of the live setting, songs like opener "Calling Elvis" and closer "Brothers In Arms" expand gracefully without overstaying their welcome. Moreover, most of the 10 tracks here are jazzed up and countrified with liberal use of saxophone and pedal steel guitar, which provides a warm richness that plays to their advantage.

On The Night provides a snapshot of an under-appreciated band in their prime, not long before they hung up the guitars for good. And even though Dire Straits is long out of the collective cultural consciousness, on this night, we can all look back and savor the moment with a fond sense of retroactive nostalgia.

Less for More

2010-08-08T14:57:00.003-04:00

A few months ago, I dined at Spunto in Soho for lunch, and I think it's time I said something about it. Because after all these years, my long-feared suspicions have been confirmed: The thin-crust pizza market is a racket.

Does it taste good? Sure. Is it worth the price you pay? Not unless it's Marion's.

Just look at the menu: $13 for a large pie without any toppings. Since plain-cheese pizza sort of defeats the purpose of eating pizza in the first place, an additional layer of toppings will cost you five more bucks. I'd be tempted to try one of Spunto's house specialty pizzas if it didn't put me out $24.

I realize that some people are okay with paying whatever for thin-crust pizza because they prefer that to thicker crusts. Honestly, I wouldn't be opposed to the prices if I didn't get hungry an hour or two later.

So if anyone else's experience is anything like mine, thin-crust pizza ultimately serves as a snack, but you end up paying a full meal's price for it. This isn't right, especially at chains that charge the same for thicker crusts.

Preference is one thing; principle is another.

One Ring To Bind Her

2010-08-02T22:34:00.013-04:00

How to propose to your girlfriend in 12 steps:

Create a relationship crossword puzzle. Include inside jokes, pet names, common likes, and references to relationship history.
Leave crossword puzzle for girlfriend to find when she comes home.
Wait for girlfriend to meet you at the secret location revealed by unscrambling certain letters on the crossword. One location could be Belvedere Castle in Central Park.
Give girlfriend a big hug and kiss when she does finally find you off to the side of the castle, away from all the tourists.
Present her a single rose. Then say, "Well, I guess we can head back home." Make sure she knows you're not serious.
Pull out the ring and say "Do I even have to ask?" with a knowing smile. But follow up with "Will you marry me?" just to be sure.
Take pictures.
Appreciate the complete randomness and coincidental timing of a former hockey teammate running into you moments after popping the big one...
"I was strolling through central park on Saturday afternoon with a lovely coed. As we ascended to the platform of the castle that resides off the southwest edge of the Great Lawn, I glanced to my left and saw a very familiar towering god-like figure. So familiar, after a quick double take I zoned in and got closer, it was no other than the one the only Kenny "Marquee" Devine. Not only was the sighting out of left field, couple it with the fact that literally moments earlier in that exact spot with his princess in hand, he asked the lady of his life that eternal question.....and she graciously accepted. Hearts across America broke this weekend. Kenny, congrats big guy...From every last member of the Tea Time community, we wish you nothing but the best....salud"
Take more pictures.
Dine at a great steakhouse.
Tell the world.
Feast on a celebratory breakfast the next morning, with whipped cream symbolizing your sentiment.

Rest in Peace

2010-07-21T20:57:00.008-04:00

NEW YORK—Shortly after 9:30 p.m EDT on Monday, July 19th, Dell computer White Lightning was officially pronounced dead from owner decommissioning. Lightning, a Dell Dimension XPS T550 purchased for around $3,200 in July 1999, was just days away from what would have been its eleventh birthday.

During White Lightning's 10-year tenure, Bill Clinton was impeached, MySpace blew up, the Red Sox won the World Series, and owner Ken Devine got a girlfriend.

Devine maintains that Lightning had a great run, but he's alone in that sentiment. Every other person who has come into contact with the mainstay machine insists that it was a painstakingly slow death over the course of a decade where computer technology advanced by several leaps and bounds. In fact, family members attest that Devine's stubborn refusal to even consider replacing the sluggish dinosaur bordered on cruelty—more so, perhaps, to himself.

Yet critics agree that the 550 MHz has-been had a short stint of glory in its first year of existence, when 16-megabyte video cards ruled the personal-computing frontier, and 20 gigs of hard-drive space was much more than anyone would ever need.

Yes—people really lived like this.

No one's sure how, but White Lightning managed to run on the Windows 98 Second Edition operating system all the way until late 2006, when a freak system-file deletion wouldn't allow Devine to re-enter Windows. A tech-savvy co-worker came to the rescue and bypassed Lightning's hard drive by adding a second one running Windows XP—an operating system already half a decade old.

Devine enjoyed the much-more-stable XP, but had his first realization that Lighting was behind the times when he received an iPod for Christmas in 2007. The portable music device was a fraction of the size of his computer, but at 80 gigs, had the storage capacity of four times more than his once-super computer.

After months of contemplation, Devine reluctantly decided on Monday that it was time to replace White Lightning with Black Thunder, a far-superior Dell machine configured by a pair of former co-workers who felt sympathy for Devine's situation. The duo was compelled to end the years of neglect after learning of Devine's surprising contentment with his long-running personal-computing history. Oddly enough, the speedy PC now adored by Devine sat in his closet for the past 15 months, just waiting for its chance.

"I just felt like it was time," said Devine on retiring his old friend. "Whitey was taking longer naps, and he just sort of gave up when I tried to watch videos on YouTube. I only saw a new frame like once every 15 seconds.”

Devine revealed that the key to preserving such an antiquated computing device was a steady diet of program management and maintenance, particularly with nightly shutdowns. But more than anything, an unprecedented level of patience.

"The good news is now I don't have to put my clothes away or make a sandwich while my computer is booting up," he said. “But I think this whole experience built a lot of character, both for me and White."

"I wouldn't change a thing," he added.

Lightning is survived by PC siblings Blue Bronco and Black Stealth, the latter of which has been in a coma for the past several months. Brother Red Bull passed away quietly in 2007.

Why Soccer Still Sucks

2010-07-05T18:41:00.011-04:00

Four years after writing about the issues I have with soccer, I have to say I've enjoyed watching the latest World Cup, and my interest in the game—with its finesse, chess-match strategy, and surprising level of physicality—has increased.

But the more I try to appreciate the sport, the more it frustrates me. Soccer's still got some issues to work out, particularly with unfairness...

#1: Ghana's a Goner

The latest exhibit: Ghana falling in penalty kicks to Uruguay on Friday. I really have a problem with the intentional handball by defender Luis Suarez to prevent Uruguay’s instant death in the final minutes of extra time.

Would I have a problem if Ghana forward Asamoah Gyan had converted on the ensuing penalty shot to clinch the contest (which he should have)? Not with the outcome, no.

Do I blame Suarez for reacting in a manner that would deny a game-winning goal? Not at all. It was a natural act of last resort and self-preservation.

The problem I have is with the rulebook, namely the black-and-white nature of the handball infraction. There's a big difference between an unintentional handball at midfield and a deliberate handball at the goal line to prevent the ball from going into the net. The fact that the handball rule does not distinguish between these two situations that carry very different implications is a serious flaw, because it allows for cheating.

And that's what happened Friday—Uruguay cheated. Okay, technically they didn't "cheat" within the laws of the game, but it was cheating at its core. From a legal perspective, you could say the handball was a smart move because it was the only option to stay alive. But if the rule was truly fair, this option shouldn't have existed at all—the goal should have been awarded instantly on account of goaltending (one thing basketball does get right). I'm astonished by the lack of challenge and outrage with this rule, especially from Ghana. But writer John Leicester is with me:

"Suarez knew what he was doing. He took a calculated risk... He knew that the punishment for handling would be a penalty for Ghana. But that had to be better for Uruguay than losing to a last-gasp goal."

In a small measure of consolation, Suarez will sit out the semifinal match against the Netherlands, but will return for the finals if Uruguay advances. FIFA found Suarez guilty of "denying the opposite team a clear goal-scoring opportunity."

That's a nice way of putting it.

In a just world, the Ghanaians would be the ones preparing for the Netherlands on Tuesday. It didn't matter what happened on their penalty shot—the game should have already been over.

For more evidence that the handball rule enables cheating, look no further than Suarez himself, who instantly celebrated from the sidelines when Gyan booted his penalty shot off the crossbar. Much worse, he openly expressed zero contrition with his decision, claiming the punishment of being ejected from a World Cup game is "complicated."

"The way in which I was sent off—truth is, it was worth it," he said. "I think I made the best save of the World Cup."

#2: No Instant Replay

The USA, England, Mexico, and Portugal were all victims of poor officiating. If there was instant replay, who would be playing Tuesday and Wednesday? The 2014 World Cup has to get the officiating system right. With the level of international outrage that only soccer can present, I'm hopeful.

#3: Low Scoring

Out of all the games I've watched this World Cup, the one thing that continually irks me is the lack of scoring opportunities. This is the biggest thing holding the sport back; the main reason why most of us play soccer when we're young but only catch it once every four years.

It's an accepted truth that you tend to like things you grew up with, the only things you knew. Thus, many non-American "football" fans have no problem with low-scoring matches because they didn't grow up with the NFL, NBA, or NHL, where scoring is frequent and gratification instant. The disparity in the popularity of the game outside the United States can be explained by cultural expectations.

But as I've watched these matches, I've thought about ways to balance the sport and improve the game so that it's less restrictive and more interesting to watch. Here are a few suggestions that will never be adopted, but whose implications are interesting nonetheless:

No offsides. Is there any justification to leave offsides in the game other than the fact that it's always been there? Like hockey's riddance of the two-line pass, eliminating offsides would be the easiest way to improve the game without fundamentally changing it. As in hockey, forwards would actually be rewarded for slipping behind their defenders. Scoring opportunities would increase, saves would be made, and overall interest would heighten. Offsides could even be redefined to be when a player advances into the penalty area before the ball has entered it (again, similar to hockey, the sport it most resembles).
Fewer players. Reducing each side from 10 players to eight would be a pretty radical change, but I can't help but get excited about the passing and shooting lanes that would open up, and the faster pace of the game overall. One of the main reasons shots are so low in soccer is simply because there are too many players that clog up the area in front of the goal.
Penalty-kick distance. Everyone knows that relying on penalty kicks has never been a great way to determine the winner of a match. So why not keep the kicks but move the shot placement back to the top of the penalty area? You know, to give goalies a higher probability of stopping the shots than Stevie Wonder.

And while we're speaking of overtime, why is there no sudden death in the extra-time period (the opposite problem the NFL has)? Isn't the point of overtime to fairly determine a victor in a timely fashion?

Here's what it's like in the current system: Two teams battle to a tie over the course of 90-plus minutes. One scores a huge go-ahead goal in the extra session, but not so fast—the game isn't over. They've got to continue on in the hopes of not allowing their opponent to tie the score again for the remainder of the 30 minutes. Apparently, people love seeing penalty kicks.

If you're a purist against these rules, consider these stats through July 1st from novelist Richard Greener:

The Group winners in the 2010 World Cup (Uruguay, Argentina, United States, Germany, Netherlands, Paraguay, Brazil and Spain) averaged 656 touches per game, with only 6.3 shots on goal in a 90-minute contest.
Argentina, the most aggressive offensive team, attempted a shot on goal 1.28% of the time it touched the ball. They've averaged 2.3 goals per game.
The worst teams, Honduras and New Zealand, averaged only 1 shot on goal per game. Honduras played their entire schedule of games without making a single goal.

In the absence of alterations to the game, I have to agree with Greener's prediction that American interest in soccer will remain largely unchanged in the years to come, unfortunately:

"Here, unlike other places, we look for sustained action and the ever-present opportunity to put points on the board. Finding neither in soccer, interest in the United States will remain limited to events like the World Cup, with fan interest created by the marketing of false patriotism for a few weeks every four years."

Guess I'm not alone after all: Why Soccer Sucks: The Antidote To World Cup Idiocy.

Seconds Out

2010-06-17T22:22:00.016-04:00

Sometimes things don't end the way you want them to.

After headlining serial television through most of the 2000s, 24 finally bid farewell to TV on May 24th (fittingly), capping off eight adrenaline-pumping seasons. But compared to its groundbreaking genesis that reinvented how stories could be told on TV, 24 went out with more of a whimper than a bang.

The invincible Jack Bauer was once again betrayed by the country he's saved so many times from total annihilation, and is once again on the lam. There was a tender scene with him and Chloe as the final seconds ticked away, but it wasn't the particularly affecting conclusion that 24 deserved—at least, at one point in time.

"24 came onto the air in 2001 as a form-breaking serial that looked strikingly different from anything else on TV. As all successful insurgents do over time, though, it became another institution, with its own familiar forms, tropes and patterns. And last night, 24 said goodbye—to TV anyway—with a closing that was much more like just another season finale than a series finale." —James Poniewozik

The major impediment with 24's finale was that, after all this talk about this being the end, it wasn't—the last episode just served as a setup for the forthcoming movie that's been in the works for months. And it didn't help that 24 had an impossible act to follow, with most of America still reeling from the fever-pitch finale of Lost the night before.

"I know these last few months have been difficult ones. It must be hard to look at the brass-band sendoff for Lost, whose serialized story was made possible by your success, and not compare it to your own less-glorious finish." —Sam Adams

It's interesting to juxtapose the two serial thrillers, because for me, Lost was always second to 24—at least for a while. And in terms of where 24 stood, there was no clearer marker in the sand than when I called Professor Thom's in January about when the next Bauer Hour would be. The NYC bar had held 24 viewing parties for years, handing out free shots of Jack Daniels every time Jack killed someone. But when I spoke to the owner, he said that they had canceled the Bauer Hour this year due to lack of interest. However, still on the schedule was Lost, whose viewing parties continued to be marked by long lines and sitting-room-only crowds.

In the end, 24 could have learned from Lost. Plotting a show's demise in its prime is never easy or sensible in today's philosophy of goldmine entertainment, but 24's atrophy was self-inflicted, opting to exhaust itself over the course of 192 episodes rather than go out on top. Even as a die-hard fan from the very first hour, I was hoping that the producers would end the series after three or four seasons (circa 2005), having Jack die a hero's death in the final seconds (the only truly fitting ending). Because even though 24 suspended reality from the start, it was still grounded enough where there was no way someone could have as many bad, sleepless days as Jack Bauer, right?

But as it turned out, 2005 was right around the time when Jack Bauer became a household name. With the 24 epidemic spreading, I can't completely blame FOX for keeping the juggernaut rolling, but they had to know that the longer they dragged it out, the more preposterous it would get and the less serious people would take the show. As Lost taught us, a serial is a different animal that has the potential for huge payoffs. The caveat: You've got to end it at the right time, on your own terms. Compromise, and you'll have a price to pay, as well as a far dimmer legacy.

That's not to say 24 didn't have some good seasons in the latter part of its run. Seasons 5 and 7 are actually two of the stronger ones, continuing to push boundaries and execute impossible twists despite waning originality. But there was an aura from the first few seasons that was gone.

"Those were heady times, when everything seemed new. People went nuts for your continuity-driven concept, which seemed to flout every canard about TV's dwindling viewership. Rather than chase after an audience's attention, you demanded it, and promised to reward it as well. The heedless momentum of your real-time rush turned the rules of television inside-out. Rather than returning to the status-quo ante at the end of every episode, you promised that things would change, and keep changing. There was no going back." —Sam Adams

With the show's rigid structure and the act of resetting of the clock each season, the writers had little wiggle room in the corners they were forced into. But you have to give them credit for surprising us more than you thought they could for eight entire seasons, because most shows couldn't have survived that long with a gimmicky plot conceit. Even when you thought it was just another mole inside CTU or a seemingly benign subplot, there was usually something else in play. Our jaws dropped less, but the turns weren't all predictable.

"I know they get incredibly burnt and bent," Sutherland said of the show's writers. "The more you do it, the more you paint yourself into a corner, and I think, 'How many times have I played the same moment over and over?'"

One of the biggest corners was limiting the counterterrorist operation to Los Angeles for most of the show's run. Aside from a stint in Mexico during Season 3, it's a shame that it took 24 six seasons to get out of LA, because the last two seasons (set in Washington D.C. and New York City) added a much-needed freshness. But it was too little too late.

Executive Producer Howard Gordon said he called it quits because he couldn't see another season in the cards.

"The real-time aspect was one of the propulsive devices, but it was very restrictive, even with the absurdities, the license we allowed ourselves."

But no matter how implausible the twists were, the backbone of the show—Kiefer Sutherland—was consistently remarkable. His unceasingly intense portrayal of Jack Bauer as hero/antihero was the one thing that was always believable. Even when the quality of the show dipped, Sutherland was a class act that compelled us to watch from week to week, season to season, to see how much saving the world several days over could torture one man's soul.

"There are many moments in television that are simply unforgettable, and the moment Jack was told that Renee has been killed ranks among the most gripping I've ever seen. There seemed to be so many emotions bottled up in his eyes. For all the things he's seen, all the predicaments he's lived through, and all the bullets that have whizzed past him, THIS moment seems beyond his comprehension. It was a finely tuned, well-oiled moment of epic drama." —Dereyck Moore

One thing 24 will be remembered for was its uncanny ability of being a step ahead of real life, with its 9/11-style attacks, means-to-an-end torture tactics, government conspiracies, and an honorable black president. Not to mention viewing habits.

"If nothing else, 24, you helped changed television forever, pushing the networks towards uninterrupted seasons and redefining the way the industry used DVDs to market their shows. Every time someone devours a complete season to prepare for the next one, they have you to thank." —Sam Adams

When asked if he would have rather had 24 end a year apart from Lost (which would have happened if not for the writer's strike in 2008), Gordon was both humble and cognizant.

"All I can say is, I hope we will be missed as much as Lost. I hope we will both be missed."

Lost may be my favorite TV series, but there was none more addicting or instantly gratifying than 24. I reminisce on getting hooked on the show during my latter days in college, watching it week to week in dorm rooms while the rest of the world was somewhere else. That's what I miss the most.

Fantastic Journey

2010-06-02T22:56:00.012-04:00

"You're going home... Find yourself a suitcase. If there's anything in this life you want, pack it in there. Because you're never coming back."

SPOILER ALERT: If you ever plan on watching Lost, stop reading here. 121 episodes from now, you'll understand.

On Sunday, May 23rd, an incredible journey ended for millions of people around the world, and a golden era of serialized television came to a close.

On that same evening, people who had never seen Lost couldn't have not felt the effects of its conclusion. The magnitude of the hype had built to monumental levels in the weeks leading up to the finale. Retrospectives, panel discussions, and predictions for the last episode were everywhere you looked. Interviews with the creators and actors were hard to miss. Hollywood figures and famous fans like George Lucas expressed their love for the sci-fi saga.

For anyone not stranded on a deserted island, exposure to Lost was inescapable.

For Lost fans everywhere, the 2½-hour series finale on Sunday night was the Super Bowl, a finale to end all finales. When the date of the last broadcast was announced months ago, people cleared their schedules, rebooked vacations, and balked at attending weddings (as well as work the next day). Bars, restaurants, and movie theaters sold out tickets for viewing parties nationwide. ABC was relentless in plugging and promoting the show every second they could, and even made sure that the finale was simulcast with the West Coast broadcast throughout Europe. Their fee for a 30-second commercial during the finale? $900,000.

Yes, May 23rd was the television broadcast event of the year. For Lost fans, it was better than the Super Bowl—it was a chance to be a part of history. And I made sure I didn't miss it for the world.

Planning a Funeral

Three years ago I made a bold prediction. Lost had just catapulted itself to another level with an already legendary, game-changing flash-forward at the end of its third year. And shortly before the season finale aired, ABC agreed with the producers that the franchise's sixth season in 2010 would be its last—a completely unprecedented move for a popular series that was only halfway to the finish line.

At the time, my statement struck me as a bit extreme as I typed it, but I couldn't shake the sense that it was too off-base. Here's what I said:

"After watching the landmark Season 3 finale with an end in sight, it's not hard to foresee the epic buildup that will result in the final seasons, or get the sense that Lost could go down as the best TV drama of all time."

Three years later, I stand by what I wrote. ABC believed in this show, trusted the producer's plan, and honored the story by promising not to run it into the ground like so many TV shows before it.

Best of all, ABC's atypical choice allowed them to reap huge dividends in the end. Because on Sunday night, Lost made a profound statement to the world about what a TV show can accomplish. Perhaps more importantly, it served as a cautionary tale for TV executives everywhere...

This is the reward you get for not selling out and mining every dollar.

This is the payoff you earn for respecting your viewers and preserving narrative integrity.

This is what you can share with the world when a creative concept isn't exhausted.

This is what happens when you do the right thing: You get the best TV drama of all time.

All that's to say that I was beyond proud to be a Lost fan on Sunday night. Game on.

The Circle Closes

Reactions to the metaphysical finale were mixed, but I found it enormously satisfying. Despite certain ambiguities, I thought it was surprisingly direct and clear, absent of any WTF?-type bones for us to chew on for the rest of eternity. Of course, it wouldn't be Lost if they didn't leave us a few scattered seeds or make us rethink a few theories. But months and years from now, I think we'll have a good idea what it all meant.

"The End" was one of the few episodes of Lost that actually felt long to me, and in a good way. Clocking in at 103 minutes, the mammoth conclusion was loaded with everything that Lost does best: climactic confrontations, mind-tripping mysticism, poignant character dynamics, and romantic reunions. Different aspects recalled different movies for me: Indiana Jones, The Mummy, Passengers (check out the eerily similar plot in this one), and yes, even the final scene from Titanic.

Speaking of final scenes, Lost's closing seconds have got to rank among the best ever put to film: Lasting, unforgettable images that represent the greatness that is Lost, and immediately recall the wave of emotions we all felt as the book finally closed in the most perfect way possible.

The evocative images: a wounded Jack clutching his side and trudging through the bamboo forest on a slow, solo funeral procession to what will be his final resting place. Vincent running up and laying loyally at Jack's side, instantly creating the sweetest and most sentimental moment out of all 121 episodes.

And best of all: Jack seeing the Ajira plane flying overhead, then smiling in ultimate triumph just before closing his eyes for the last time and dying a heroic death.

"It worked."

Combined with the Sideways shots and Michael Giacchino's stirring musical accompaniment, only the heartless couldn't have been moved during this sequence. My heart was deep in my throat.

Re-watching the episode by myself the next day, I had a similar reaction to when I watched the end of Six Feet Under, weeping for the death of someone I'd known for six years, emoting purely on a soul level while marveling at the sheer, rapturous beauty of it all. It will remain one of the most powerful and cathartic moments I've ever experienced.

Deus Ex Machina?

It's a fair criticism that the effusively spiritual conclusion of the Sideways world wrapped up a little too perfectly, and maybe a little out of left field. But I don't think it's right to call it a cop-out.

Think back for a minute and recall the endless hardship that the castaways suffered for six seasons: all the deaths, abductions, flaming arrows, and fish biscuits—not to mention the single, traumatizing act of surviving a plane crash, which is enough to keep anyone in the psychiatrist's office for years.

They went through hell on the island, with their faith and resolve continually tested around unexplainable, supernatural events. Along the way, the one thing that kept them going was the love that they all expressed for each other, in the bonds of friendship, romance, and simple alliance. And decades later, when they were finally able to move on together, their souls found salvation in a heavenly afterlife.

From the perspective of yin and yang, this narrative duality and ultimate redemption through love is the fairest, most organic resolution Lost could ever have. After all they'd been through, a down ending wouldn't have been right.

Still, what purpose did the Sideways world serve beyond "setting up an emotional ending, creating misdirection, and filling time"? Could we have done without it? Would you have felt differently about the religious emphasis had the final scenes taken place outside of a church?

Technically, the main storyline could have been resolved without the Sideways story. But would you have wanted the final season of Lost to be an eight-episode miniseries? What about the connection between the light on the island and outside the church? Are some of the implications of the once-alternate universe no longer true?

Current detractors may have been okay without the Sideways, but it inevitably would have disappointed the thumbs-up crowd, upset that after all the inexplicable connections these people had to each other, there wasn't some larger meaning to it all.

It always ends the same.

Fans of Science, Fans of Faith

Of course, there was no way that everyone was going to love the ending of Lost. Aside from gross misinterpretation whose reconciliation I'll never fully understand, how you received it is something of a Rorschach test. How spiritual of a person are you? Do you tend to side with faith or reason? Were you prepared that the producers weren't going to tie up every loose end?

But most of all, how cynical of a person are you?

The last episode left my emotions so exercised that by the time it was over, I didn't really care about not knowing all the answers, because they didn't matter so much. Further, I couldn't really think of any burning mysteries that I absolutely had to know, although it turns out there are many more unanswered questions than I thought.

Would I have minded if we were Dharma-dropped a few more morsels? Of course not, though in a few months we'll get some. In the end we have to accept that out of all the stories about the island that the producers could tell, this is the one they chose, and this is how they told it.

From what I can gather, people who generally disliked Lost wanted the story to be told their way, in a manner that was comfortable and familiar to them. But those of us who stood by Lost did so on the faith we held in the ultimate vision of the show. The plots twisted and turned, the answers didn't come easy, and we were unsure where we were being led. But we succumbed to the brilliant insanity of it all and kept riding the polar bear.

"You can believe whatever you want—that's the truth. But you're so close, James. It would be such a shame to turn back now."

The truth is that on Lost, the science was never "real" science, and the show's conceit was style over substance; more poetry than prose. And at times we realized that some questions were a little better when they went unanswered.

"The power of the show is the air of mystery that it always preserves," said Craig Detweiler, director of Pepperdine University's Center for Entertainment, Media and Culture.

It's so true.

But blogger Marjorie Sweeney summed it up best when she compared Lost to mythic folklore passed down from generation to generation:

"Lost has never been a tightly scripted, contemporary sci-fi narrative—it's much more like the sprawling epics composed by ancient bards riffing by the firelight as they swigged from their wineskins. Like classic poetry passed down through oral tradition, there are all kinds of detours and dead ends, standalone stories and evolving mythic themes that ebb and flow through the episodes—as well as the ongoing stories of our heroes and heroines. Maybe there's no way it can all add up, but so what?"

What We Lived For

One thing that most of us can agree on is that there will never be another Lost. Sure, great shows will come and go, but it's unlikely that we'll ever experience anything like the cultural phenomenon that Lost was, especially on network TV, which is dominated by family sitcoms and police dramas. This is especially apparent when you see would-be franchises like FlashForward try to emulate Lost's formula, only to face-plant in their first season.

"The next Lost won't resemble Lost at all," said Stephen McPherson, president of ABC Entertainment Group. "The next Lost will be something completely different, something that is ambitious and takes incredible risks and surprises people."

Lost was a storyteller's dream; magical, escapist entertainment that captured our imaginations, challenged our ways of thinking, tugged at our hearts, and rewarded our pursuits all at the same time.

It's the one show whose episodes were worth watching twice. Aside from solidifying the general plot in our minds, we were compelled to spot Easter eggs and dissect the puzzle pieces in order to solve the elaborate mystery that the world was trying to crack. And this is where Lost became another animal entirely: with the fans.

Lost spawned a global cult following unlike any other. As hard as it was to wait eight months between seasons or even a week between episodes, this is exactly what cemented the obsessive community of the show. But aside from all the Lost mania that swept the Internet, the best part about Lost was simply talking about it. At the office it was the ultimate water-cooler conversation that spun all kinds of theories and interpretations. When you learned that a co-worker watched Lost, you pulled them into the circle. For those who didn't watch, you couldn't help but televangelize the show in a "you'll thank me later" kind of way.

Why did we watch Lost? Because we identified with the flawed characters seeking redemption, and felt connected to their humanity. We saw something of ourselves in them, and formed inextricable bonds as we watched them live, die, and love for six seasons. We watched because we, too, may have also been looking for answers, whether we realized it or not.

We loved Lost because it changed our lives, and we saw how it changed others. We were moved by its heart and soul. And we'll never forget the fantastic journey it took us on as Lost transcended television to become something bigger than us all.

Life After Lost

As we learned, letting go isn't easy. But we all have to move on.

I'm happy to say that although I'll miss Lost, I haven't had any kind of postmortem depression with the show being over, as silly as it sounds. Really, it's a truth that's not far off, because for many of us, Lost was the constant for the past six years of our lives. It spoon-fed us long enough where its mysteries were never far from our minds. Lost was an institution that we turned to, and will forever remain an icon in our minds.

The good news is that when one journey ends, another can begin.

"I'm going to have to go back to civilization and see what my next adventure is," said Jorge Garcia, who played Hurley.

Me too, dude. Me too.

One year later: Looking back at religion in the Lost finale
Revisiting "The Constant"

Local couple resolves argument using telephone

2010-05-13T21:58:00.004-04:00

By Ken Devine

SEATTLE—Rick Montgomery and Sarah DeMarcos, a couple of three years, recently abandoned typical text messaging to save their relationship from certain doom.

Sarah, 27, called off their engagement after she'd reached her breaking point with Rick's control-freak tendencies. Minutes earlier, she learned that Rick had gone behind her back to contact her mother about mailing the remote control for Sarah's 12" excuse of a TV—a controller that's been sitting idly at her mom's home for months. Just sitting there, collecting dust.

Furious, Sarah immediately sent a disapproving text message to Rick that initiated an interminable, back-and-forth texting argument that carried over past midnight, with no resolution in sight.

But shortly after receiving a text from Sarah that said "IT'S OVER. GOODBYE", Rick decided to pick up the phone.

"I kind of forgot that my phone has this 'call' feature on it," he said while using hand quotes and motioning to his cell phone’s keypad. "You just press the green phone button, and it calls someone. See, like this," he demonstrated.

"Honestly, it was kind of an accident when I pressed it," he admitted. "But once it started dialing, I was like, 'What the hell?' You know, just let it go."

According to DeMarcos, the couple was able to resolve their relationship-threatening argument within sheer minutes, and the engagement is back on—for now.

Celebrity Sighting #8

2010-05-09T14:16:00.003-04:00

One good thing about walking around Midtown on Saturday night? Crossing paths with Tony Goldwyn (a.k.a. the bad guy from Ghost).

Tony was walking arm in arm with his wife around 46th Street. I noticed him immediately as my brother and I walked by him. But just to be sure, we doubled back and creepily followed him for a few blocks to get the confirmation.

You may be wondering what Tony's been up to since having his viscera serrated by a broken-glass window in 1990. Although the angry ape reapers proceeded to drag him off to Hell, Tony resurfaced for a few notable films in the next 10 years or so:

• Kuffs (1991)
• The Pelican Brief (1993)
• Nixon (1995)
• Kiss the Girls (1997)
• Bounce (2000)
• The Last Samurai (2003)

I'd actually completely forgotten about Tony until I saw The Last Kiss in 2006, a film that he directed. The movie has a cool opening that features Snow Patrol's awesome "Chocolate".

According to IMDb, Tony had a less prominent film debut in 1986, in which he played the role of Darren in Jason Lives: Friday the 13th Part VI.

"I got skewered through the chest after uttering about three words," he said.

The Cup

2010-04-14T22:21:00.004-04:00

Watch Lost and go to bed early, or hold the Stanley Cup?

Why Basketball Sucks (Redux)

2010-03-27T17:40:00.002-04:00

Three years ago I wrote why I don't like to watch the game of basketball in a provokingly titled article, Why Basketball Sucks. (This happens to be the predecessor to my more recent, exaggerated, and deliberately polarizing post, Why the NFL Sucks. Also: thoughts on soccer.)

Notice I said that I don't like to watch basketball—I didn't say anything about playing it, which I did up until middle school. In fact, I happen to be the 1992-93 champion of my hometown's Pass, Dribble & Shoot contest. To this day I'm still not sure how I miraculously placed first in these competitions in consecutive years, since I was just decent at basketball and ended up finishing ahead of guys who went on to play for my high school team. It's been years since I've hit the hardwood, but it was always fun to play.

Now, every sport is better to watch in person, basketball included. But there are two reasons why I dislike watching basketball in particular:

Too much scoring. The back-and-forth nature of the sport and the frequent amount of scoring is the big killer for me. One of the reasons that makes football or hockey more interesting to watch is that a goal or a touchdown isn't scored on virtually every possession. So when those things do occur, they're meaningful.
Survival through infractions. When your team is trailing in the final minutes of a basketball game, desperate measures sink to a new low. With a remote chance (at best) of victory, the only way to climb out of the hole is to foul the hell out of your opponent—which almost always just puts you in your grave. Not only does this disrupt the fluidity and make games very frustrating to watch, but it exposes an inherent flaw in the sport: survival through infractions. There should be a rule that prevents teams from doing this in the final two minutes if they're trailing by more than 10 points—something to prevent the prolonging, end the futility, and put lame-duck teams out of their misery.

My basketball article is one of a few I put on AssociatedContent.com in the hopes of making a few dollars here and there. Well, the best part about posting those in a more public forum certainly wasn't the money, but the comments (16 and counting, toward the bottom) that I continue to get to this day are just as valuable. With a title like "Why Basketball Sucks", I instantly set people up to either love or hate me, which I've found really amusing. Below are my favorite selections:

Basketball owns all sports, man why do u diss basketball, ohh because u aint knowing shit about the sport

BASKETBALL SUCKS YOU KNOW AMERICAS SPORT IS FOOTBALL

Ha! this article is a joke. Hockey and soccer are snooze-fests which is why no one watches them. Considering the ball/puck size to goal/net ratio and the lack of scoring, it's hard to even call them athletes. Everyone just flails around, hardly controlling the puck/ball, like a bunch of idiot barbarians with no strategy. You couldn't pay me to sit through a boring hockey game. It may be fun for you playing since you dont have any real athletic skill, but as a spectator (girl) your sport puts me to sleep.

Basketball does suck...nothing makes me laugh more than when ESPN or some other sports network gives a basketball score in the 1st or 2nd quarter.....Rockets are up on the Bulls "10 - 8" ......oh,like that's score's not gonna change a million times...lol Why give the damn score???? who cares!!! Hockey rules!!

THE WORLD is watching tv during the FIFA WORLDCUP! dont be so american, it sucks as much as basketball

Basketball offers no fun or excitement... It's like cloning sheep.

If you read my original post, you'll notice that toward the end, I do credit basketball for its skill and athleticism. And despite what my enemies at AssociatedContent.com think, I don't think it's a bad game. I just think it's got some issues.

One thing basketball's got right is March Madness, which is really a beautiful thing. In what other sport can I ignore the entire season and somehow come out near the top in office pools year after year?

But it's more than that. Actually, it's kind of like the Olympics—it doesn't matter if you've never followed international snowboarding—you want to see what happens because it's the Olympics. March Madness has that same kind of magnetism that pulls you in, even just casually, because you know everyone's attention is on it. SI.com's Michael Rosenberg is with me in his most recent article, Why the NCAA tournament is best sporting event in America:

"The NCAA tournament starts around St. Patrick's Day and encourages you to watch a different TV with each eyeball while taking no-look sips from your pint...wait, that's not what I meant to say. What I meant is that if you're old enough to drink, you have sat through enough lousy Super Bowls and boring World Series games and monotonous NBA Finals to appreciate how reliably awesome the NCAA tournament is. There are two reasons for this:

1. It's never overhyped.
2. It never disappoints.

This is the rare sporting event that is riveting if you know everything there is to know about it or nothing at all... Thanks to its universal gambling appeal, the NCAA tournament brings people together."

The Big Leagues

2010-03-21T21:21:00.003-04:00

First it was Electronic Gaming Monthly. Then it was Stuff. Now, years later, it's Rolling Stone:

I wrote this letter to the editor in response to writer Rob Sheffield's commentary on Lost from two issues prior. What appears in print is a condensed version of what I originally submitted, but I'll be sure to express the omitted thoughts when the series concludes in a few months.

An added bonus: having my name grace the same space as journalist Matt Taibbi, a fearless political writer who delivers hard-hitting analyses "written as if during the middle of a bar fight."

Blame Canada

2010-02-24T20:54:00.006-05:00

I knew the USA-Canada hockey game on Sunday night would be big. I just didn't know how big a U.S victory would be.

For obvious reasons, this was Canada's game to win. And after watching both teams play their first few games, I figured the Canadians, with the clear advantage in star power, wouldn't have trouble disposing of a much younger, inexperienced American team by 2-3 goals.

But in my mind there was only one handicap Canada could have given Team USA: Marty Brodeur. They played him in goal, and it cost them big-time.

Don't get me wrong—there's no doubt that Brodeur is one of the best goaltenders to have ever played the game. Here's a brief glimpse of his killer resume:

The NHL's all-time leader in regular season wins, shutouts, and games played
More than 30 franchise records, including most all-time regular season and playoff wins, shutouts, games, and lowest goals-against average
3 Stanley Cup championships
Four-time Vezina Trophy winner, four-time Jennings Trophy winner, 10-time NHL All Star, and a Calder Memorial Trophy winner
One of only two NHL goaltenders to have scored goals in both the regular season and the playoffs; the only NHL goalie to score a game-winning goal.

Brodeur is known for his hybrid goaltending style by standing up more than butterfly goalies, who drop to their knees often. It's gotten him this far, and even at his veteran age of 38, I'd still take him over half the goalies in the NHL.

But when I've watched Brodeur play periodically in the past few years, he's given up questionable goals, mostly as a result of his unconventional style of play. During this relatively new generation of super-athletic, butterfly-sliding goalies, Brodeur has become outdated. But don't take that as an insult, Marty—you've been incredibly successful as New Jersey's starting netminder for the past 19 seasons.

Canada started Roberto Luongo in net for their opening Olympic game against Norway. Apparently coach Mike Babcock planned on going with the more-experienced Brodeur as his No. 1 for the tournament, but wanted to get Luongo's skates wet in case he needed to call on him later. But instead of anticipating sub-par play from his starting goalie, Babcock should have stuck with Luongo (an All Star in his own right, playing on his home ice), similar to how the Team USA coach Ron Wilson preselected Ryan Miller to play the entire way. Babcock handed the reins over to Brodeur against Switzerland in the second game.

Had Luongo played against Team USA on Sunday night, I'm not so sure so many Americans would have been celebrating. I say this chiefly because the 6'3" butterflyer would have stopped the goals that Brodeur let in. And this goes back to what I was saying before: Brodeur may have been a better goalie five years ago, but Luongo is now.

Brodeur's biggest issue was the same one I've seen in the past few seasons: save selection. Consider the evidence:

Even though the first goal was deflected in by his own teammate, a standard butterfly would have prevented the goal, instead of Brodeur going going paddle-down with his stick.
On the second goal, the butterfly would have been more effective than hesitantly stacking the pads on a low shot through traffic.
On the third goal, Brodeur's lack of stick pressure allowed the puck to seep through the five-hole with his stick between his legs in a rare sideways position only seen from Squirt- and Mite-level goalies.
On the fourth goal (which proved to be the game-winner), Brodeur gambled and dove with a poke check, but didn't connect. Way out of position, he frantically tried to recover, but not before Chris Drury capitalized on a mostly open net.

Overall, Brodeur didn't have a horrible game—he made some big stops at key times. But for Team Canada in the Olympics in Vancouver against the USA, it wasn't acceptable. Babcock later agreed, giving the nod to Luongo for as many more games Canada can play as they head down the path of most resistance to the gold medal.

"We're in the winning business. And to win in any game you need big saves. You need momentum-changing saves, and we're looking at Lou to do that for us. He's a great, big butterfly goaltender. If you look at the way pucks went in our net last night with traffic, which is the way the game is now, sometimes just being down in that big butterfly, things hit you and just bump into you. We believe Lou gives us a real good opportunity to win, and so that's why we're going with him."

I don't blame Canada so much for their loss as I do Babcock. His realization about playing the right goalie came a few games too late.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the ice was Ryan Miller, winning goaltender and instant American hero. Even with Brodeur's unsatisfactory performance, the Americans would have lost without Miller, who played the game of his life in stopping 42 of 45 shots and holding the Canadians off until the very end.

But when asked about winning the goaltending battle, he couldn't shake the the impression still held by so many—an impression that may begin to fade in the near future:

"I'm just trying to build my resume. Marty's the best."

Area man able to get on pec-fly machine for first time

2010-02-21T18:40:00.013-05:00

By Ken Devine

NEW YORK—Manhattan resident Craig Sullivan reported that he used the pec-fly machine at Frank's Fitness on Friday for the first time ever.

Sullivan, 38, said that he'd been trying to get on the popular pectoral machine ever since he joined the Midtown gym almost eight months ago.

"It's been beyond frustrating," admitted the wiry, flat-chested real estate manager. "The 'fly' is the best for building up your chest, but I guess every guy in here knows that. Even when I'm working out during off-hours, some buff jackass is always monopolizing it."

Sullivan said that despite the virtual impossibility of using the LifeFitness-brand machine and his zero-percent success rate, he always held out hope for the off-chance that he'd one day enter the alcove next to the free weights to find the machine unattended.

But after continually being denied and forced to use the standard chest-press machine instead, Sullivan's patience finally paid off. After finishing his workout around 8:50 p.m. on Friday, Sullivan said he was about to hit the showers when he was struck by one of those rare "what if?" moments shortly before Frank's was set to close.

"I walked past the free weights on my way out and then just sort of stopped and turned my head," he recounted. "I can't explain it, but I just had this feeling that for once, the machine might be open. When I rounded the corner and didn't see anyone there, I almost crapped my pants."

Unfortunately, by the time Sullivan overcame his excitement, adjusted the seat, and set the proper weight at 20 pounds, he was only able to squeeze in a few reps before an announcement was made over the loudspeaker that the gym was about to close.

"I stayed on it as long as I could, but eventually one of the trainers came up and told me I had to leave so that the last few employees could go home. Almost got almost a full set in, though."

According to Sullivan, getting on the pec-fly machine this one time is really the only plus in a long list of grievances he’s had with Frank’s Fitness. Among them: perpetually malfunctioning treadmills, tip-hungry locker room attendants, and dripping-wet bathrooms and showers that constantly reek of a distinctive mildewy funk.

But none aggravated him more than the general invasion of personal space in the locker room.

"There's no space in the locker room, or anywhere in this city, really," said the St. Louis native. "Someone is always bumping into you, and there's always naked man ass in my face."

Sullivan elaborated with something he calls "The Law of Locker Room Proximity"—a so-called truth he coined after many locker room tribulations.

"You could be one of two people in the entire gym—the entire gym—and you'll end up picking the locker next to the one other guy who will come in as soon as you sit down," he explained. "Never fails."

"I'm cursed," he muttered, with a tone of utter defeat.

In describing his overwhelmingly negative experience at Frank's, Sullivan mentioned that he once thought of ending his membership, but hesitated after learning of the hefty early-termination fee.

Plus, he thinks he may be able to get another crack at the pec fly someday.

Why the NFL Sucks

2010-01-30T19:16:00.012-05:00

I wrote about this subject a few years ago, but after watching the Vikings get eliminated in overtime by the Saints last weekend, I thought it was worth reviving.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a huge college football fan, but I don't care much for the NFL. Other reasons aside, one thing that really irks about the NFL is its sudden-death overtime system. It's wrong and unfair.

Because football is a game of alternating possessions, it doesn't lend itself to a system that determines its winner based on who can score first. Although the college game is flawed with the BCS, its alternating-possession system works well in overtime, where both teams have an equal chance to prevail. Sudden death works best in more fluid, back-and-forth sports like hockey, where possession changes often and the system provides the edge-of-your seat thrills that it's supposed to. It just doesn't have a place on the gridiron.

In football, the sudden-death system favors the offense. Yes, the offensive team has to receive the ball on their end of the field, but they only have to move the ball about 40 yards to set up a game-winning field goal. And this is what kills me the most about watching teams get eliminated from the playoffs in overtime: After a hard-fought game, sudden death essentially allows the random flip of a coin to likely determine the winner—but not necessarily the best team or the one that deserved to win. It's just cheap.

I remember watching the Titans beat the Steelers in overtime a few seasons ago on a Gary Anderson chip shot—well, chip shots (there were penalties). As Nashville began to go crazy, it felt like a victory that was neither decisive nor satisfying—all it proved was that the Titans could kick the ball through the uprights on their first possession in overtime. Could Pittsburgh have pulled that off had the coin flipped their way? Probably. But the Titans got to play the next week while the Steelers were done for the year.

The only way to improve the NFL's sudden-death system is to make teams go the length of the field to score touchdowns. Making it mandatory to get into the endzone would certainly make it fairer for the team playing defense, but the games would run longer. There's a downside no matter how you slice it, but above all, the factor that should take precedence is fairness.

The Vikings shot themselves in the foot several times against the Saints. But if there was no sudden death, Brett Favre might be playing next weekend in another Super Bowl. And although I'm not an NFL guru, Favre vs. Manning is a matchup that even I would be excited to watch.

Vindication:

Take a Bow

2010-01-24T23:41:00.019-05:00

I'm not a big watcher of late-night television, but with all the recent drama around NBC's late-show lineup, and after watching Conan O'Brien's final shows last week on The Tonight Show, I realized that I have a lot of feelings on the subject.

Everyone should watch Conan's heartfelt farewell monologue. In the last segment of his last show, Conan laid down the arms that he'd been relentlessly bashing NBC with since he saw the writing on the wall a few weeks ago. In a rare moment of seriousness and sincerity, he closed with a classy statement to thank his longtime employer—the same employer he had faithfully and tirelessly served for over two decades, only to quickly become his adversary in his last two weeks of employment—not to mention the butt of all his (very funny) jokes.

"Between my time at Saturday Night Live, The Late Night Show, and my brief run here on The Tonight Show, I've worked with NBC for over 20 years. Yes, we have our differences right now. Yes, we're going our separate ways. But this company has been my home for most of my adult life. I am enormously proud of the work we have done together, and I wanna thank NBC for making it all possible. I really do."

On His Terms
You have to empathize with Conan in the same way that he empathizes with people on his show, because you can only imagine how devastating his decision was to step down from a dream job that he spent the better part of his career chasing.

But despite the fact that his show would have been pushed back just 30 minutes later to 12:05 a.m., Conan couldn't do it on principle alone. As a purist and a fan, he couldn't bring himself to participate in what he termed "the destruction" of The Tonight Show, according to a written statement. Conan refused to compromise. Earlier in his career under similar circumstances, maybe he would have. But not now.

"I sincerely believe that delaying The Tonight Show into the next day to accommodate another comedy program will seriously damage what I consider to be the greatest franchise in the history of broadcasting. The Tonight Show at 12:05 simply isn't The Tonight Show."

In the same statement, Conan also showed deference to Jimmy Fallon, whose show would have been bumped back even further had Conan gone to 12:05. Even when he was finally on top, Conan didn't forget about the little guy. It was a position he knew very, very well.

On another note of professionalism, Conan was gracious in his untimely exit, choosing to see the glass as half-full.

"But despite this sense of loss, I really feel this should be a happy moment. Every comedian—every comedian—dreams of hosting The Tonight Show. And for seven months, I got to do it. And I did it my way, with people I love. I do not regret one second of anything that we've done here.

I encounter people when I walk on the street who give me kind of a sad look... I have had more good fortune than anyone I know, and if our next gig is doing a show in a 7-11 parking lot, we will find a way to make it fun."

The Wrong Guy
If they're not kicking themselves right now, NBC execs will when they realize what they've lost. It was one thing to not cut the cord with Jay Leno in 2009 after determining Conan to be his successor five years prior, but it was just insulting to restore Leno's prime placement a mere seven months after the baton had been passed. NBC should have stuck with the newer host who has the better range of generational appeal—the guy they chose to lead them into a new decade of late-night entertainment. Instead they pulled a Brett Favre-type reversal.

Leno is also to blame. If he didn't want to get out of late-night, he should have never agreed to step down years in advance while supporting his eventual successor. He should have taken his show elsewhere. And because The Chin hasn't backed down from a chance to reclaim what was his for a long time, he'll be in an unenviable position next to the martyred Conan when he returns on March 1st: as the bad guy.

During his final slate of episodes, it was really clear that Conan O'Brien is the one guy that NBC shouldn't have screwed over. General NBC trashing aside, Conan was intent on taking NBC for every penny he could—and he made sure everyone knew his rebellious stance. As parting shots, he introduced one-off, 11th-hour characters to the show that weren't so much funny as they were "crazy-expensive."

To illustrate further, the first line from the opening monologue of his last show says it all:

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have exactly one hour to steal every single item in this studio."

King of the Jungle
Out of all the late-night hosts, Conan has always been my favorite because of one simple, underrated quality: humility. Conan embraces self-deprecation like no other. Quite wisely, he's learned that he can always fall back on a bad joke or a failed bit by making fun of himself, be it his ridiculous hairdo or general uncoolness. Conan is simply more likable because he always beats everyone to the punchline. And with his instant comedic analysis, he's also the first to admit to his audience that a joke or bit wasn't funny (which actually makes it funny). His no-ego approach naturally makes him someone you want to root for. And we did.

As someone who understands and appreciates the depths and nuances of the human condition, Conan closed his goodbye speech, ever so humble and wise:

"And finally, I have something to say to our fans. This massive outpouring of support and passion from so many people has been overwhelming for me. The rallies, the signs; all this goofy, outrageous creativity on the Internet; the fact that people have traveled long distances and camped out all night in the pouring rain. It's been raining for days—it's literally pouring out there.

Here's what all of you have done: You've made a sad situation joyous and inspirational. So to all the people watching, I can never, ever [chokes on tears] thank you enough for the kindness to me. I'll think about it the rest of my life.

And all I ask is one thing, and I'm asking this particularly of the young people that watch: Please do not be cynical. I hate cynicism. For the record, it's my least-favorite quality. It doesn't get you anywhere.

Nobody in life gets exactly what they thought they were going to get. But if you work really hard and you're kind, amazing things will happen. I'm telling you: Amazing things will happen. It's just true."

Free Bird
The good news is that Conan will be back at some point in some form, and he'll continue to do the show he wants to do. In a way, it almost seems right that a maverick such as himself didn't stay on a mainstream show more than seven months, because his spontaneous, wildcard humor never really fit a mold other than his own. His departure also validates his identity as a fringe comic who was able to take more creative liberties and abide by an anything-goes approach in the early hours of the morning. Conan's always been a man of the people.

So maybe in the long run, this will be the best thing that ever happened to him. Conan, above anyone, is a firm believer that when one door closes, another opens. It's just true.

After all that, Conan left us with one great last gem on his blog:

"I ask you to take away from all of this one thing: inspiration. Everyone has dreams. Everyone has hopes... Make something. Do something. You can make it happen.

As I sit in this office with no windows, the only sound the whoosh of the little fan that pushes the hot air around my office, I can tell you this: There is no difference between me and you. You can do this. You can do anything. You just have to get out there and do it."

Related

Conan O'Brien scores big ratings with his final show
If this isn't a sign: Johnny Carson passed away on January 23rd. Conan's final show ended at 12:35 a.m. on January 23rd.
69% of TV Guide Readers Won't Watch Leno
Why Former Jay Leno Fans Turned Their Back on 'The Tonight Show'
Conan O'Brien tells '60 Minutes' he would have left NBC if roles were reversed

State of the Union address postponed after 'Lost' fans march on Washington

2010-01-09T18:23:00.013-05:00

By Ken Devine

WASHINGTON—Thousands of Lost fanatics staged a historic rally outside the White House this weekend, protesting the potential February 2nd date of President Obama's State of the Union address that would conflict with the über-anticipated premiere of Lost's sixth and final season.

Fueled by Internet speculation and ambiguous White House press briefings, Lost fans began arriving in droves early Friday morning after the topic of the February 2nd broadcast date reached a boiling point. Protesters from far and wide congregated quickly outside the front gates of White House and let their voices be heard with galvanizing chants ranging from "The Island wants you" to the increasingly threatening "We'll go Eko on your ass."

Other geeky expressions like "State of the Union = Bad Dharma" were seen on placards.

"I'm curious to hear what President Obama has to say about the serious issues facing our nation" said Lost devotee Andrew Stephenson of Philadelphia. "But honestly, the world has been dying to see this premiere for almost eight months now. We'll finally get to find out what happened when Juliet detonated the H-bomb."

"Obama's just going to have to wait," he concluded.

White House sources have indicated that as a result of the protest's size and intensity, President Obama is likely to push back his crucial speech for at least another week, and will broadcast his decision to the nation in the coming days.

"With the recent airline security failures and the latest job-loss report, the last thing Obama needs is a rabid contingent of Losties fans at his throat," said White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs. "There was a massive backlash a few years ago when 24 was pre-empted by a national address from President Bush, and his ratings never recovered."

According to Gibbs, the State of the Union was originally planned for January 26th, but was nixed once they discovered that it coincided with the premiere of the ninth season of American Idol.

"At this point it's looking like Obama's going to have to speak on a Sunday or Monday night when Chuck or The Bachelor is normally on," Gibbs said. "No one watches those shows anyway."

An ABC spokesperson reported that the network was pleased with the president's decision to put critical communication with the American people on the backburner for at least another week.

"The excitement for this premiere has built to an unprecedented, all-time fever pitch," she said, "and I can't imagine that anyone in America will actually be interested in what the president has to say about his dubious healthcare plan or the failing wars in the Middle East when they know they could be watching Lost."

White House intern Benjamin Holllingsworth, who said that he pointed out the bad timing to the administration months ago, admitted that he's not surprised by the president's decision to delay the address, and that Obama himself is rumored to be a fan of the epic serial drama.

"Well, he was born in Hawaii, so there's an obvious connection there," the 22-year-old staffer pointed out. "But he has this weird thing with lottery numbers—religiously playing 4 8 15 16 23 42 in the Pick 6. And he's not available most Wednesday nights."

In the Years 2000

2010-01-03T21:09:00.013-05:00

I can't believe the 2000s are history. It didn't seem too long ago when the Backstreet Boys were on top and Y2K was threatening humanity's very existence. Now I guess we have 2012 to look forward to.

I didn't even realize the 2000s (or "zeroes"—whatever we called them) were coming to a close until I got an e-mail in late November about submitting a list for best albums of the decade. And even though the number of truly great albums diminished in the past few years, I would be remiss not to mention the ones that played an integral part of my soundtrack during the past 10 years.

So without further ado, below are my favorite albums of the 2000s. While I think these are some of the best, I realize that there's a difference between what is good critically and what I like to listen to the most personally. For example, Radiohead's Kid A (2000) is a landmark album I own that's not represented here. Rolling Stone declared it the best album of the decade, and from a critical perspective, they're correct—Kid A is a better album than Chinese Democracy. But it's not an album that I crave to hear as much as Chinese Democracy. And I guess that's what it all boils down to: How do you want music to make you feel most of the time? It's different for everyone, and that explains the sheer range of musical tastes and diversity in best-of lists.

So, in closing, while this list leaves off a lot of other really good albums that I own, these are simply the ones I like to listen to the most; the ones that I feel carry the most power, beauty, and emotion.

My Top 10 Albums of the 2000s:

The Darkness—One Way Ticket To Hell...And Back (2005)
The Darkness only produced two albums before their lead singer derailed them with his coke addiction, and their first album got more attention than this one. Their debut has some great songs, but track for track, One Way Ticket is the clear winner. Yet despite a slew of sturdy, radio-ready singles and rich production values, it never really got much attention, nor has it made it to a Guitar Hero game, something The Darkness—with their falsetto-heavy, '80s cock rock—seem destined for. Therefore, I'll go on record saying that this is one of the most underrated and overlooked albums of the decade. It's also pure fun.
Muse—Black Holes And Revelations (2006)
As I listened to The Resistance, Muse's newest album released last September, a co-worker and I ended up talking more about their previous record, Black Holes And Revelations. The new one is good, like all their albums, but we decided that it was no Black Holes, which is the first Muse album I bought after attending their concert with a friend (when I'd never heard a single song of theirs). While I liked the show, I didn't think I'd get hooked on the band the way I did, and particularly this album. In fact, it was only when I went to delete certain songs I didn't want that I realized it was a keeper. And after that, this revolutionary opus of apocalyptic proportions continued to blow me away, spin after spin.
Dixie Chicks—Taking The Long Way (2006)
File this one under "Political Upheaval Makes for Better Ensuing Album" and "The Only Dixie Chicks CD I Own". After lead singer Natalie Maines bashed Bush in 2003, their fans called for their heads and dumped their CDs. But as seen in the excellent documentary Shut Up and Sing, what didn't kill the Chicks only made them stronger. Their answer to the world was Taking The Long Way, an unapologetic, un-countrified album in the vein of '70s Fleetwood Mac. Their heart and soul is in these 14 songs, and it's an incredibly moving, sympathizing journey.
The Elms—Truth, Soul, Rock & Roll (2002)
In 2002 a good friend of mine in Nashville turned me on to The Elms, a Christian rock band from small-town Indiana. I say "Christian" with an asterisk, because The Elms sound more real than any Christian band, and their Midwestern brand of rock & roll is more of a throwback to Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones. Truth, Soul, Rock & Roll is a potent sophomore effort filled with muscle and melody, and will likely stand as the peak of the band's career.
Coldplay—A Rush Of Blood To The Head (2002)
Coldplay has a lot of similarities to U2 in their universal appeal and artful approach to making music, yet because they're mainstream, a lot of people think it's "uncool" to like Coldplay. ("Know how I know you're gay? You listen to Coldplay.") Uncool or not, A Rush Of Blood To The Head catches Coldplay before they were very well-known, and is impressive in its breadth, beauty, and musical landscape it paints. It's also a superior follow-up to a first album that was much more straightforward and subdued. (Are we seeing a pattern here?)
The Decemberists—The Crane Wife (2006)
The Decemberists are one of the few indie bands in my collection, but The Crane Wife was the Portland quintet's major-label debut, and not coincidentally, I think it's their strongest effort (although 2009's The Hazards Of Love is also good). What's cool about this album, besides its array of song structures and seafaring singing, is that it just rocks, especially the second song, The Island.
Guns N' Roses—Chinese Democracy (2008)
I guess that after all this time, a lot more was said about Chinese Democracy before its release than what effect it had after it finally surfaced in late 2008. Although I think it's a great Guns N' Roses album, I suppose that it's simply more exciting for people to talk about what they don't have, especially if it takes 15 years to get it.
Elton John—Songs From The West Coast (2001)
Elton John was one of those musicians I never thought I'd ever like simply because my parents liked him. Plus, he played the piano, which never seemed cool. I guess sometimes you just have to grow up to appreciate great music. I'm not very familiar with some of Elton's early albums, but this passionate 2001 effort is excellent from start to finish, and no doubt features some of his best work.
Sheryl Crow—C'mon, C'mon (2002)
This is one of those albums I remember more by where I was. It was about a month before college graduation in April 2002, and I remember discovering this great pop-rock album from Sheryl Crow. This is another all-around solid listen, and even in the year of its release, I remember thinking how untapped its potential was—there's several radio-worthy singles here that were never released. The other thing I remember is listening to this in my parents' van, slowly falling asleep as we drove away from my school on graduation day. The whole circus finally over, getting a chance to breathe, and letting the music take me home.
Chantal Kreviazuk—What If It All Means Something (2002)
This is another strong, overlooked pop-rock album from the Canadian Chanteuse. "In This Life", the first track and biggest highlight, is an incredible soaring ballad. And while I now prefer the Raul Malo and Martina McBride duet version, Chantal's cover of "Feels Like Home" is just as good in its own right. Let's just say I've known for a while that this song will be played at my wedding.

Strength and Beauty

2009-12-28T18:53:00.011-05:00

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have doubted James Cameron. But since 1998, his obsession with the Titanic has led him to dwell in the depths of the ocean for the better part of the past 11 years. He disappeared from the public eye and seemed uninterested in returning to his specialty at crafting acclaimed Hollywood blockbusters. The last image I have of him is kookily shouting "I'm the king of the world!" in distasteful self-aggrandizement at his Oscar acceptance speech, even though he wasn't necessarily undeserving of such a statement.

Maybe I shouldn't have doubted Cameron. But in my mind, the odds were against him.

After seeing Avatar last weekend, I learned that an old dog can still learn new tricks (even with his head in the water). Because in all its sweeping, breathtaking glory, Avatar is not just a technical tour de force, but easily the most entertaining film of the year.

Amid big battles, Eastern mysticism, and post-9/11 political parallels, Avatar is of course a love story at heart. And for a film relying so heavily on 3D-rendered characters, Avatar's biggest surprise (and success) is capturing the human condition in the tribal, yellow-eyed alien race of the Na'vi. It's hard to describe, but for me Avatar unlocked some long-lost archetype that made me connect with the love story as if I knew it once before, long ago. My emotions took me by surprise as I seemed to relive some ancient experience.

But despite epic storytelling that deftly weaves action, adventure, and romance, Avatar's obvious weakness is its reliance on so many movies before it. The plot itself is an avatarish amalgam of Dances with Wolves, The Last Samurai, Last of the Mohicans, Donnie Brasco, Aliens, Gorillas in the Mist, and The Matrix, to name a few. To its credit, though, Avatar's execution is strong enough to overcome the plight of unoriginality, making the experience no less gripping and thrilling every step of the way.

Another film that Avatar recalls is Star Wars, specifically the heavily hyped but flawed prequels. Because when you walk out of the theater, you realize that Avatar is the film that Episodes I-III should have been—not just escapist and immersive, but awesome.

George Lucas, meet Jim Cameron. Old dog teaches older dog new tricks.

Related: Audiences experience 'Avatar' blues

Cup of No

2009-12-20T16:43:00.006-05:00

The longer I live in this city, the longer I'm amazed by people's addiction to coffee. Every morning, people rely on coffee to jumpstart their day. Otherwise-impatient people wait in long lines at Starbucks, and others make sure they get their caffeine fix as soon as they get to the office. But I just don't understand why so many people are slaves to the java bean.

What's funny is that I actually like the concept of coffee—just not its taste. Because on the surface, the appeal is understandable; what a better way to start your day than with a steaming beverage that awakens your senses and invigorates your body?

But in its darkest, purest form (black), I find the taste overly strong and insipid. Of course, I forgot to add cream and sugar, you say. Yes, that makes it better, but that doesn't say a lot about coffee itself, does it? Think about when you were young, and the only way to make Grape Nuts tolerable was to overload it with sugar. That didn't mean Grape Nuts was a good cereal. It just said more about what it was missing.

But as coffee and its trendy spinoff drinks like frappuccinos become more flavorful with a plethora of additives, at what point is coffee still coffee? Coffee is essentially becoming un-coffee-like when it starts to resemble hot chocolate, a Frosty, or another dessert-type drink in both taste and appearance.

So my question then becomes: Why not just cut to the chase go straight to the hot chocolate? Or is it all about the caffeine?

Something else I find amusing is my parents continually asking if I've started drinking coffee yet, as if they're expecting that I inevitably get hooked on it as I get older. (Not unlike cult members pushing Kool-Aid in the faces of new converts.) And now that I think about it, maybe that explains my associative aversion to coffee—I view it as an adult drink. And I don't really like to think of myself as an "adult," at least not yet.

So, short of a major palate reversal or grim survival situation, this is one man who will always say no to the joe.

Living with the Dead

2009-12-15T23:03:00.003-05:00

A&E's Psychic Kids: Children of the Paranormal is the best investigative show on TV that no one's talking about. Below is a synopsis of the eerie supernatural series, now in its second season:

Psychic Kids examines the trials and tribulations of children who have extraordinary psychic gifts and sensibilities. Chip Coffey, a renowned psychic medium along with clinical psychologist Dr. Lisa Miller, travels the country interviewing, encouraging, and supporting these gifted children and their parents. Their mission is to educate and inform the kids and their families about these abilities.

I feel compelled to write about Psychic Kids because it's brought tears to my eyes almost every time I've watched it. It's heartbreaking to see the pain of innocent teenagers who are seen as outcasts by their peers, alone every minute of the day with their frightening gift. It's devastating to see children who are too afraid to fall asleep at night because they're constantly tormented by menacing spirits. And it's crushing to see how helpless parents are in protecting their loved ones, even as some don't fully believe what their child is experiencing is real.

The best thing about Psychic Kids is how it brings paranormally troubled kids together to realize that they're not as alone as they thought. They always get the chance to not only face their fears head-on, but to overcome them bravely with the support of their new friends. Chip Coffey does a phenomenal job of comforting, challenging, and encouraging psychic kids of different ages, instilling confidence while empowering them to control and conquer their fears.

By the end of the show, the kids walk away feeling good about themselves, ready to return to their lives and embrace their abilities, which they see now more as gifts than curses. The bonds the kids form and the support they show for each other is touching.

The more you watch Psychic Kids, the truly terrifying thing you realize is how widespread this phenomenon is. We all saw little Haley Joel Osment haunted by ghosts many years ago in The Sixth Sense, but few of us probably ever realized that this super-sensitive condition affects hundreds—if not thousands—of kids, whether they know it or not. Writes Examiner.com's Elizabeth Costanzo:

It is important for all parents to realize that children, especially young children, have open minds and pure souls which haven't yet been jaded by society's constraints or disbelief in the paranormal... Until the belief in the paranormal is crushed by the standards and norms of the adult world, most children, whether they retain any psychic gifts as adults or not, are more susceptible to ghostly visits. They haven't closed the door on the possibility of spiritual activity, and this is why more children than adults complain of "monsters" under the bed or in the closet and ghosts talking to them when no one else is present.

In addition, paranormal researchers and parapsychologists theorize that children are not only more willing to see spirits, but their youth and therefore, their proximity to the "other side" enables them to see and communicate with the dead... As a result, when a young child is "visited" by a spirit or ghost, the child is not necessarily alarmed at the presence because it does not seem "supernatural" in their eyes. The spirit world only becomes "supernatural" when we are conditioned to believe this.

Psychic Kids is different than other ghost-hunting shows. It's the polar opposite of the Travel Channel's Ghost Adventures, where instead of helping tortured souls cross over, you'll hear meathead ghost hunter Zak Bagans antagonize ill-tempered spirits with such appalling, ridiculous lines like "What if we stole your silver? Would that piss you off?"

Psychic Kids respects the spirit world and wants to change the lives of the living who are down in despair. It's a ghost show that's frightening, enlightening, and uplifting, and it'll make you thank God you can't see dead people.

Well, most of us anyway.

New Muse album reveals how to defeat the Illuminati in three easy steps

2009-11-30T23:17:00.004-05:00

By Ken Devine

LONDON—British rock band Muse are no strangers to singing about conspiracies and secret plots to rule the world, but anyone willing to glance at the liner notes to the band's new album will be privy to a solution once thought impossible: how to stop the Illuminati in their eternal, hell-bent efforts to control the world by forming a global New World Order.

Under strict interpretation of the lyrics to the trio's fifth album, Resistance, the 11-track concept album's simple, three-step solution involves exposing the clandestine Illuminati through incessant radio airplay, then having the masses run and hide once martial law is instituted.

The third and final step is a bit more complicated, as it involves sending a distress signal to an unnamed alien race, based on the lyrics, "Spread our codes to the stars...You must rescue us all." Supposedly, this will be accomplished similar to how Will Smith uploaded the Mac virus to the alien computer in Independence Day.

Paramount defies all that is pure and good in preparing highly unnecessary sequel to 'Paranormal Activity'

2009-11-19T01:35:00.008-05:00

Note to ghost hunters everywhere: Always leave your bedroom door wide open for effect

By Ken Devine

HOLLYWOOD—Milking what they can out of the most profitable movie of all time, Paramount confirmed today that production has already begun on a soulless, ill-advised sequel to Paranormal Activity, a cheaply produced, bump-in-the-night horror flick that's grossed over $60 million in profits.

Ignoring conventional wisdom and a horrendous track record for sellout sequels, Paramount Chairman Brad Grey says that they're determined to cash in immediately with an overproduced, commercialized follow-up that corrupts the integrity and originality of the sleeper hit.

"Not to take away from the first one, but the production values were horrible," he said. "All that shaky camera and poor lighting isn't acceptable for our quality films. We're also bringing in popular, recognizable actors like Ashton Kutcher and Megan Fox."

Oren Peli, who directed the first film but won't be back for the second, says that Paramount is neglecting the obvious warning signs.

"Three words: Blair Witch 2," he said. "I rest my case."

Others, like avid moviegoer Mitch Abramson, 27, share Peli's fear.

"It's sort of like when Wayne's World was bought out by Rob Lowe's shady corporate character," he said, referencing the 1992 film. "Before that it was just this cheap, homegrown show on public access."

Against all odds, though, Grey believes that lightning will really strike twice, even though there's not a raindrop's chance in hell the sequel, slated for a January 2010 release, will be successful.

"We're not concerned with the story or continuity in the sequel so much as just putting another film out there with the Paranormal Activity label," he said. "Really, the open ending from the first one is guaranteed to put enough people in the seats. Just look at the Saw movies."

‘Guitar Hero’ maker countersues the shit out of No Doubt and Courtney Love for not playing their games

2009-11-10T18:05:00.005-05:00

Ain't no hollaback boy: Gwen Stefani Sues Band Hero for making her sing like a man

By Ken Devine

LOS ANGELES—On Tuesday Activision, publisher of Guitar Hero and the newly released Band Hero, countersued No Doubt and Courtney Love for their ignorant, petty-ass lawsuits objecting that Gwen Stefani and Kurt Cobain avatars can sing and perform songs from other bands in a "virtual karaoke circus act."

The suits come despite the fact that, historically, every avatar in every Guitar Hero game ever is playable for every single song in the game. Every single one.

Put another way: You can't not play any song with any available avatar.

Somehow, the lawsuits arose even after both artists worked extensively with Activision to satisfaction in getting the likenesses just right, only for them not to read the damn contracts they signed after extensive negotiations with their representatives.

"We're extremely disappointed that after all the work we did with them, No Doubt was entirely clueless about how playable characters in our games work," said a puzzled Activision spokesperson. "I mean, is it really so wrong that Gwen Stefani can express her love of prostitutes in 'Honky Tonk Women' while sounding like Mick Jagger? Or the fact that she can kick butt while singing Carl Douglas's 'Kung Fu Fighting'? That image cracks me up just thinking about it."

Stefani and Love have described Activision’s actions as deceptive and dismaying, and Love insists that she'll "sue the shit out of Activision."

But the anonymous Activision spokesperson cited similar feelings from their accusers, and claims that they're not worried by the baseless lawsuits that will soon see the bottom of the judge's trashcan.

"We're not surprised about Courtney's unhappiness because she's a dishonest, vengeful psychopath who will do anything for power and attention. Just look at how she plotted her husband's apparent suicide."

"But we're disappointed that an actual sane artist like Gwen Stefani is on her side," he added. "She definitely hasn't been as cool as Slash and Tom Morello."

The spokesperson also said that Activision will really get the last laugh when the company wins its countersuit and publishes an update to Guitar Hero 5 that makes Courtney Love playable.

Worldwide soccer community outraged over Yankees being called 'World Champions'

2009-11-05T17:24:00.006-05:00

FIFA President Sepp Blatter, on the verge of tears after being ridiculed for his suggestion that female soccer players should "wear tighter shorts...to create a more female aesthetic."

By Ken Devine

Soccer fans all over the world are contending the "World Champions" label that the New York Yankees earned for defeating the Philadelphia Phillies Wednesday night in Game 6 of the 2009 World Series.

FIFA President Sepp Blatter explained that the true football fans of the world are upset because baseball is not played in every corner of the world, but soccer is.

"The New York Yankees are North American champions at best," he stated. "Football is the only sport that can claim true world champions."

In an effort to detract from the Yankees' championship celebration on Friday with their fans in New York City, international soccer bodies have planned worldwide protests in every non-American city for the same day. Objectors will likely wave vituperative placards denouncing American baseball while burning effigies of Alex Rodriguez and George Steinbrenner.

Blatter also promised that petitions are in the works to prohibit the "World Champions" label in professional baseball, as well as banning the word "soccer" when referring to European football.

Area man, 41, ready for another year of trick-or-treating

2009-10-30T15:38:00.005-04:00

By Ken Devine

WEST SALEM, OR—For most adults, Halloween is marked as a day of giving candy to kids. For Timothy Higgins, it's a chance to be that kid.

This Saturday will mark the 36th-consecutive year that the creepy 41-year-old hits houses up for candy. On this Halloween the soft-spoken West Salem native will be amongst trick-or-treaters a quarter of his age or more—just as he's been during the last decade.

"It's just something that I never really grew out of," the only child admitted sheepishly. "My parents never told me I was too old to keep doing it, but then again I never really told them where I was between the hours of 6 and 8 p.m. every Halloween night."

Higgins, a Print Specialist at Kinko's, says that the real trick in treating himself year after year is in his costumes. His wiry 5'4" frame and tender voice allow him to blend right in with tykes and middle-schoolers alike, and he always wears a mask to conceal his true age. His favorites include the alien, evil clown, and Scream masks, but this year the lifelong singleton wants to cut down on the creep factor with a new Obama one.

"I'm trying to be a little more approachable because I think that helps with any single moms who are out with their kids," he surmised. "Each year I ask Sheila at work if she wants to go with me, but she always gets this disgusted look on her face and tells me to 'grow the hell up.' I like Sheila."

Despite the fact that most parents forbid their kids from trick-or-treating by the time they reach high school, or that independent groundless speculation has verified that more people call the cops on oversized trick-or-treaters than they do for any other incident during the year, the candy-obsessed Higgins is unafraid.

"I realize there are risks, but I've been doing this for too long, and I know the neighborhoods like the back of my hand," he said. "Plus, I haven't grown since the eighth grade, so no one's ever really pinned me as an undersized, middle-aged man masquerading as young boy in a gorilla suit."

"But there is one old lady at the end of the block who always stares at me for a while before slowly dropping a couple Good & Plentys in my pillow case," he continued. "God, I hate Good & Plentys. They're worse than Sugar Daddys."

Struggling ‘Saw’ franchise extended through 2021

2009-10-23T00:04:00.008-04:00

Get busy livin': Jigsaw’s made his choice

By Ken Devine

NEW YORK—The twisted serial killer Jigsaw will live to see many more Halloweens, says Lionsgate, who announced today that there are currently 12 additional films planned in the unceasing Saw franchise, which has become a Halloween tradition since 2004.

The news comes despite the framing of the just-released Saw VI, which was widely believed to be the final installment in an already dragged-out horror series that could have well ended after two movies.

Moreover, the announcement flies in the face of the diminishing, half-life box office earnings of successive Saw movies, with public interest and originality almost as dead as the blood-drained and footless Cary Elwes at the end of the first film.

The call for a dozen more pieces to an increasingly complex, flashback-furthering puzzle also seems to pose a storytelling challenge, considering that Tobin Bell's gravely voiced arch-villain died at the end of Saw III. By 2021, Bell will be a 78-year-old filming flashbacks for a character who was killed 14 movies prior.

"Jigsaw's back story is far from over," insisted Saw VI co-writer Patrick Melton. "If we delve into his troubled childhood, there's all kinds of directions you can go. Did he capture school bullies and rip their fingernails off with rudimentary, school-made devices? Was he physically abused by his stepfather when he was 13? Is he even really dead? We're on the tip of the iceberg here."

In each film, Jigsaw physically and psychologically tests ungrateful victims' will to live using death traps that serve as ironically symbolic representations of their real-life vices. Some opt to perform a horrific act of self-sacrifice to save themselves, but most die trying.

According to Saw co-producer Leigh Whannell, the games have just begun.

"If you thought after six movies that we'd exhausted every possible way to inhumanly torture, dismember and eviscerate victims with barbaric, vomit-inducing death traps, think again," he chuckled. "I guess we’re all pretty fucked-up in the head, especially when you get us all together in a room watching Seven for the 800th time."

Despite the poor performance in theaters and waning interest in the formulaic franchise, Saw has garnered enough of a cult following to keep it afloat in theaters—barely.

"We're not sure who, but someone is paying to see these movies," admitted Paul Dergarabedian of Hollywood.com. "Like we saw with the Hostel films, there are enough sickos in the world who get off on the torture-porn genre. And now they'll be able to get their fix every Halloween for the foreseeable future."

With so many future films slated, continuity issues may arise with the 67-year-old Bell, a self-admitted misanthrope who has loyally agreed to reprise the role of Jigsaw until he finds himself on his own deathbed.

But in a case of life imitating art, Bell's contract permits him to commit such cruel and heinous acts in reality only if he's ever diagnosed as terminal—much like Jigsaw’s alter ego, John Kramer.

"It was the only way to keep him coming back," said original Saw director James Wan. "Tobin loves doing these movies as much as we do—maybe more. If he's serious about actually orchestrating an elaborate, fail-safe plot to punish anyone who's ever pissed him off, I can't think of a better way for a sick old man to go out."

"The set pieces are his," he added.

In order to hold the interest level of a fringe fan base while desperately avoiding the straight-to-video market for what is tentatively projected to be an 18-part series, co-producer Mark Burg all but promises more inevitable, trademark plot twists.

"Does Jigsaw have an identical twin? Did he ever clone himself? Just throwing it out there," he said with a devilish smile.

Prepare to die: Cary Elwes, in the last movie we'll ever see him in

Burg also hinted that some long-dead fan favorites might return.

"Being the star of the first film, Cary Elwes holds a special place in all of our hearts," he said. "The critics said his performance was painful, but if you didn't tell me I was watching a movie, I would've believed he actually sawed his damn foot off to free himself from those shackles. That's real acting there."

On another note, Burg ruled out the idea of bringing back Donnie Wahlberg, who has severed all communication with Saw personnel after his detective character's head was helplessly and unceremoniously smashed to smithereens at the end of the fourth installment. This after being promised a hero's return following an unknown-fate hiatus from Saw III.

In January, production will begin on Saw VII, scheduled for an October 2010 release. Despite a brutal 28% average approval rating for the first five Saw films on Rotten Tomatoes, Saw’s creators are determined to press on.

"We make these movies for the fans, and I wouldn't say we're 'dragging it out,'” he defended. "If anything I would call it 'fleshing out,' especially since we've refused to allow the last few movies to run past 90 minutes."

"Where there’s a will, there's a way," he added. "Which is pretty much the moral of our preposterously never-ending story."

Impossible: 'Saw 3D' will be the final cut for horror franchise

Bruins, Red Wings fighting like schoolchildren over 9-year-old miracle shooter

2009-10-19T15:29:00.026-04:00

Detroit's Ken Holland knows prepubescent talent when he sees it.

By Ken Devine

BOSTON—The Boston Bruins and Detroit Red Wings aren't playing nice in claiming way-too-early draft rights to Oliver Wahlstrom, the 9-year-old forward from the Portland Junior Pirates who became an Internet sensation last week.

Wahlstrom scored a jaw-dropping, lacrosse-style spin-o-rama goal in a shootout competition at Boston's TD Banknorth Garden last Wednesday, in which he swept up the puck in stride, spun around, rotated the blade of his stick with puck on end, and whipped a backhand past a frozen, dumbfounded goalie.

With a buzz circulating throughout hockey circles, many have compared the precocious player to a pre-teen Jeremy Roenick, or even Sidney Crosby, who is now out of his teens. Walhstrom's pee wee team mostly consists of 12-year-olds.

Bruins General Manager Peter Chiarelli wants first dibs on Wahlstrom for the 2018 NHL Draft, which is shortly after the Cumberland, Maine native is legally allowed to drink in Canada. Chiarelli is claiming ownership solely on the basis of home ice, since TD Bank's Mini 1-on-1 Challenge occurred at the Bruins' TD Garden arena.

Peter Chiarelli's biggest pet peeve is a tangled phone cord.

"We saw him first, we saw him first" insisted the 45-year-old Chiarelli, now in his fourth season as Boston’s GM. "Finder's keepers."

But the Detroit Red Wings are also laying claim to the third-grader, arguing that they are even more justified than the Bruins are.

"Oliver likes our team better than their team—he's said that the Red Wings are his favorite," Detroit GM Ken Holland pointed out. "If he wants to play for us, he'll have a spot here waiting for him when he can hold a stick firmly with two hands."

Chiarelli, however, decried Detroit’s need for Wahlstrom in building the relatively distant future of our franchise.

"The Wings have been loaded for years, and there’s no sign of them getting any worse," Chiarelli complained. "We'll need him more than they will."

There is no legal precedent in the NHL's bylaws to stake a player almost a decade in advance on grounds of territory or fandom, according to NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman. However, Bettman has publicly mentioned that he's open to amending the draft articles.

"Rules are rules, but they should never prevent the next Gretzky or Crosby from living their dream," he said. "We'll take a look at things and see if there's not some resolution we can reach before 2018."

Holland added weight to his argument by noting that the famed Mike Legg, who first introduced puck-scooping goals to the hockey world in 1996, played for the University of Michigan, which is geographically closer than Boston and also in the same state.

"If Chiarelli wants to argue territory, he’ll have to think about that one," Holland said sharply.

Chiarelli fired back, though.

"Holland doesn't know about the legally binding clause in the paperwork that Wahlstrom signed for the shootout competition. Actually, I'm not even sure that the kid or his dad knows about it."

"Let's just say there might be a line in there somewhere about the 'sole property of the Boston Bruins organization' that could be interpreted in more than one way."

Inside Job

2009-09-19T19:43:00.025-04:00

Once again, Buckeye hearts have been broken, and the Scarlet & Gray has been further disgraced after losing another winnable game to a big opponent at home. First it was Texas in 2005, then it was Penn State in 2008. Now it's USC in '09.

Last year I wrote how Jim Tressel's conservative playcalling known as "Tresselball" has been the culprit for Ohio State's big-game losses (now 6 straight to top-5 opponents). But after dropping a disappointing 18-15 decision to USC last Saturday night, I have to say that Tressel is only partially to blame.

On Saturday night the Sweater Vest did decide to play it safe more often than not, opting for easy field goals and punts when the Buckeyes needed points. He also continued to script an unimaginative run game, with 90% of the plays going straight up the middle ineffectively (especially near the goal line). And when he did decide to take a chance in the final minutes of the first half, he mismanaged the clock, which ultimately allowed USC to drive back down the field and tie it with a field goal in the closing seconds of the second quarter.

But like I said, it's not all on Tressel. Even with a typical vanilla gameplan, quarterback Terrelle Pryor had his chance to put USC away. But some bad reads as well as his failure to connect on key passes squandered first downs and touchdowns. And even though he operated out of the shotgun the entire game, there was not a single time where he used the zone-read to exploit his evasive scrambling ability. This is partially Tressel's fault, but for all the hype surrounding the sophomore signal caller, Pryor is yet to really prove himself, and he still looks tentative and uncomfortable running OSU's offense.

The one thing that was working was the defense. With the exception of Trojan scoring drives before each half (situations that Tressel put them in), Ohio State's D played lights-out for most of the game. Even the Bucks' much maligned O-line was controlling the line of scrimmage and winning the battles in the trenches.

USC actually played an uncharacteristically conservative game in an effort to ease their freshman quarterback in for his first road game in a hostile environment. But the classic USC confidence and execution was still there, as coach Pete Carroll went for it twice on 4th down to keep scoring drives alive. Jim Tressel didn't. And that pretty much says it all between the two coaches and programs: Ohio State plays not to lose; USC plays to win. The Trojans execute; the Buckeyes do not.

Much like the demeanor of their leader, Ohio State exhibits little edge, aggression, or killer instinct in their play. As evidenced with the too-close-for-comfort brush with Navy the previous week, they don't put teams away. Meanwhile, the always jovial Pete Carroll and his USC team couldn't be more different, remaining loose but fiercely competitive. In big games they play with swagger and confidence, and they have fun doing it.

Small Talk
Coaching deficiencies aside, the biggest thing that irks me about Tressel is his self-effacing, disingenuous communication with the press, always downplaying failures while never giving real answers.

"I haven't had a game yet where I haven't had a significant number of decisions or thoughts that we didn't really critique and see if we could do better," he said to the local media a few days after the USC game. "I'm not sure exactly what a wholesale change [to the offense] would entail."

Not only is Tressel willfully oblivious, but like a certain former president, he's just out of touch.

And with Buckeye fans railing against Tressel for the loss, he actually had the nerve to make this statement:

"Honestly...I feel terrible for them because there's no way they're happy. They’ve got to be some of the most unhappy people in the world, and I feel bad because we just made them less happy. And I hate to be a part of making someone less happy. I mean, they’re already miserable, and to make them less happy, I feel bad."

Is any other Ohio State fan who's not offended by this? After six straight marquee losses, Buckeye fans have every right to be upset. But instead of personally accepting blame or issuing a genuine apology, Tressel deflects the hot-seat pressure by backhandedly insulting his own fan base, labeling them with the predisposed condition of being "miserable" while ignoring the fact that they might be miserable BECAUSE of him. What an insult.

What Needs to Happen
It's simple: Things need to change, or Tressel needs to let someone else run the offense. Tresselball was good enough to win a national championship, and it's good enough to beat Michigan year in and year out. But for a team that possesses as much talent as Ohio State, that's not enough. It's not that Tressel is expected to meet almost impossibly high expectations each season, it's for him to do it competitively. But because the game of football has changed over the past decade, Tressel's current style will only continue to result in needless losses, pain, and further embarrassment for the institution that is Ohio State until his contract is up in 2013. That is, unless he swallows his pride, relinquishes control, and hires an offensive guru to take over the playcalling duties (Cincinnati's Brian Kelly comes to mind).

The good news is that by now, Tressel's continued failures are well-documented, and Buckeye Nation is finally aware about why Ohio State keeps stumbling on the national stage. OSU fans should be outraged about what has happened in the past few seasons with a coach who has stubbornly and unnecessarily squandered talent and success.

With this last game, though, the most painful thought that stays with me is the fact that Ohio State let a freshman quarterback come into Ohio Stadium at night and walk out with a win. With the electric atmosphere in the Horseshoe, that should never happen, and especially at a time when Ohio State and their hordes of fans NEEDED this win.

Yes, the hardest part is thinking back to that magical night, and what should have been but will never be. Loss where there should be victory; shame where there should be glory.

Must-reads:
• Deconstructing: The grisly demise of 'Tressel Ball'
• Ohio State-USC game was all too familiar
• Ohio State must figure out how to utilize Pryor's athletic gifts
• Pin down Tressel? It's harder than it sounds
• Thorny victory for OSU
• Buckeyes, The Vest do it their way

The Two Towers

2009-09-11T22:07:00.019-04:00

"If our own government was responsible for the deaths of almost a hundred-thousand people...would you really want to know?"

Over the course of the past eight years, I've devoted a considerable amount of time to studying the vast number of inconsistencies in the official account of 9/11. What I've discovered is that if you spend even half an hour examining different sides of the puzzle, the official story is downright impossible, and at times absurd.

Yesterday Asia Times posted an article entitled "Fifty questions on 9/11." Below I've linked to this article as well as another key one. If you read these and watch the comprehensive video segment from the third link below, you'll see that the evidence of a conspiracy is not only overwhelming, but damning. And then the truth becomes nine parts conspiracy, one part theory.

• Architects & Engineers for 9/11 Truth
• The Coincidence Theorist's Guide to 9/11
• The 9/11 Myth
• Fifty questions on 9/11

If you're an eternal skeptic dismissing this possibility with an unbelieving head shake or knee-jerk reaction, understand that I'm not pointing any fingers—just presenting evidence that strongly supports an alternate version of events.

It's important to note that 9/11-type events and false-flag operations are not new. Look no further than the Reichstag fire, the Gulf of Tonkin, or Operation Northwoods. History repeats itself, and someone always benefits.

Lastly:

"A building is a symbol, as is the act of destroying it. Symbols are given power by people. A symbol in and of itself is powerless, but with enough people behind it, blowing up a building can change the world."
—V for Vendetta

One little victory: Ahmadinejad has a point...

White Lightning

2009-08-17T18:42:00.005-04:00

In August 1999 I purchased my first computer. Actually, my dad bought it for me before entering my sophomore year in college, but it's the only computer I've ever owned. I'm ashamed to say that it cost about $3,200. Here are some of the original specs for my Dell Dimension XPS T550:

• Operating System: Windows 98 Second Edition
• Hard Drive: 19.6 GB (I almost chose the 10-gig one at the time)
• Processor: Pentium III 550 MHz
• Memory: 64 MB
• Video Card: 16 MB NVidia Diamond Viper TNT

Obviously, all of these features are laughably Stone Age in the computing world. Up until 2007, I was actually running the relatively unstable and no-longer-supported Windows 98, much to my disadvantage. My 550 MHz processor has long been surpassed by dual-gigahertz technology, and almost any video playback has been fairly choppy thanks to my awesome Diamond Viper video card, what with its 16 megabytes of unbridled power.

Can you believe this bad boy cost over $3,000 at the time? Not something I like to think about. But what's funny is that it only took a few years for the system to become outdated, as faster processors, bigger hard drives, and better operating systems took over. By the time I graduated from college, I was subject to constant teasing and ridicule for still running Windows 98 on a 550 MHz processor. But in a display of resiliency, I embraced the suck, and dubbed my computer "White Lightning" for all its blazing speed and glory.

This isn't to say that my computer hasn't seen its share of changes over the years. There have been many. The most significant was the long-overdue upgrade to a new operating system (though Windows XP was hardly new in 2007). Yes, White Lighting has also had DVD-ROM and CD-RW drives replaced, a big boost in RAM (now carrying the maximum 768 MB), partitioned hard drives, and the replacement of peripherals (monitor, keyboard, and mouse). It's battled through a few viruses and malware infections here and there. It even survived Y2K.

Yep, White Lighting has been through a lot. But throughout it all, I've stuck by it, and it's stuck by me. It's never run faster, and I'm proud of how I've streamlined it in optimal fashion (nightly shutdowns and a general level of TLC go a long way). And with over 5 gigs left on the hard drive, I do believe it's still got some years left in it. But when you spend over 3 grand on something, this is the kind of lifespan I expect. Most others aren't so patient.

The funny thing is, there's been a newer computer sitting in my closet since April, an extra Dell from work that they didn't have any use for. It's ready to go whenever I choose to hook it up. All I have to do is transfer my files and shut White Lightning down for the last time, but I just haven't gotten around to doing it. Because, really, what's the rush? White's been with me this long, and I can't give up on him now.

Twitter This

2009-07-29T18:36:00.006-04:00

I have to say, I'm not a fan of Twitter. In particular, there's one thing that keeps annoying me about this site:

Who actually has enough free time on their hands to follow a stream of celebrity and non-celebrity updates from day to day?

Social media continues to evolve, but just because we can post our every action of every waking second doesn't mean we should. Twitter is narcissism at its worst. And I can't speak much better about its devoted followers.

When you think about it, it doesn't seem right that Twitter stole a popular feature from Facebook and made it its own. The thing is, status updates on Facebook are great because that's not the only thing you use Facebook for. But with Twitter, you're limited to posting banalities like "At Central Park" or "This bar sucks." WHO NEEDS TO KNOW THAT? Who cares?! Like boring blog posts, these are glorified text messages, but Twitter fails where text messages succeed.

Speaking of texts, isn't it amazing how hardly anyone answers their phone anymore? The texting phenomenon has truly revolutionized how we communicate. When you miss a call, people don't even bother leaving messages, because what's the point? No one wants to spend one minute calling their voicemail and waiting to hear what you had to say, only to call you back (or text you, which they could have done in the first place). We rely on texting more than ever simply because it's a quick, asynchronous way to get the information we need.

These days, the less engaged, the better.

Related:
• The 12 most annoying types of Facebookers
• Local Couple Resolves Argument Using Telephone

There Is a God

2009-07-14T17:10:00.006-04:00

First, Chinese Democracy. Now, The State on DVD!!!

Apparently there's a 15-year wait on anything cool that began in 1993.

Celebrity Sighting #7

2009-07-09T19:10:00.004-04:00

A few weeks ago in the Hamptons, we were walking in the small town of Sag Harbor when my brother remarked "That was Matt Lauer." I turned to look behind me, and it checked out (even though I couldn't see his face). He was with his son, just walking along the sidewalk, enjoying the beautiful day.

I immediately recognized the coincidence in the Ohio University t-shirt I was wearing, which is where Matt attended college. I thought it would've been cool if he'd noticed, but then again, it was just Matt Lauer.

Do Not Attempt

2009-06-26T14:22:00.013-04:00

Last week my dad asked me if I'd hired movers for my new apartment that I was moving into Saturday. I shrugged it off, thinking it was unnecessary for our situation. After all, we were in a small NYC apartment and only had to move a few blocks and avenues over. Plus, it seems like the New York thing to do is move yourself, just as I've helped friends and co-workers move with U-Hauls since I've been here. Save some money, right?

Wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong.

What started out as an empowering, spirited project last Saturday quickly turned into a grueling, 14-hour nightmare. It was the move from Hell, and for some reason none of us saw it coming.

It didn't start out bad. I got the U-Haul in the morning and drove to the Bronx with my brother Chris to pick up a leather couch with a needed pullout bed. Driving through the heart of the Bronx was certainly an experience, but the trip went off without too much trouble besides dealing with the weight of the couch and temporary parking issues.

We returned to our apartment around noon to find our girlfriends already hard at work cleaning and boxing things up. Although I'd gathered enough boxes for the move, the first major problem was fairly obvious: NOTHING WAS BOXED UP. Chris hadn't been home in a few weeks, and I'd admittedly put it off because I wasn't in the mood to start packing things up until I was in true moving mode.

Procrastination kills.

By the time we'd packed most items up and put the first load in the truck, four hours had already flown by, and I was supposed to return the U-Haul two hours after that (which obviously wasn't going to happen). Nope, our day was just beginning.

I have to say that driving a 14-foot U-Haul in New York City was easier and less daunting than I'd originally thought. Not being able to rely on a rearview mirror was restrictive at first, but I learned to trust my side mirrors. Navigation was a little trickier with the one-way streets, and I struggled a bit with yielding to crossing pedestrians, narrowly missing a few. But overall it wasn't a whole lot different than driving a van, other than maneuvering between double-parked cars. I will admit that a hit-and-run occurred, but it was entirely not my fault!

Parking was our next major obstacle. When we arrived at the new place (which is on a 2nd Avenue hotspot), nearby parking was nonexistent. After circling the block a few times, we decided to park as close as we legally could, which was a good 70 yards away.

The distance greatly exacerbated our situation. It took only a few trips back and forth to realize what we'd gotten ourselves into, grossly underestimating the time and effort it takes in the countless stages of the moving process: packing our things, moving them out of the apartment, loading them in the truck, unloading them on the street, moving them inside the apartment lobby, and finally moving them three stories up and into the new apartment. Then of course there's the actual unpacking and arranging, but that's neither here nor there.

There were enough stages here where I started to become angry and exasperated—"Have I not put those shelves in my apartment yet??" "How can we possibly have all this stuff???" It all seemed to populate and reproduce on its own. As the day wore on, I grew delirious with the item respawning that was surely taking place. Every time I thought we were making progress, I quickly saw that there was always something else to move.

It just wouldn't stop.

As the torture continued, expressions like "in over our heads" and "epitome of underestimation" kept running through my head. Also, words like trying, frustrating, exhausting, miserable, demoralizing, soul-crushing, and never-ending. It was that bad.

We were in too deep. But it wasn't too late to ask for help.

Chris's girlfriend Laura, who had been moving slaving away with us in her pointy-toed copper heels, came up with the idea of hiring some more manpower to help us finish the move. So she and Chris set off to a nearby New York Sports Club and found Bruce, a stocky, mid-30s Irishman who was willing to help us out. Bruce turned out to be a godsend, especially when it came to lifting and twisting the bulky couch up to the fourth floor. Once we'd gotten the first load in by 8:30 p.m., he even agreed to meet up with us at the other apartment to move the heavy stuff out, which he did. When he left at 9:30, he told us he had to go meet his girlfriend, who was about to give him "the ax." Then he refused to take the money (plus a nice tip) that Chris and Laura originally promised him. He said we actually did him a favor by giving him an activity to take his mind off the imminent dumping. He left on a somber note, but gave us his number so that we could catch him under better circumstances when he's bartending one night.

Even after Bruce was gone, we still had stuff in our apartment, and the whole place still needed a good cleaning. But it was getting late, and we had to take care of the second load. So we decided to cut our losses and come back for everything a few days later. (That would end up taking another handful of hours.)

***

"What'd that take us—15, 20 minutes?"
"Four hours."

When we were finally done, my brother quoted this line from the movie Gung Ho. It was 1:30 in the morning, and my forearms looked like I'd either been tortured or was suicidal; I had the matching cuts, scrapes, bruises, and rain-dripping hair to prove it. Also, my oversized, light-blue Hooters t-shirt was soaked in sweat, dirt, grime, blood, and all the bad memories from that day. I've always liked that shirt, but after all we'd been through, I never wanted to see it again. And I won't.

The next day we walked out to the U-Haul, only to be slapped in the face with a $115 parking ticket for parking in a temporary, almost-invisible construction zone. However, when we returned the truck, the U-Haul attendant waived the day-late charge. That was one of the few breaks we caught.

Looking back on it all, I like to think that despite the laborious undertaking, the whole event built a lot of character. Maybe when I set out with the desire to move ourselves, I was seeking that sense of accomplishment in the true can-do spirit of New York.

Two words: classic mistake.

Two more words: never again.

Given the back-breaking work, I forever have a newfound respect for professional movers. I'm also incredibly indebted to our very own moving staff. We couldn't have done it without the huge help of Laura or my amazing supergirlfriend Erin, who endured everything and toughed it out all the way to the very end of the 14-hour ordeal.

Looking back on it, the thing that I can't figure out is why I didn't listen to my dad in the first place. He's helped me and my four siblings move several times throughout our lives, and he was invaluable less than two years ago when he helped me move from Nashville.

Dad, all I can say is: You were right.

You were so right.

Celebrity Sighting #6

2009-06-23T17:00:00.005-04:00

Out of the five celebrities I've seen in New York since moving here, none have been in my neighborhood. Until now.

It was early Saturday morning, and I'd left my apartment to wait for my brother at the U-Haul I'd just parked on 97th Street. Within seconds of walking out my door, I spotted a couple sitting outside the cafe Salata. And specifically, an attractive, middle-aged blond woman sporting big black sunglasses. With one look I had that instant realization that I've had with so many celebrities before: It's Heather Locklear. But with the sunlight revealing the lines on her face and the makeup trying to cover it, this was an aging Heather Locklear.

Heather was sitting with an unknown (to me) male friend and his dog on a leash. When they were done eating, they walked down 97th Street and entered what I'm guessing is his apartment. Then she was gone.

Over the Line

2009-06-08T22:36:00.004-04:00

In recent years sideline reporters have increasingly pushed the boundaries when it comes to interviewing coaches during games. It seemed to start a few years ago in college football when sideline reporters like ESPN's Erin Andrews would catch up with coaches on the trailing teams halfway to the locker rooms, just before they were about to ream their teams for blowing a two-touchdown lead before halftime.

"Coach, what went wrong? Can you talk real quick about the second-quarter collapse?"

It's a good thing you're a pretty face, Erin.

At the time this initially struck me as kind of amazing. Why were coaches putting up with this intrusion—this interference—when the game was only half over? After all, they'd be taking questions from the media when was all was said and done anyway. But with impatient-yet-obedient body language from the coaches, you could tell they were seemingly under contract to cooperate and politely spit out trite answers to trite questions, which to this day remain pretty much the same: "We just need to get our heads in the game and go out there and execute," is what they spout off before quickly darting off at the first break in conversation.

As astonishing as all this was, it soon became the norm for on-field reporting, and I think we've all grown accustomed to it since. But what I saw Saturday night during the Penguins-Red Wings game made me realize that this inside-the-huddle immersion has crossed the line.

Between a face-off during the hockey game, NBC on-ice reporter Pierre Maguire actually had the nerve to step over from his private booth at center ice onto the Detroit bench and ask coach Mike Babcock about a play that had just transpired. I don't remember the specifics of the exchange, but it doesn't really matter. It's just that the mere timing of his question—on Detroit's bench before the next face-off—really shocked me and made me realize that this style of reporting has gone to the next level—from intimate to invasive.

This simple act got me thinking "what's next?" Erin Andrews chasing Jim Tressel into Ohio State's locker room, pushing past security and unrelenting before the dismissive Tressel answers her question about why he continues to call predictable plays? Or Maguire in Detroit's locker room, pounding on the bathroom door for Babcock to come out and tell him what his strategy for overtime is?

"It took me a while to pry the bathroom door open on Mike Babcock, but Detroit will definitely be switching things up for the overtime period," he would say shortly thereafter. "Expect a conservative trap formation where the left winger forces the play. Just watch."

Exaggeration aside, it seems like it's only a matter of time before these walls are completely broken down and we have full transparency that borders on flat-out spying.

Devine's Law

2009-05-18T00:23:00.004-04:00

The Law of Locker Room Proximity:
When getting dressed or undressed in a near-empty locker room, you will inevitably choose a locker next to one that the next guy entering the room will come up and unlock, even when every other locker is unattended at the moment. Conversely, when returning to your locker after a workout, there will be a guy next to your locker, even when the rest of the locker room is near-empty. Personal space be damned.

Ghosts and Survivors

2009-04-25T11:56:00.010-04:00

Sometimes I feel like the world's coming to an end. With each passing day it seems like another company is letting thousands of workers go, another bank has gone under, or a once-popular product is now extinct. Everywhere I look, I see our world changing for the worse. And I have a hard time envisioning what will eventually stop the bleeding. Even as an optimist, I only see the dominoes continuing to fall.

I see big and small signs of the times. Just yesterday I read that by 2010, companies like Old Navy, Borders, and United Air Lines will cease to exist. Newspapers and niche publications are disappearing overnight. And the car brands Chrysler, Pontiac, and Saturn will no longer be manufactured.

Then there are the smaller things. A few weeks ago I learned that my favorite music magazine, Blender, had been canceled. A week later I received a returned renewal check from them for $9.97. This means that the last-ever issue of Blender featured Kelly Clarkson on the cover—I wouldn't exactly call that closure. Also, lately many food items seem understocked in the delis and grocery stores. I can't seem to find cashews anywhere these days.

To date, over five-million jobs have been lost since the recession began in December 2007, with over two million occurring in 2009, and 80,000 in the month of March alone. The unemployment rate, currently at 8.6%, was last this high in 1982 when Reagan was in the middle of his first term. By the end of that year unemployment spiked to 10.8%—a figure not seen since the Great Depression. It took nearly five years for that number to stabilize at 5.4% toward the end of 1987.

So as bad as things are now, they've been worse. And in following this historical precedent, the economy has been proven to rebound, albeit over a period of time. I'll take that as a sliver of hope.

But for all the millions of people who've lost their jobs, my question has been, and remains: Where are all these people going?? We're truly living in nightmarish times, and it's so bizarre to see our economic senses heighten as corner cutting, penny pinching, and general conservation become the new mindset of the most excessive and indulgent nation on the planet. In some ways this efficiency is a good thing, and it's in line with many of my more frugal attributes. But by and large, I see it as another troubling sign of the times.

The real kicker for me was last week when my company laid off a third of our workforce. Friends, colleagues, and company vets alike were all unceremoniously let go, just like that. Coupled with survivor's guilt was the realization that even a company that's been constantly growing since its inception—and defiantly in the face of this recession—wasn't unaffected or invincible. No one is safe. Ghosts and survivors.

So is our world really coming to an end? Well, it's not 1984 just yet, but these hard times will only get harder. In true Darwinian spirit, it's survival of the fittest, but something tells me the real fight has yet to begin.

All of it has reminded me how fragile our mighty nation is once the economic infrastructure and monetary system bottom out. And in particular, this quote:

"Give me control of a nation's money, and I care not who makes her laws."
—Amschel Rothschild

Us and Jimmy

2009-04-07T23:00:00.004-04:00

My brother and I getting high-fives from Jimmy Fallon after last Friday's show.

So Subliminal

2009-04-06T00:30:00.007-04:00

Recently I was watching 24 and noticed something strange at the end of the episode. There was a promo shot of Kiefer Sutherland followed by a quick transition flash and then the FOX logo. I freeze-framed it to discover this:

This screen captures no less than 66 subliminal messages embedded within a few frames! And if you read between the lines for similar promos, you'll see that 24 isn't the only show they do this for. Has FOX no shame?

Here's a breakdown of all that's here:

Adjectives that actually apply to 24 (42):

SO ADVENTUROUS
SO AMAZING
SO AUDACIOUS
SO AWESOME
SO BIG
SO BRASH
SO CAPTIVATING
SO CONTROVERSIAL
SO COURAGEOUS
SO CUTTING
SO DANGEROUS
SO FASCINATING
SO FEROCIOUS
SO FRESH
SO GENIUS
SO GRAPHIC
SO HEROIC
SO HOLLYWOOD
SO HUGE
SO IMPRESSIVE
SO INFAMOUS
SO INSANE
SO INTRIGUING
SO LEGENDARY
SO LETHAL
SO NOTORIOUS
SO ORIGINAL
SO RADICAL
SO REAL
SO RELENTLESS
SO RIVETING
SO ROUGH
SO SCANDALOUS
SO SHOCKING
SO STRIKING
SO SURPRISING
SO TERRIFIC
SO TERRIFYING
SO TWISTED
SO UNEXPECTED
SO UNIQUE
SO UNPREDICTABLE

Adjectives that really have nothing to do with 24 (12):

SO AUTHENTIC
SO BIZARRE
SO DARK
SO DEMENTED
SO EXPRESSIVE
SO GEEKY
SO INDEPENDENT
SO IRONIC
SO MYSTERIOUS
SO SARCASTIC
SO TASTELESS
SO WEIRD

Adjectives targeting female viewers (6):

SO ALLURING
SO APPEALING
SO ATTRACTIVE
SO ROMANTIC
SO SEDUCTIVE
SO SUAVE

Adjectives meant for the text-message generation (2):

SO ROFL
SO SWEEEET

Adjectives geared for '80s surfer dudes (4):

SO BODACIOUS
SO CHILL
SO KILLER
SO MENTAL

Conclusion: FOX really has everyone in mind here. And then some.

Almost Famous

2009-03-22T15:08:00.009-04:00

A few years ago I was in a movie shot in Tennessee. It was a small movie, but a movie nonetheless.

Three-and-a-half years and one name change later, this movie has finally come out. I present to you: The Grift.

Below I've posted video caps of my 10 seconds of fame as an extra—if for some reason you had a hard time spotting me.

Exhibit A: Back of my broad shoulders and top hat

Exhibit B: With face obscured by lead female's wide-brim sun hat, my unmistakable right hand can't be ignored.

Exhibit C: Gesture-free shot of my chest, complete with ketchup stain from earlier meal.

Yep, definitely worth sacrificing a whole Saturday.

Saving a Life

2009-02-08T14:56:00.004-05:00

A few weeks ago I was reminded of a high school peer who tragically passed away before his senior year. Although he's entered my mind over the years, I'd never really thought about what his life would have been like had he survived that car crash in 1997. What would he be doing? Who would he have loved? What kind of man would Bobby Pollick have become?

In imagining his alternate future, one word came to mind above all others: robbed. A person robbed of a long life; a family robbed of a precious, lifelong relationship with their son. Though I can't begin to comprehend the depth of the pain, I know this is when life is a million miles from being close to fair.

All of this brought me back to a half-repressed memory of a near-death experience long ago. It was when the life of someone extremely close to me was almost robbed. To this day I find it strange that I haven't dwelled on this event more, because while its notion is terrifying, its ending was absolutely life-saving.

It was around 1990, and my family was vacationing in Myrtle Beach like we always did in those early summers of my life. In a lot of ways, the tourist trap of the surrounding Myrtle Beach area was a kid's fantasy, with no shortage of arcades, water parks, putt-putt golf, and magic castles.

One afternoon my dad took my brother and I to race around a bumper boat track. It was the first time I'd been to one. It was also the last.

A few laps into our race, my brother Chris was ahead of me, with my dad trailing behind. I remember watching Chris as he approached his next left turn around the inside perimeter. Instead of keeping his eyes ahead of him, he was looking back at me with an "I'm in first place" smile. That's when it happened.

Without seeing the upcoming turn, his boat collided with the corner of the ramped guardrail, launching it in the air and quickly overturning it. In a matter of seconds, Chris went from a smiling face to face-down in the dark water, capsized.

Our fun-filled afternoon had taken such a sudden turn for the worst that in the seconds following, I was in a partial state of shock. Before the incident could fully register, my dad rushed up to Chris's boat, unbuckled himself, and jumped into the water. I just sat there in my boat, stunned with disbelief.

Just 10 seconds later, my dad emerged clutching Chris, both okay. Apparently he was also sitting there dazed, still buckled in underwater trying to collect himself. It was then when my dad quickly unbuckled his belt, pulled him out, and saved his life.

My dad's done many great things in his life, but this is by far the most heroic and unrecognized.

We immediately got out of the water and left the place. I remember being the only dry one as my dad and brother walked away leaving a long water trail behind them. "That really scared the shit out of me," my dad blurted in a rare, profane admission. "Better not tell your mother about this."

To this day, we haven't. In fact, I don't recall ever talking about it again with him or my brother. I suppose it's easy to forget a near-tragedy like this, both because of its unpleasantness as well as the fact that the course of our lives was quickly corrected. But these things should never be forgotten. Because the truth is that most of us undervalue the fact that every day, we have another 24 hours to walk, breathe, and live, always underestimating how a lifetime can be stolen in a matter of seconds.

The Day That Never Comes

2009-01-31T14:35:00.006-05:00

After 15 years, 14 studios, and 13-million dollars, it finally happened. On November 23rd, 2008, Guns N' Roses released the most-rumored, über-anticipated, and oft-ridiculed album in the history of rock music: Chinese Democracy.

For anyone not familiar with the back story, suffice it to say that Chinese Democracy is the biggest boy-who-cried-wolf album of all time. Originally slated for release circa 1999, the album has been perpetually promised and delayed by the maligned Axl Rose, a rock 'n' roll has-been notorious for his maniacal perfectionism. But after enough empty deliveries, the music world called Axl's bluff, and Chinese Democracy became a myth, if not a joke; nothing more than a magnum opus in the mind of its troubled creator.

On the day of its release (a rare Sunday), I walked into Best Buy on 86th Street in an anticipatory state, half-excited but half-unsure if anyone else could sense the weight of the momentous day. History was being made, but with the hustle and bustle of New York City, palpability for these things tend to get lost in the melting pot.

Although the album was quickly accessible and well-placed in the center of the store on its own display rack, the overall experience was anticlimactic. I walked up and tried to admire the prominence of the exhibit, but it was mitigated by the fact that I was the only one who seemed to care or notice at the time. It didn't matter, though, for I was finally holding a piece of history in my hands.

Because Chinese Democracy was actually leaked to MySpace a few days before its official release, I briefly thought about going about my standard operating procedure, which is sampling the music first and then buying the CD or just downloading a few songs that I like. But then it hit me: It didn't matter how much I might dislike Chinese Democracy—with this kind of mythology, I had to own it regardless. Because in the age of iTunes, it was an instant collector's item that deserved a physical purchase. And in a time where truly great rock albums are in decline, it's worth even more.

My full review of Chinese Democracy:
http://www.hybridmagazine.com/reviews/0109/gnr1.shtml

Distant Memories

2009-01-11T04:58:00.008-05:00

Over Christmas vacation I saw my grandpa for the first time in a year. Although he's been suffering from dementia since 2005, seeing him over the break made a lasting impression, especially since it was the first time not having my grandma at his side.

For the past four years he hasn't really remembered me or my family at all. It's unbelievable to sit in front of a person I've been around my whole life who has no idea who I am. This is someone who watched me grow up; someone who came to many of my sporting events; someone whose lawn I mowed countless times; and someone who's passed down his wisdom and life lessons to me. And there I am in front of him, a complete stranger.

When we visit, my grandpa always starts by asking about our physical appearance, be it my build or length of my brothers' beards. A few minutes later he asks the same questions, making it impossible to carry on a lasting or meaningful conversation beyond the weather, the food at the retirement home, or what he's watching on TV. But his fish-like memory notwithstanding, he's not overtly confused about who we are or what we're doing there. He just plays along, over and over again.

As a half-stranger, it's odd to realize that while his memory is mostly gone, his personality isn't. His sharp wit remains intact and allows him to crack jokes just as he always did. This past Christmas, I learned that his perception is still present, as my off-color utterance about the "cold as balls" weather did not go unnoticed: "Listen, young man, I'll be doing the fine talk around here." Yessir.

But perhaps the saddest thing is that the one person he does remember is no longer with him, as his wife passed away last July. When he asks if she's sitting behind him in the backseat, or when she's coming back to his room, the nurses and my parents tell him the half-truth that she's not there or that she's in heaven. After absorbing it for a few seconds, he seems fine with either answer. Even at her funeral, he was unsure whose it was.

One thing I keep wondering about is what's going on inside his head during all of this. Like when my dad is driving him to our house for dinner, I can't help but imagine that while my grandpa remains quiet, he's freaking out in his mind thinking, "Where the hell is this stranger taking me??" The only time he gets confused is when we tell him it's time to take him home, because at that point he thinks that he lives with us. Confused, but never unnerved.

Another terrifying thing about all this is that my grandfather on my dad's side has been stricken with an even-worse case of dementia in the last two years. Which begs the question: Who's next to come down with this soul-robbing form of identity theft? My parents? Me? Because once you have it, there's no going back. It all reminds me of this line from The Notebook:

"It is a barren disease, as empty and lifeless as a desert. It is a thief of hearts and souls and memories."

Reading that makes me realize how our memories are the most precious things we have. In all that we do in life, it's all for naught if we can't remember anything about the lives we've lived—the places we've been, the things we've accomplished, or the people we know and love. The value of our memories is far beyond priceless. Without them, there is hardly any self-awareness or self-identity. Without them, life is just existence.

Happy New Year

2009-01-05T01:52:00.005-05:00

Hopefully you think differently of my blog!

On a musical note, you'll notice on the right sidebar that I've added selected album reviews I've done, as well as a list of recent songs that I can't stop playing.

Space and Time

2008-12-08T22:02:00.006-05:00

It's hard to believe, but I've lived in New York City for a year now, and it's been one of the quickest of my life. As if time hasn't moved fast enough in my mid-to-late 20s, the New York lifestyle, with its faster pace and general busyness, has only accelerated the passing of the days, weeks, and months.

A year ago I was in a completely different place. It's weird to think that if I hadn't made an effort to change my life, I could very well be in the same place that I was in Nashville. Instead, I'm in the midst of different people and possibilities on a completely different path and future. And even though I'm not someone who constantly needs change, my strong desire for just that was the impetus behind it all.

But change often comes at the expense of time, order, and convenience, and that's been the case before beginning work at both of my jobs. In May 2002, I was one of the few to secure a position before graduating college (much to the envy of my peers in a declining job market). The downside was that I had no downtime at home before moving to Tennessee. One week week after graduating college, I was in a very different place at a pivotal point in my life.

When I accepted the job in New York in November 2007, it was more of the same. In a matter of weeks I had to put in my two-week's notice, find a place to live, say goodbye to my friends, and get ready to move—and all before the holidays. I'll always remember that period as the "whirlwind of my life"—so much happened in such little time.

When I think of "whirlwind," I'm reminded by the weekend of October 27-28 in particular. Over that Halloween weekend, I drove the five hours to Ohio Friday night, went to my friend's dress-rehearsal dinner, attended his wedding Saturday evening, drove two hours to Ohio University that same night and partied with my siblings till 7 in the morning, woke up Sunday afternoon and drove the seven hours back to Nashville, prepped for my interview, got two hours of sleep, almost missed my flight to New York that Monday morning, had a lengthy interview, got a beer with my brother, flew back to Nashville, and went in to work on Tuesday. It just goes to show what all you can squeeze into a few days when you really have to.

The day I accepted my new job was one of the best of my life. I like to think about the special call I received that Thursday evening at work because of the liberating and exhilarating emotions attached to it. One journey was coming to a close, but another was about to begin. And it was because of what I did to make it happen.

It's encouraging to know that in this life, there are some things that are in our hands.

Ten Years Gone

2008-12-01T21:00:00.004-05:00

Last Friday I attended to my 10-year high school reunion. I'm still kind of surprised I went considering my feelings against going when occasionally thinking about it over the past decade. It's not like I had a bad high school experience or that I dislike the people I went to school with. But in the age of cellphones and Facebook, anyone I've wanted to keep in touch with is just a few clicks away. Also, a reunion always struck me as a night of awkward moments; in particular, what do you say to the people you recognize but never spoke a word to over four years? Anything? Would that make it better or worse?

On the whole, the experience didn't strike me as an ideal situation for a self-professed introvert. But a few weeks before the reunion, I realized the consensus among my friends was to go; it was officially the thing to do in Centerville the Friday night after Thanksgiving. Knowing that I wouldn't be braving it alone helped. Also, about five beers beforehand.

Seeing everyone at the reunion was great, and things felt fairly comfortable. Most people looked about the same. Some looked better, some worse.

Really, though, the night was an exercise in mingling and playing catch-up with as many people who you recognized (and cared to acknowledge). It was strange seeing most people there with their spouses (including CHS mergers) and hearing about their kids. Sure, that's what most people do in their 20s, but it was weird for me to put myself in their shoes at this point of my life, because I'm nowhere near that. Even as a late bloomer, I couldn't help but wonder: Will that be me in five, 10, or 20 years? An even stranger thought.

But if I had to attend just one high school reunion, I'm glad it was this one. On the heels of college, the five-year is too soon; the 15- or 20-year too far down the road to be relevant. No, the 10-year reunion is the right time to reconvene before time begins to leave more of its marks, and life really starts to get in the way. At least for some of us.

Paradise Lost

2008-11-18T23:09:00.018-05:00

Monday night marked the end of an unrelenting year-long quest for me: I ate at a Chinese buffet in New York City. Well, technically it was in Queens, because no actual buffets exist in Manhattan. Even so, most everyone I've asked since I moved here has sworn that they've seen one, but of course can never quite recall where it is. I've learned that the odds of seeing a Chinese buffet in the city are just above those of spotting the Abominable Snowman.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a lover of food, but particularly Chinese buffets. As a quantity-over-quality guy, I can't help but not get excited about the vast array and endless amount of Chinese food you can get for under 10 bucks. So what if it's not P.F. Changs? The sheer selection alone is something to celebrate.

Having been away for a year, merely standing inside the Chinese buffet was exhilarating. "Is this heaven?" I half-joked to myself upon surveying the glorious smorgasbord of a scene. After such a long wait, it sure seemed like it.

But once the initial excitement wore off after my third or fourth plate, I looked around objectively and finally began to understand why many people aren't fans of Chinese buffets. You can take issue with the number of overcooked, dried out, overly greasy, and high-sodium dishes that were put out two hours earlier. Or the damp funk of the bathrooms and the old stains on the worn-down carpet. Not to mention the semi-permanent odor that clings to your clothing and still reeks of buffet until the next morning. I dunno—I might argue that that's a good thing.

But those universal qualities aside, the New Grand Buffet had a few of its own funnies. For one, the numerous signs around the facility. Most warned parents to rein in their kids ("Please no letting children running", "For your children's safety, please accompany with them while taking food"). But there was one near the sink in the bathroom that read "Wash hands at own risk." I found that funny for some reason. Well, maybe I shouldn't wash my hands.

And then there were the employees. Upon putting water on the table, my waiter, apparently sensing that I was in it for the long haul, prompted me for a big tip later. If that wasn't enough, he made sure to shamelessly remind me every other visit to the table. "Here you go, my friend. You leave me good tip?" Question: What about me made him think that I would lowball him—or worse—dine and ditch? I'm not sure I'll ever know.

Besides stuffing my stomach silly and shutting the place down past 10 p.m., the highlight of the night came when the four waiters gathered to sing "Happy Birthday" to a lone Asian man enjoying his crab legs. A cheesy, exuberant rendition of the song started playing on the speakers, and I glanced to my left to see how they were doing. None were singing, just awkwardly standing in front of the stranger, half-heartedly clapping, and impatiently waiting for the extended song to finish its third chorus. One woman was looking aside with a painful "please let it be over" look, while another continually struggled to sync up her hands with the clap-clap-clap meter of the song.

But none of it really mattered, because the birthday man was happy. The best part, though? Three more people all shared the same birthday that night.

Chinese buffets: sad and beautiful all at the same time.

My fortune: "You will be free of the heavy burdens you have been carrying."

A New Hope

2008-11-05T23:35:00.012-05:00

This morning I woke up, not sure if what I witnessed last night actually happened. It's the same sort of feeling you get when you wake up the day after your favorite sports team wins the championship, and you're not sure if it was all just a dream. Only, in the grand scheme of things, Barack Obama's victory last night is more important than any football or hockey game that I can remember.

It's not because I'm a huge Obama supporter, because Ron Paul was my guy. But after eight long years and two "elections" that have left me feeling powerless and defeated, Obama's victory has renewed my hope for this nation.

It's not to say he'll be a savior, or even close to perfect, because he won't be. But for the first time in a long time, I feel that America has a chance. And in our troubled times, that's something to be optimistic about.

For some reason, I hadn't given much thought to the implications of Obama winning, mostly because I didn't want to get my hopes up. But once he clinched it, the obvious realization set in: A black man will be President of the United States. A simple but astonishing thought. And now I can say that a minority is the leader of my country—much less the free world. I've never been more proud.

Watching Obama stand alone, triumphantly, at his acceptance speech is one of the greatest things I've ever seen. And when I heard the horns honking outside and saw the tears of joy on TV, I couldn't help but be moved to tears myself. Because after all that African Americans have endured in our nation's history, they're empowered like never before, and another part of Martin Luther King's dream has come true.

Jo(k)e Pa

2008-10-29T23:57:00.008-04:00

On Saturday night ABC bookended their broadcast of the Penn State-Ohio State game with an eye-rolling tribute to coaching legend Joe Paterno. I didn't find it particularly off-putting because Ohio State lost the game. I found it distasteful because I'm sick of everyone giving credit to Joe Pa for his team's resurgence as a national power (they're currently 9-0 and ranked No. 2 in the country).

It should be clear to anyone who's watched Paterno pace the sidelines in the past few years that he's little more than a figurehead. Without a headset, or offering any specific football criticism, or not joining his team in the locker room during halftime Saturday night, it's obvious that anyone but Joe Pa has been running the show.

But never mind the men behind the curtain, or the fact that Paterno's recent sideline incidents (particularly his 2006 bout with the runs) have relegated him as little more than a sideshow act, much to the amusement of ABC and ESPN. Because none of this is to say that the beloved Joe Pa is a bad coach. He's a legend, and his statistics speak for themselves:

The most victories by a Division I coach: 381 wins, 125 losses, and 3 ties
The most bowl wins and undefeated seasons than any other coach in history

Yet what I find the most interesting about it all is looking into the mind of the man himself. Because like Florida State's Bobby Bowden, Paterno will never leave his home. His record 43 seasons at one school have not only cemented his legacy at this institution, but institutionalized him in the process. There's only one way that Paterno will ever leave Happy Valley.

The Return

2008-10-28T23:30:00.005-04:00

Last weekend I visited Nashville for the first time since moving away almost a year ago. Even though I spent more than five years there, it almost feels like a past life when comparing it to the much shorter time I've spent in New York.

It's strange when returning to your old stomping grounds. Whether it's your hometown or college campus, there's always a surreal sense of familiarity and nostalgia. Since I hadn't really been away from Music City for that long, it seemed like I'd never left. And by the end of the weekend, I felt like I still lived there. Especially when I realized that I know my way around much better than where I currently reside.

But as great as it was to be back and see my friends, it wasn't long before I was reminded of why I left in the first place. For all the wonderful experiences I had there, and for the special place that Nashville holds in my heart, there was that lingering feeling of not completely fitting in; a reaffirmation that the city couldn't offer what I needed in the next phase of my life.

Even so, it all made me more frustrated with the natural bonds that time and space imposes on us. I kept thinking about the movie Jumper, and how incredible it would be to teleport anywhere in the world in a heartbeat. Because even though it's much easier to stay in touch these days, leaving people behind is one of the hardest things. Life goes on, but it's never the same.

One for the Ages

2008-10-15T00:07:00.011-04:00

Last Saturday I saw Ray LaMontagne in concert for the second time. Onstage, LaMontagne is a shy folk artist. But judging by the audience, you'd think we were at a Kid Rock concert. What I mean is: Women love him.

When I saw LaMontagne the first time in Nashville a few years ago, I was really surprised by the audience's reception. Given the softer nature of his music, I naturally assumed that we'd be a part of a quiet and respectful crowd. Just the opposite, though. Throughout the concert, and particularly between songs, there was no shortage of cheers and "I love you's" from the slightly inebriated concertgoers. Even the guys couldn't help but reaching out to Ray with various requests and absurdities. I also think people felt inclined to compensate for LaMontagne's lack of audience interaction.

It was no different on Saturday night at Radio City Music Hall—except, of course, my expectation. The first time I was a bit off-put by the crassness of it; this time I just sat back and smiled. All part of the experience.

But it got me thinking again—what exactly is it about a reticent, soft-spoken, Jesus-looking figure like LaMontagne that drives women crazy? At first I thought it was simply the fact that he's super romantic in his writing and impassioned in his singing. But as a few of my female friends explained, it goes beyond that.

It's not just that Ray pours out his soul onstage. It's that it's all coming from a real place. Real life, real people, real heartbreak. Ray is real.

While his raspy baritone sounds great on CD, hearing LaMontagne live is a different experience. Similar to what I experienced with Sigur Rós, it was the second time this year that I felt privileged to hear the sound of a true artist with my own ears. With his smoky, often rapturous delivery, LaMontagne has a treasure of a singing voice that's from another time and place.

The Number Se7en

2008-10-13T00:37:00.007-04:00

File this one under Stupid Things That Don't Matter But Bother Me Anyway.

At work I've noticed that many people write the number seven the European way, with the horizontal slash through it. I find this really irritating. I understand that there's a practical purpose for writing a 7 that way, which is to differentiate between an old-school 1 numeral. But since very few people in America write a 1 the way a typewriter does, I find the European 7 to be completely unnecessary (and dare I say, unpatriotic?). At the same time, I recognize that it's also completely harmless, and I know this is a ridiculous thing to be writing about. But I feel compelled nonetheless.

I think what bothers me is the feeling that most people are writing the European 7 to be trendy, although they've most certainly had no level of conscious thought about it like I have. But, if that's truly the way you were taught to write a 7, maybe I can forgive you.

In Tressel I Don't Trust

2008-09-14T23:51:00.023-04:00

After seeing Ohio State get crushed 35-3 by USC last night in what was billed as "The Game of the Year," suspicions of mine have been affirmed. While head coach Jim Tressel is clearly one of the most accomplished and respected coaches in all of college football, it's fully obvious to me now that his coaching is largely to blame for most of Ohio State's losses in big games since 2003.

Of course, this is not to say that it's entirely Tressel's fault. It's not. In every game Buckeye players have made mistakes that have also affected the outcome. This is also not to say that Tressel has made all bad decisions. He hasn't. I'm fully aware that he's one of the most winningest coaches for a reason.

What I am saying is that Tressel and offensive coordinator Jim Bollman's often unoriginal, predictable, and poor playcalling has put the Buckeyes in more of a position to lose these games, and they have. Some major examples:

• 2005 Texas, 25-22
• 2005 Penn State, 17-10
• 2007 Florida, 41-14
• 2008 LSU, 38-24
• 2008 USC, 35-3

The weak playcalling and lack of execution have been especially apparent in the last three games in which the Buckeyes have been embarrassed on a national stage. These collapses have led many to think that Ohio State doesn't have the athletic ability to compete with college football powers, but that's not true. Every year Ohio State is known for its prized high school recruits and top talent that it sends to the NFL. So it's not a question of speed, toughness, or athletic ability. Ohio State is better off than most teams.

For all of the respect he gets, though, Tressel has been outcoached in all of the aforementioned losses. It doesn't really matter how good OSU's players are if their coach is putting them in difficult situations to be successful. In other words, the scores for the lopsided losses of late are not representative of Ohio State's ability to win these games. In many of them, Ohio State has had just as many weapons as their opponents, but the coaches simply didn't utilize them the best way.

Tressel has always relied on a conservative coaching philosophy known as Tresselball, in which field position, clock control, and turnover margin are key. It's won him a lot of games, so it's not all bad. But it's become clear to me that this old-fashioned, close-to-the-sweater-vest style isn't as effective as it once was. The game has changed in the past few years, especially with the proliferation of the spread offense and creative playcalling from younger coaches like Florida's Urban Meyer, Michigan's Rich Rodriguez, and Boise State's Chris Petersen. When you watch their dynamic formations and inventive plays that work, it's not hard to see that Ohio State is behind the times.

But newer schemes aside, I'm continually baffled that Tressel chooses not to mix things up with basic plays that have been around for ages. So in the wake of the USC debacle Saturday night, I have some questions:

Where are all the roll-outs, pitches, sweeps, reverses, off-tackle runs, and misdirection plays?
When you're down by three touchdowns and in serious need of a score, where are your trick plays??
Why are you using versatile freshman QB Terrelle Pryor in the same predictable manner, especially in a first-and-goal situation with USC showing heavy blitz?
Where's the gamesmanship? You had a chance to give your team a much-needed spark and surprise the Coliseum's 93,607 spectators by inserting your best running back (Beanie Wells) into the lineup after you said he would not play.

When you see Tressel and Bollman continue to use ineffective, two-dimensional playcalling, I can't help but wonder if they're trying their best to win, and if they're content with just collecting field goals. In the end, OSU fans are subjected to needless frustration as the Buckeyes scratch and claw their way for every yard and first down. It shouldn't be that hard. And when you watch other teams play in these big games, it usually isn't. I'll tell you right now that until Tressel and Bollman make their offense dynamic, Ohio State will not win (much less compete in) another big game.

When Tressel came on board in 2001, he quickly restored honor to the program, made due on his promise to beat Michigan, and went on to win a national championship by the end of his second season. His ascension as Ohio State's savior ("In Tressel we trust") naturally bought him a lot of goodwill and room for forgiveness. Most people will laud Tressel as Ohio State continues to dominate the Big Ten, but I've lost my faith in the man, and Buckeye fans shouldn't issue any more pardons. Especially when Tressel never really takes responsibility for these losses. In every post-game press conference, he assumes the same calm, ho-hum demeanor, and praises the other team to take the focus off his own. Where's the honesty? Where's the emotion? It's this general lack of intensity that rubs off on the play of his own team.

"At halftime nobody was saying anything," offensive tackle Alex Boone said after the embarrassing loss to the Trojans. "I mean what the hell? We're Ohio State. We should be screaming and swearing everything you can think of, and guys were hanging their heads. You don't know what to say to them. You start screaming, and they just put their heads down even more."

(Alex, your team's behavior mirrors your coach's.)

I've always carried a lot of pride as a Buckeye fan, but now I feel that both the team and the fans have been cheated in the past few years. And for that, I feel torn. Torn between supporting a team that I love and a coach who's only held them back from the glory they deserve.

FOX Sports' Mark Kriegel tends to agree with me:

Jim Tressel seems determined to play 20th-century football well into the 21st century... What happened Saturday night at the Coliseum, in front of 93,607 witnesses, was more of the same. Actually, with 19 returning starters, it occurs that a dreadful form of consistency might actually be Ohio State's problem. The Buckeyes are consistent to the point of predictability.

That's the problem with Ohio State... It's that Tressel's team surprises nobody. Despite the presence of a potentially game-changing player in freshman Terrelle Pryor, the Buckeyes play antiquated, unimaginative football. They play as if they have nothing to prove.

The score was then 21-3. And though the game already resembled the previous two BCS championships, Tressel remained resolutely unwilling to gamble. On his team's first possession—with a third and goal from the 18—he didn't even take a shot at the end zone. Instead, he had his quarterback hand the ball off.
Columnist Dan Wetzel of Yahoo! Sports had this to say about Tressel at USC's post-game press conference:

Here was the sweater vest, who keeps calling for the same old failed game plan even when he's far from the comforts of the cornfields of the Midwest. He's an example of coaching insanity—expecting the same bad plays to produce different results. Here was Jim Tressel, and all he could do was smile and shrug... The Buckeyes keep getting their ass kicked when they dare to venture out of Big Ten/MAC land, and Tressel doesn't look or sound the least bit concerned.

Outrage? Frustration? Embarrassment? How about apologies to the Buckeye fans who no doubt feel plenty of all three? Or maybe one for poor quarterback Todd Boeckman, who thanks to a most uninspired offensive game plan had USC defenders taking turns teeing up to try to rupture his spleen?

"They did everything we saw on film," said USC linebacker Rey Maualuga. "Nothing changed."

August and Everything After

2008-09-09T22:30:00.008-04:00

I suppose that once you've lived long enough, you see certain patterns and come to realize certain things.

By now I've realized that September is my favorite month of the year. It's just that perfect time when the weather is great, college football season starts, and there's excitement in the air.

September is also that month that marks the gradual transition between the tail end of summer and the beginning of fall. In a way, it's sort of a last hurrah before we get into the deep end of the calendar, and we're wondering where another year went as we head into the holidays.

But more than anything to me, September represents an "on the brink" period that is often as exciting as whatever follows; a moment where you can celebrate the fact that life is good, but it's about to get better.

Yep, September is about the halcyon days. September is about life.

Celebrity Sighting #5

2008-09-07T19:44:00.005-04:00

Since I've been in New York, I've always wondered if there are any celebrities who actually use the subway. Obviously most can afford to take taxis or private cars around the city, but I've been a little surprised to never have spotted someone on the subway. But Friday morning on my way to work, I confirmed my first public-transportation celebrity sighting.

Before I got off the C train at Spring Street, I looked to my right and spotted a familiar face sitting by herself in the back corner of the train, clutching some sort of canister. Just as with Kevin Allison, I instantly recognized the person, but wanted to make sure.

When the train stopped, I exited at the door nearest her and got visual confirmation: Saturday Night Live's Rachel Dratch. Yes, Debbie Downer herself. She returned my glance, looking just as droll and strange as ever.

Celebrity Sighting #4

2008-07-29T23:40:00.006-04:00

Tonight I worked out at a New York Sports Club gym that was closer to my chiropractor's office. The location turned out to be perfect.

While stretching before my workout, I noticed a red-haired man on the leg press in front of me. The first time I looked at him, I instantly knew who it was in my mind. But because he's not the most recognizable actor in the world, I debated whether to approach him. You see, I was in a similar situation last year at the YMCA in Nashville, and I was wrong.

I got on a leg machine and tried to ignore my dilemma for a minute. Pushing it away, I figured I could just ask him later during our respective workouts if my curiosity wouldn't stop nagging me. But then the rare social opportunist in me seized the moment.

"Is your name Kevin?" I asked, walking up to him.

"Uh, yeah it is," he replied, his body at a slightly awkward 45° angle on the inclined leg press.

"Are you Kevin Allison?"

"Yeah, I am."

My face lit up, I introduced myself, shook his hand, told him I was also from Ohio, and let him know how big a fan I am of The State, MTV's sketch-comedy series from the mid-'90s. The short-lived cult show is fondly remembered by many, but mostly now mentioned in boy-who-cried-wolf conversations concerning the release date of the long-promised box set (which has been finished but unavailable for unknown reasons). It's the Chinese Democracy of DVD releases.

Kevin gave me some scoop about The State reuniting in September to film a special for Comedy Central. I then concluded our brief chat with "Yeah, we're big fans. We quote it all the time." I think that made him proud.

Not too long after, I realized that I should have asked him specifics about the perennially delayed DVDs. What kind of red tape was left to cut through? Was it because of licensing issues with all the music they used in the episodes?

I guess I'll never know. Because when I looked around for him, he was already gone.

"Another stupid fan, another gym I need to find."

Me, too, Kevin. Me, too.

Good Knight and Farewell

2008-07-20T22:42:00.012-04:00

Superhero screenwriters take note: The Dark Knight is everything a comic-book movie should be: smart, thrilling, complex, introspective, and dynamic; an action-packed, thinking man's superhero movie.

While Batman Begins is an origin story that follows the internal transformation Bruce Wayne undergoes in becoming Batman, The Dark Knight is more about the world reacting to Batman, which in turn pushes the Dark Knight through an ongoing character arc. "You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain."

It's a film that merits multiple viewings to scrutinize its many layers, plot points, action sequences, and performances. With an all-star array of actors, including rock-solid supporting roles that we've come to expect from Gary Oldman, Michael Caine, and Morgan Freeman, there's a lot to appreciate here.

But in the wake of his untimely death, Heath Ledger steals the show from them all. Whereas Jack Nicholson's Joker was just crazy, Ledger's take is psychotic, disturbed, and unpredictable. His captivating onscreen presence will leave your eyes glued and mouth agape as you hang on to his every twisted word. And as rumored, Ledger's final full performance is not only unforgettable, but Oscar-worthy.

I'm not normally a fan of crowd noise in movie theaters, but there was a lot to cheer about Friday night. And much like the outbursts you'd hear from a pack of Yankees fans, the sold-out crowd actually enhanced the already entertaining experience by excitedly applauding at the surprises, the "bat"-ass stunts, and Mr. Ledger.

And they should have. Because The Dark Knight not only delivered, but it distanced itself from every other comic-book movie in existence.

Long, Long Way from Home

2008-07-13T01:54:00.006-04:00

Last month my brother and I went to Europe for the first time. I've always been fascinated by other countries and cultures, so it was a long-overdue trip across the Atlantic. It wasn't technically my first international experience since I first visited Canada in 2005, but it was certainly the most culturally diverse and eye-opening.

The trip was put together by my brother's former Jersey roommate who now lives in Switzerland. So we flew into Zürich and made our way through southern Italy (Lake Como, Cinque Terre) and France (Nice, Monaco, Antibes, Cannes) over the course of a week.

Cool things we did: partying all day with the Swiss for the inaugural game of Euro Cup 2008, drinking wine on the beach of Monterroso, kayaking on the Mediterranean, hiking along the Cinque Terre coast from Manaro to Vernazza, hitting up the Monte-Carlo Casino, and partying with random Canadian and Australian hostel-goers.

What follows are various takeaways from the trip...

Language is everything. Never before have I felt so stupid, illiterate, and verbally handicapped when trying to communicate with people. This was especially true in Zürich, where the primary language was Swiss German. Over the course of the trip, though, I was amazed at how well most everyone not only spoke and understood English well, but how they were all at least tri-lingual. And it was a marvel to watch the flight attendants on Swiss Air switch between English, French, and German so seamlessly and effortlessly while attending to different passengers.

I decided that the most beautiful-sounding language is definitely Italian when spoken by an Italian woman. German still sounds harsh, ugly, and barbaric to me, though.
Europe is cooler. There's just a more laid-back, carefree vibe everywhere you go. From being more open about drugs or sexuality, it makes you wonder how censored America came to be, and why we continue to uphold those restrictions. In Europe, no one seems to care, and everything is fine.
Soccer is still overrated. I still don't understand why Europe is so obsessed with this sport. While I appreciate its strategy and skill, I just don't see the draw. With such few scoring opportunities or genuine moments of excitement, it's a game that serves up long rounds of extended foreplay without the climax. Still, I'm amazed at how ingrained it is in the cultural fabric.

Before going on this trip, I felt like finally visiting foreign countries and lands would be a life-changing experience. I can tell you that being halfway across the world really puts things in perspective. When you're looking out over the Mediterranean during sunset, you can't help but look at your life and think about where you want to be. As much as I love the United States, I kept wondering over the course of the week if Europe was ever a place I could live (the shorter work week and minimum 25 vacation days are hard to ignore). Then I wondered what my life would be like if I simply grew up in a country like Italy or France. What would I be doing then? All big what-ifs.

While the trip allowed me to escape the bubble of city life, I found it more surreal than life-changing. Even with the seven-hour flight and six-hour jet lag, the voyage itself seemed "easy"; just spend some time in a plane and there you are, plopped in another country in another part of the world. Especially in this global Internet age, I came to realize that the world is more connected and accessible than my 28-year delay would suggest. We may be separated by different time zones, but we all live under the same sun.

While I enjoyed my vacation, I was happy to come home. Between the larger-portion meals and just the general feeling of being back in the loop, it was exciting to return to New York City, and brought back feelings of first arriving here. Even with a little jet-lag the day after we got back, I headed into the subway on my way to work, energized by the fact that I was back to a city—and a life—that I love.

Facebook pictures from the trip:
• Europe, Part 1
• Europe, Part 2
• Europe, Part 3

They're Still Alive

2008-06-28T23:25:00.010-04:00

After seeing The Verve in concert a few months ago, I blogged: "the mark of a truly accomplished band is one whose shows are varied and unpredictable; you don’t know what they're going to play when or how, or even if you’re going to be able to hear all of your favorite songs."

When I wrote this, I was thinking of one band in particular.

Pearl Jam.

As a a longstanding favorite of mine, Pearl Jam is one of the few bands where you never know what you're gonna get in concert—deep album cuts, cult B-sides, hit singles, and rare covers. For the past 18 years, they've been one of the more memorable touring bands. So I've found it funny in recent years to hear people say "Pearl Jam? They're still around?"

Somewhere after the band's heyday in the first half of the 90s, the general populace seemed to forget about the group as they rebelled against their own success and the trappings of stardom (look no further than the title of their second album, Vs.).

Around this time there seemed to be a series of watershed moments that made it easy for the casual fan to lose interest in the Seattle quintet: swearing off the making of more music videos, experimenting with different sounds, battling the Ticketmaster monster, or just taking themselves too seriously. For any of these reasons, the masses wrote off Pearl Jam and moved on.

Even the media still refers to Pearl Jam as a grunge band, disregarding the fact that they *were* grunge for exactly one album (their landmark debut Ten). But anyone who's followed the band over the course of their eight studio albums knows that Pearl Jam plays in the spirit of classic rock. They always have.

I say all this because at a sold-out Madison Square Garden on Tuesday night, it was clear that Pearl Jam is still a force. It didn't take much to feel the vibrations from the legions of fans shaking MSG's concrete floors, or simply looking at the 20,000 faithful belting out the lyrics to "Alive" and "Elderly Woman", arms raised in the letter V.

With an eclectic set list that consisted of 30 songs and three rounds of encores, Pearl Jam's road-warrior work ethic was impressive, especially in their middle age. The level of energy they exhibited was not only remarkable, but contagious. So much so that without a venue curfew of 11:30, I got the feeling that they'd keep playing until 2 in the morning, with nary a person heading for the exit.

Are they still around? The truth is, they never left.

This Is Music

2008-06-17T23:59:00.013-04:00

I've never been high before, but last night watching Sigur Rós at the Manhattan Center Grand Ballroom, I sort of wished I was on something.

For the unaware, Sigur Rós is an "Icelandic post-rock band with melodic, classical, and minimalist elements. The band is known for its ethereal sound and lead singer Jónsi Birgisson’s falsetto voice." (Many thanks to Wikipedia.)

My brothers and I managed to bribe our way into the show after scalping what turned out to be fake tickets. We were an hour late, but what we experienced was pretty much worth the steep price of admission.

When we were ushered into the venue, it didn't take long to realize that we were in for something completely different. We walked in mid-song to an audience captivated by a six-piece orchestra on center stage, dressed as angels and blowing their brass.

The group (with a nine-member entourage) played some songs that I knew and others that I didn't. But in the mere hour that I was there, there were enough "holy shit" moments where I knew I was experiencing the most powerful, beautiful music that I'd ever heard.

One of those moments came during the second song we saw, in which the band just completely stopped playing and froze for 30 of the longest pin-drop seconds I've felt in concert. Then the lead singer suddenly resuscitated and the song resumed.

Sigur Rós sound celestial on CD. But in concert, the sweeping, dramatic crescendos that they built bordered on an out-of-body experience. So much so that the riveting catharsis in the last song ("Popplagið") made for the most monumental, explosive grand finale I'd ever heard.

It was a night where music was in its most moving, glorious art form. A night where the music transcended hearing and listening to become pure feeling. The energy on your skin, the vibrations in your heart. The power; the beauty.

Indy's Best Adventure

2008-05-31T17:07:00.011-04:00

With the return of Indiana Jones to the big screen, there's been a lot of talk about everyone's favorite Indy flick. I've been surprised to learn that the first film, Raiders of the Lost Ark, is almost unanimously accepted as the best movie by critics and fans alike. I guess I'm surprised by this because I've seen Raiders the least, and the subsequent movies (The Temple of Doom and The Last Crusade) the most. In fact, I watched Raiders in its entirety for the first time just a few weeks ago. Can't tell you why I never got around to seeing the first half of the movie until now.

I realize that my viewing balance is way off here, but I'm still going to make the case that The Last Crusade is the best film in the now-quadrilogy (casting aside the less acclaimed but highly enjoyable Temple of Doom and the lukewarm Kingdom of the Crystal Skull for the moment).

I think the biggest reason that people are naturally fond of Raiders is because of the inherent advantage it has in being the first film. It's original, which is why the first movie in any series is almost always better than its sequels (Terminator 2: Judgment Day and The Godfather, Part II being exceptions). I agree that Raiders is a great film; it's classic. But The Last Crusade is epic.

With the unique opening flashback of Indy's first adventure, the more frequent globetrotting, the diverse entourage of supporting characters (including Sean Connery's memorable role), and even John Williams' classic score, The Last Crusade is on another level.

But these many layers aside, what elevates this film above the rest is the stronger spiritual weight and intriguing mythology that encompasses Indy's quest for the Holy Grail. There's more of a personal connection as we journey with Indy through the multitude of dangers and trials that he must survive in order to recover the Grail. The stakes are higher and the triumphs are bigger.

There's no topping the Cup of Christ.

Outside the Apple

2008-05-25T02:47:00.004-04:00

One thing I'm learning about New York is that the city doesn't necessarily represent the state. This was especially apparent to me last weekend when we went go-carting up in Mount Kisco. It was the first time I've actually gotten out of the city and into upstate New York. And what did I find? A taste of home—small towns, state highways, refreshing greenery, and nice suburban neighborhoods. I was pleasantly surprised until I saw the cost of gas: $4.54 a gallon. Suddenly I don't miss my Malibu much.

And although I've yet to see them, people go to beaches here just like they would in Florida. I'm still a bit skeptical, but supposedly they're alright.

Anyway, here's a glimpse of the go-carting experience:

Celebrity Sighting #3

2008-05-11T15:29:00.011-04:00

Yesterday afternoon I was en route to New York's legendary Ziegfeld Theatre to see Iron Man when I encountered yet another celebrity: James Gandolfini. Yes: TONY — EFFING — SOPRANO.

We crossed paths walking on West 56th Street. Our eyes locked as he approached on my right, and I once again had that sudden celebrity realization. Gandolfini recognized it and gave me that "Don't do it, kid" kind of glare, and that was that. Then I turned around and saw him walk up the stairs to Benihana.

Gandolfini was wearing the same untucked, button-down shirt that Tony Soprano would. In fact, I actually had to remind myself that it was really James Gandolfini and not Tony Soprano. Just goes to show how much of a career-defining role it was for him. Sort of like how you'll never be able to separate Mark Hamill from Luke Skywalker.

The Verve Live

2008-05-05T23:48:00.011-04:00

Last week I saw The Verve in concert at Madison Square Garden. It was my first concert here in New York, and the first one I've been to since I saw Tesla in Nashville almost a year ago. It was a good show, but not a great show. I'll get to that in a second, though.

To the general populace, The Verve is one of those bands that will always be remembered by their popular single "Bitter Sweet Symphony", but I know them by the more remarkable album from which that song hails: 1997's Urban Hymns. Lush, layered, poetic, and beautiful, it's one of those landmark album-oriented rock records that always takes me to my happy place.

After the band broke up in 1999, Urban Hymns ultimately represented none other than a bittersweet swan song for a band whose career ended prematurely. With The Verve quitting while they were ahead, Urban Hymns went on to leave a much more lasting impression, but there was a lingering sense of disappointment from a group that seemed to have much more in the tank.

Jump to 2008, where The Verve has regrouped for a new album and tour, much to my pleasant surprise. Given the circumstances and my love for Urban Hymns alone, I looked forward to seeing them live.

Like I said, it was a good show, but the band's lack of depth kept it from being a great show. Early in the concert, frontman Richard Ashcroft told the crowd that it was hard to pick the set list because the band could easily play for three hours. I didn't really buy it, though, because beside the fact that The Verve’s three albums don't last three hours, their first two albums aren't near the level that Urban Hymns is on. And through their 12-song set, this limitation was evident.

It was a case of a good band sprinkling in enough cuts from a greater album to hold the interest level of the crowd for two hours. And the problem with being known for one huge hit like "Bitter Sweet Symphony"? Its placement in the set list is predictable, because you can't play a signature song like that too early. Call it "economy of encore."

I don't regret going to the show because it was a good opportunity to see the newly reformed group in person. But it made me realize that the mark of a truly accomplished band is one whose shows are varied and unpredictable; you don’t know what they're going to play when or how, or even if you’re going to be able to hear all of your favorite songs. And really, all it takes is two or three great albums.

We'll see if The Verve can get there one day.

For the Love of the Game

2008-04-20T18:58:00.007-04:00

Living in New York City has its share of inconveniences, one of which is playing hockey. To give you an idea, I'll compare the process I have here in New York to the one I had in Nashville.

Nashville
Half an hour before a game, I packed my equipment, loaded it in my car, and drove five minutes to the rink. I then suited up and left my things in the locker room. After the game, I loaded my equipment in my car, drove home, and aired everything out on my porch. Total time elapsed: 2½ hours.

New York

An hour and a half before my game, I take a train from my office to Penn Station.
From there I walk 15 minutes to a Manhattan Mini Storage facility where I keep all of my equipment.
I go to the 10th floor and unlock my locker, whose locks are above my head and almost out of reach.
I locate a rolling safety ladder and push it near my locker.
I open the locker, move the safety ladder into place, pack my bag, and unload all my gear.
With leg pads slung over shoulder and sticks in hand, I drag my hockey bag eight blocks south to the ice rink at Chelsea Piers, which takes about 10 minutes.*
After putting my equipment on, I put all of my belongings in my bag and drag it out into the arena, since the public locker rooms are not locked. Other players opt for more security by carrying their bags onto the bench—a sight previously unseen.
After the game, I drag my 50 pounds of equipment back to a locker room and get undressed.
Tired and sore after the game, I cart all of my equipment back to the storage facility, often facing no choice but to brave the elements.*
With my hands full, I manage to prop up my hockey bag so I can retrieve the access card for the storage facility.
After swiping the card at three different card readers, I make it back to my locker.
I unlock my locker and use the safety ladder to load my equipment back in.
I lock the locker and leave the facility.
I take a cab back home, but on occasion have opted to walk across town to the 6 train.

Total time elapsed: 4½-5 hours.

*Now, I could make this all easier on myself if I chose to take a cab to and from the games. But an eight-block, 10-minute walk with my equipment in tow is just short enough where I don't want to pay for the short commute, but just long enough to not look forward to.

What's worse about all this is that I often play twice a week on back-to-back nights. Meaning, after I complete this process late Thursday night, I rinse, wash, and repeat on Friday night. It's a rough life.

So why do I do it? That's what I asked myself after the first few games I played here. Why go through all this hassle? And then I quickly realized why: because I love the game. Simple, but true. Despite the time commitment, social sacrifices and lengths I go to just to get on the ice, I love the game enough to put up with all of the inconveniences that come with playing in New York City.

Maybe love *is* all you need.

Picking on PA

2008-04-13T20:10:00.005-04:00

So in reviewing hundreds of resumes every week, I've come to realize that Pennsylvania has the worst city names of any state. Now I know that every state has its fair share of strange city names, but Pennsylvania's just strike me a little more bizarre than the rest. See for yourself:

• Altoona
• Bryn Mawr
• Coudersport
• Dillsburg
• Harrisburg
• Intercourse
• King of Prussia
• Oil City
• Orwigsburg
• Perryopolis
• Punxsutawney
• Rankin
• Scranton
• Shoemakersville
• Swarthmore
• Virginville
• West Conshohocken
• Wormleysburg
• Zelienople

Somehow I doubt that people from Virginville and Intercourse are friendly with each other.

Making Myself at Home

2008-04-05T14:24:00.006-04:00

So it's time for me to talk about my shoes.

Since I've been in the working world, I've been notorious for not wearing my shoes at my desk or around my immediate work area when I briefly leave my desk. My co-workers seem to think this is odd. Maybe it is. But I ask: Is it really so weird, or wrong?

I understand that outside of home and in public, it's normal for people to keep their shoes on. But hear me out for a second.

Shoes are primarily designed for walking, so when I'm sitting at my desk almost all day, is it really so odd to remove my shoes? Are your feet really more comfortable with them on? And yes, I know it looks unprofessional, but who can really see your feet under your desk?

There's also this myth that my feet will stink without my shoes on. But it's for precisely this reason that they won't stink, since my feet won't get sweaty from wearing shoes for 10 hours straight. Food for thought.

At my old job, walking around without my shoes caused some problems. Enough so that they had to institute a departmental shoe policy. At my new job, it hasn't become an issue yet. I take that as a positive.

Maybe before long I'll have started an office shoe-abandoning revolution. Just trying to put the "casual" back in business casual.

Celebrity Sighting #2

2008-03-18T23:34:00.010-04:00

After seeing Tim Robbins within days of moving to New York City, I was a little surprised that I hadn't seen another celebrity sooner. But they always seem to cross my path when I least expect it.

Last night my brother and I were getting a drink at Great Jones to kick off the St. Patty's Day celebration. We were sitting at the bar when a bearded Josh Hartnett walked up and surveyed the scene. As with Tim Robbins, there was that brief moment where our eyes met, I got that instant jolt of realization, and he knew that I knew.

And just like my other celebrity run-ins, I immediately thought of something I could say because I always feel compelled to connect with these people in some small but meaningful way. I know it's not the cool thing to do, but most of the stuff I do is uncool anyway. But, I bet Josh would have thought "Hey, Pearl Harbor sucked" was real uncool, so it's probably better that I kept my mouth shut.

Josh was apparently scouting the small, packed restaurant for seats. After coming up empty, he walked out but later returned with a group of his friends.

My brother and I thought it would be funny though if we gave up our seats at the bar for Josh and whatever bombshell actress he's dating now. Josh would be grateful and we would say "anytime, Josh" in an overly friendly manner.

Then we'd stand a few feet behind him the rest of the night, staring and eavesdropping while feigning real conversation. Josh would soon be onto us, though, and his mounting frustration would eventually snowball into some kind of dramatic confrontation or altercation.

Yep, the movies always beat real life.

Note: I did not take the picture above.

Lost and Gone Forever

2008-03-09T22:54:00.007-04:00

One of the worst feelings you can have is losing something. I'm not talking about someone close to you or The One Who Got Away. I'm talking about material goods—items both practical and sentimental. Specifically, my NYC winter hat.

I bought my hat when I first visited New York City in 2002. I was a tourist in search of a souvenir, and I happened to need a winter hat. I thought it was a good purchase because it wasn't your typical "I ♥ NY" memento. It did say "NEW YORK CITY", but it was a warm, good-looking hat, and I could say I got it from New York.

At first the hat served as more of a souvenir, collecting dust in my closet for a good year or two. Then at some point, I rediscovered it and decided that I might as well keep it in my winter coat and wear the thing. Yes, it was a plug for New York City, but what the hell. It's not like I lived there.

Given the warmer weather in Nashville, I didn't have to use the hat often. But since I've been living here for the past three months, I've got a lot of use out of it. At first I was a little self-conscious about wearing a New York City hat in New York City because I hadn't yet learned that nobody cares about what anyone wears, because you see it all. But my brother didn't think it was fashionable, so he tipped off my mom that I could use a new winter hat for Christmas. Santa brought one, but it turned out to be too small and too thin, leaving my head cold with it on. So I quickly reverted to Ol' Faithful.

Wearing the hat here seemed a little odd at first, but the more I wore it, the more I embraced it. It was part of my daily wardrobe, and it added character. Here, anyone on the street who actually thought about me wearing a NYC hat assumed that I was a tourist—but they were wrong! You know how I like to keep people guessing.

Last week, I lost my hat. I took it off in a taxi and somehow left it behind when I exited the cab, even after I did a quick check to make sure I wasn't missing anything. But somehow its dark-blue hue eluded me in the darkness of 3Y10's backseat. It wasn't until I left for work the next morning that I realized the tragic loss.

Just like anything that you lose or misplace, there's that initial pang of panic that turns to instant regret the second you realize what you had is now gone. OH MY GOD, WHERE DID IT GO?? HOW COULD I HAVE LOST THAT?! IT WAS JUST HERE!

Over the next few days I made several calls to see if someone from the taxi company had recovered my hat, but there was no such luck. Someone recovered it, but I'll never know who. And they'll never know what it meant to me.

I've since bought another winter hat: a plain black one from a street vendor. It gets the job done, but it'll never be my NYC hat. I considered buying another one, but I knew it wouldn't be right. With me living here now, buying a replica would violate the whole spirit of the thing, especially since its significance was rendered when I coincidentally moved here. It can't be replaced.

***

I've noticed that some things seem to get lost even when you consciously try not to lose them. Take my birth certificate card for example. Before I moved from Nashville, I separated it from my wallet for better safekeeping. So of course when I needed to find it the other day, it had completely vanished. So much for safekeeping.

Losing these things reminds me of how someone futilely tries to change the future in a sci-fi film. No matter how hard you try to prevent something from getting lost, it's inevitably going to get misplaced one way or another. Even so, it doesn't make me want to turn back time any less to grab my hat from that cab.

$18.11

2008-02-26T23:32:00.007-05:00

So here’s the situation... On November 7th I gave my 60-day notice to vacate my apartment in Nashville, making my official move-out date January 7th, 2008. However, I moved out of the apartment early on December 3rd and returned the keys to the office. Even though I was physically absent from the apartment after December 3rd, I was legally bound to pay the rent through January 7th, which included extra month-to-month charges outside the expiration of my lease (effective December 1st). I was present for only two of those 37 days, but paid over $1,100 in rent. And I accepted that.

What I've had trouble accepting is the pending charge on my account that I was notified of last month. The balance is $18.11 for a water and sewer charge incurred between Dec. 2, 2007 and Jan. 7, 2008. I was surprised that I'd even been assessed this charge since it covered the 35 days that I didn't and couldn't use the sink or toilet from 887 miles away. Never minding the fact that water charges at The Landings are evenly split amongst each tenant, I called the office to express my objection about the bill. However, after leaving a message, no one returned my call as requested.

The past few weeks went by without incident, and with each passing day I felt more and more that they’d understood my position and cut me a break. So much so that last week, I filed the notice away; a sweet little victory of mine. Here I was, a consumer finally standing up for my rights. Score one for the home team.

Then the other day I received a final notice in the mail about my remaining balance of $18.11, including The Landings' right to take action with a collection agency should I not pay by March 7th.

I understand that by law, The Landings is entitled to this money and technically justified for collecting it because those charges were incurred on my account before I officially moved out. But let's go beyond a black-and-white frame of mind for a minute, and let's look at this situation on principle, because this is not about me being a cheapskate (which I am), or looking for a loophole (which I'm not).

After five-and-a-half years of giving The Landings my business and being a good neighbor, after all 67 months of never being late on a rent payment, and after being physically present for 5% of the time period in which I was charged, THIS IS HOW THEY SAY THANKS? Yes, it's only $18 bucks...but isn't that the point?? Over the years I spent thousands of dollars on rent, and they can’t waive an $18 fee that I was barely there to incur?

All that being said, I’m not exactly sure how to proceed. Here are my options:

a. Pay the bill
b. Don’t pay the bill, or
c. Pay only what I really owe

The good thing is that I can't really go wrong with any of these. But since I have to pick, I think I’ll go with Option C. That would strike a good middle ground between paying and not paying, and it would be the most just outcome of the three. I pay what I rightfully owe and The Landings gets something out of it in return. Everybody wins.

All I need to do is write a check for $0.98 and put it in the mail. Good. I'm glad that's settled.

Worst Album Title of the Year

2008-02-12T12:23:00.005-05:00

I know we're only six weeks into 2008, but it's going to be hard to find an album title that's worse than this one. It Is Time For A Love Revolution? Seriously??

It's not like Kravitz hasn't been on this ground before. His first album title, 1989's Let Love Rule, was similar in its amorous declaration but nowhere near this level of frank, hippie uncoolness.

Not the best way to make a comeback, Lenny.

Related: The Worst Song Title of All Time

No Tip for You

2008-02-06T23:04:00.002-05:00

I hate it when really nice bars have a bathroom attendant. (Do they even have one in the women's restroom??) The thing I can't get over is this: Why should I feel inclined to tip the guy for helping wash my hands? Why should I have to pay to use the restroom? I shouldn't.

But these guys—who won't let you escape without a squirt of soap, a paper towel, and an occasional mint—make you feel bad about not compensating them in some small dollar amount for their services. And it really bothers me.

The irony is this: Instead of making me feel comfortable during my visit to the bathroom, I feel uneasily obligated and slightly guilty for exiting the bathroom without dropping a tip. Yes, I respect the guy for spending his Saturday night in a men's bathroom dealing with increasingly drunk patrons and the likes of cheapskates like me. And I'll even admit that a bathroom attendant and his assortment of amenities contributes to the overall ambiance of the washroom—it's nice.

But unlike other things I may have purchased from the restaurant that night, I didn't choose for him to be there when I entered the bathroom. So there's just no way I can justify spending money in the bathroom for something so everyday as washing my hands.

Nothing personal, dude.

Going Up

2008-01-26T19:14:00.003-05:00

Elevators are strange, awkward places.

This is something I've always known but have never been reminded of on a daily basis like I am now. You see, I work in a building that has eight floors and one small, 4x4 elevator for over 400 people. There is a staircase, but for us 8th-floor dwellers, the elevator—as cramped as it gets—is usually the better option.

Since riding in a tiny elevator on a regular basis, I've become familiar with the different postures people assume in uncomfortable reaction to the sometimes severe invasion of their personal space. Not that I can blame them, but it makes for some interesting behavioral observations (especially since there's no elevator music). So, below are the different types of elevator riders that I've witnessed (and I'm sure there are others).

The Number Watcher
Most common. Given the pin-drop silence that the elevator seems to command as soon as its doors close, the only thing Number Watchers can focus on is the number representing the current floor, which can never change fast enough.

The Shoegazer
Very common. When in said uncomfortable situation, it's natural to instantly look down to the ground, which can't make eye contact back.

The Staring Off Into Spacer
Common. Does not want others to perceive him/her as an anxious Number Watcher, nor as the shy Shoegazer. Prefers instead to appear cold and detached, but remains just as uncomfortable on the inside.

The Small Talker
Relatively common. Involuntarily uses a defense mechanism to nervously initiate and perpetuate worthless conversation between uninterested parties. With everyone in earshot, the Small Talker's nervousness only increases the tension for everyone else—Shoegazers shoot up quick glances to see what floor they're on; the composure of normally cool-headed Staring Off Into Spacers is shaken.

The False Gadget Guy/Girl
Not as common. Quickly resorts to toying with closest handheld device. Uselessly navigates cellphone menus or mindlessly scrolls Blackberry wheel to take their minds off the awkwardness of the current situation.

The Oblivious Talker
Rare. Fearless. Carries on pre-elevator conversation as if he/she never entered an overcrowded elevator to begin with. Has total disregard for environmental and situational context. Takes the edge off for everyone. Steps off elevator just as he/she entered it.

Awkward elevator situations aside, there is one thing I like when I'm in an undersized elevator doing a sort of group hug with strangers. Outside in the real world, you can have all the money, power, and status you want. But in the elevator, you and your wall-squished face are no better than anyone else's. You're just another schmo like the rest of us.

Fade to Black

2008-01-23T23:39:00.004-05:00

Last night after work I walked over to 421 Broome St., site of Heath Ledger's tragic passing. I haven't seen Heath in many of his movies, nor have I ever understood why so many girls have gone gaga over him. But with his shocking death in the general SoHo neighborhood where I work, I just felt like it was something I should do.

When I got there it was what you'd expect: police and news vans with a decent crowd of reporters and people milling about. I'm not really sure what I was hoping to see. More than anything, I think I just wanted to say I was there since it was only a 10-minute walk, and at that point Ledger was already a headline across the globe.

Yesterday afternoon when a stunned co-worker uttered "Heath Ledger died," the words didn't sound right or real. And as the day went on, it was still hard for me to accept. Heath Ledger is THE JOKER in the new Batman movie. He CAN'T be dead. I continued to wrestle over it in my mind as I tried to focus on my work. And then Metallica's "Fade To Black" started playing on my iPod.

Life it seems to fade away...

Ledger was the star of the first Batman trailer released just a month ago. So much so that it prompted my brother to rhetorically ask, "Is this a Joker movie?"

"It's the most fun I've had with a character and probably will ever have," Ledger told MTV last November. "It was an exhausting process. At the end of the day I couldn't move. I couldn't talk. I was absolutely wrecked."

Based on reports of his physical and mental state in his final days, playing the Joker in The Dark Knight apparently took its toll. Ledger may have gotten so deep in the role that he never found his way out of the dark.

"Last week, I probably slept an average of two hours a night," Ledger told The New York Times in November. "I couldn't stop thinking. My body was exhausted, and my mind was still going."

Like the majority of people, I was surprised as anybody a few years ago when they cast Ledger as the Joker in the next Batman film. I just didn't see it. But the more I thought about it, I had a feeling that the right choice had been made. And although we won't know for sure until July, Ledger has apparently turned in an extraordinary performance. And as a swan song, it will be a haunting, unforgettable one.

Timing

2008-01-19T12:24:00.002-05:00

"Life—it's about timing. Timing is everything."
—Nathaniel Fisher, Sr. • Six Feet Under

Now that the dust has settled from the whirlwind that's been my life for the past two months, I've been thinking a lot about timing. It's one of those things that a lot of times is never right. But when it is, it's amazing to think about and look back upon.

First is the timing with my job. As much as I loved Nashville, I'd been wanting to make a change in my life before 2008 hit. The beginning of a new year is always a reflective time for me, and come 2008, I just didn't want to be in the same place doing the same thing I'd been doing for the past five-plus years. I was single, unattached, and about to turn 28. I'm not a big carpe diem kind of guy, but I knew I had to seize the moment while I still could. For whatever reason, I just had this sense—this calling—that it was time to do something different with my life and embark on a new adventure. Initially I was open to going wherever life led me, but sometime in mid-2007, I had this feeling that New York would be the place for me. The job opportunities, the lifestyle, and the people I knew there. For me, New York had the best future to offer.

2007 was winding down, but I managed to interview for a job toward the end of October. I then accepted it on November 1st, knowing that the 16th would be my last day at work and November 26th would be the start date at my new company. About a week after accepting the job, and with the search for NYC living quarters underway, I got a call from my brother on a Saturday morning. His girlfriend had just moved out of the apartment and he was in need of a roommate. Just one week.

Quickly realizing that the opportunity was too special to pass up, the living situation became a no-brainer. Chris needed a dependable roommate fast, and I needed an affordable place to live even faster. The fact that we've always been close (and understand each other like no one outside our family) made it even sweeter. I officially filled the vacancy on November 25th, a day before starting my job. Living with Chris in our newly converted bachelor pad in New York City has been one of the best things that's happened to me, and hopefully him.

Good timing manifested itself in smaller ways, too. Five days after I accepted the job, my dad came to Nashville for a work conference. He emptied one of our vans and drove it down so that he could load it up with my non-essential items. He would later come back to repeat the process during my final move-out, but the initial van-ful was crucial. The trip to Nashville had been on his calendar; my plans to move to New York had not.

Then there was my cat Buddy. My co-worker Lisa had always wanted him, but planned on getting a cat of her own in early 2008. Lucky for her, she got what she wanted just in time. And with me leaving town, my hockey team needed a goalie to fill my spot. Fortunately, my friend Jeff, who I'd just started hanging out with, was the perfect candidate. He'd been looking to get back on the ice but never had much of an opportunity. With these sacrifices, the timing had nothing to do with me, other than the fact that I was able to make it right for others.

Of course, there were times when it seemed like nothing would ever change. But in hindsight, I can't imagine things working out better any other way. Sure, I ended up staying in Nashville a little longer than what I originally wanted, but 2007 was one of the best years of my life because I was in Nashville and was able to spend it with the people I love there. And for that, there are no regrets.

Amazingly, though, everything went according to plan (and not just my own). As the ball began to drop on New Year's Eve, I stood there at a loft party in Brooklyn, surveying the sea of festive partygoers. I smiled, realizing that I was bringing in a new year in a new place—just as I'd wanted, and almost as if I'd willed it. I guess in the end, you just have to be patient.

Yep. Timing is everything.

My Hero

2008-01-16T00:18:00.000-05:00

Finally, someone who understands my love for Chinese buffets:

The M.L. Guide to Beating the All-You-Can-Eat Chinese Food Buffet

A synopsis:

If there is one thing I could be considered an expert on, it’s Chinese buffets. I am a huge fan of the all-you-can-eat Chinese food buffet (emphasis on the HUGE). The concept of all-you-can-eat is brilliant on its own, but once you throw in one of my all-time favorite foods (Chinese), you’ve got one of the greatest inventions of all time.

I really love Chinese Buffets. And it is not just the fact that you get to stuff your face (something I enjoy doing very much). It’s also the no-waiting (you start eating right after you sit down), the variety (it’s the spice of life!) and of course, the competition. That’s right: the competition. You vs. the Buffet. The price is really just a dare—a sign that says “All U Can Eat for $14.50″ might as well just say "I dare you to eat more than $14.50 worth of food. Signed, The Buffet."

Basically, your goal from the moment you walk into the buffet should be: win the game. And the game is to eat so much food that the restaurant loses money. You want to eat so much that when they see you come back the next time, they get scared. You want them to worry that if you eat at their buffet too often, they might have to close it down. But before you can learn how to beat your enemy, you must KNOW your enemy. So here are some tips for beating the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.

Sit as close to the buffet as possible.
Never order a soda.
Your first plate should be a feeler plate.
Seafood is a make-or-break item; both a blessing and a curse.
Beware of the “American” food.
When you think you’ve eaten as much as you can handle, eat the crab.
Don’t waste your time on the desserts.

And finally, DON’T EAT THE BREAD!

#1 Crush

2008-01-15T00:25:00.001-05:00

There’s a girl at work who I’ve barely spoken to but feel like I know all her best qualities just by observing her throughout the day in our open-office environment. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but every time I watch her, she just carries this amazing energy, and I wonder if I’m the only one who picks up on it.

She moves in this carefree, self-assured-but-not-overly-confident kind of way, all while keeping a sweet and pleasant face to the world. It’s her constant casual spirit that I love because nothing can faze her. She’s pretty but not too pretty, and doesn't worry about getting dolled up because she knows she’s naturally beautiful.

I feel like this is a girl I could fall in love with—if she and her damn boyfriend would ever break up.

Well, maybe office romances aren’t such a great idea anyway.

What Lies Beneath

2008-01-06T15:09:00.003-05:00

So I just finished watching the HBO series Six Feet Under on DVD. For the unaware, this show does not feature a grown-up version of The Breakfast Club’s Anthony Michael Hall, as I mistakenly thought for years. (That’s The Dead Zone.) Instead, it follows the personal and professional lives of the Fisher family in their business as funeral directors in Southern California. It was this not-so-uplifting premise that prevented me from ever taking interest in watching the series. After all, I’ve never been to a funeral (knock on wood), and the mere thought of a show based around a funeral home was downright depressing. But on the confidence of strong recommendations from family and co-workers (many of whom surprised me by saying it was their favorite show), I decided it was time to check it out.

The first episode was the only one I found especially hard to watch because of the mental adjustment I had to make. Around that time I’d enjoyed eating dinner each night to an episode of The Sopranos. As I started to repeat the routine with the first episode of Six Feet Under, I quickly lost my appetite and realized that I’d underestimated the shifting subject matter. Not only did the show unblinkingly and unforgivingly depict people’s deaths in natural and not-so-natural ways, but one of its main focuses was also on homosexual struggles. These major themes made me feel uncomfortable at first, but the show was compelling enough to keep watching.

After a few episodes I adjusted to the nature and content of the show, and it wasn’t long before I was hooked. The characters alive and dead; the keen editing; the dark humor; and the courage to tackle sobering subjects of which many know but few actually face. On the surface, Six Feet Under was dark and deep, but the show wasn’t just about death and dying. In fact, it had everything to do with life and love, family and friends—even if they were far from perfect. Death? No. In its own unconventional way, Six Feet Under was a celebration of life.

As a buddy warned me, Six Feet Under has several sad and affective moments that at times brought my manhood into question. But in all these moments, nothing compared to what I experienced toward the end of the fifth and final season. With the death of a major character, I felt myself not only sobbing at the unexpected loss, but grieving with the rest of the Fisher family. And with the conclusion of the series looming like a specter, I was also in bereavement for the passing of the show itself, mourning over the loss of characters who’d unknowingly become so real to me.

The show’s tagline states, “Every day above ground is a good one.” And with this thought, the biggest thing I learned from watching Six Feet Under was that in my 27 years of being alive, I’ve never fully appreciated life—mostly because I’ve never had to face its counterpart. And without daily reminders and brushes with danger, it’s easy to forget about the fleeting nature of life, the omnipresence of death, and how everything can change in a second. Even when life is bad, it’s still life...

Nathaniel (deceased): You aren’t even grateful, are you?
David: Grateful? For the worst fucking experience of my life?
Nathaniel: You hang onto your pain like it means something, like it’s worth something. Well let me tell ya, it’s not worth shit. Let it go. Infinite possibilities and all he can do is whine.
David: Well what am I supposed to do?
Nathaniel: What do you think? You can do anything, you lucky bastard—you’re alive! What’s a little pain compared to that?
David: It can’t be that simple.
Nathaniel: What if it is?

Cleverly conceived and artfully executed, Six Feet Under is serial television at its finest. But beyond its entertainment value, the series leaves behind a legacy for anyone who watches it. The next time I drive by a funeral home or eventually lose someone close to me, it will be impossible not to recall Six Feet Under. Even in death, I can’t help but think that Six Feet Under has prepared me for life.

Best Songs of 2007

2008-01-01T19:04:00.006-05:00

Was 2007 the fastest year ever for everyone else? I don’t know what it was, but this year flew by quicker than any other I can remember. And unlike most years, I was conscious of it the whole time it was happening. Geeze, is it June already? November? Damn. 2008? Man, there goes the decade.

I may just be getting older and snobbier, but with the perpetuating proliferation of emo groups and brood bands, I maintain that the quality of rock music being put out these days just keeps getting worse. (I think Tom Petty would agree with me.) It's evident in the number of albums I've bought over the past seven years. Let's examine:

• 2001: 16 albums bought
• 2002: 49
• 2003: 32
• 2004: 7
• 2005: 17
• 2006: 13
• 2007: 2

That's right, I purchased just two albums this year: Rush's Snakes & Arrows and Sigur Rós's Huerf/Heim, which, as a double-disc EP with only five new songs, barely qualifies. But I bought it, and Rush needs some company anyway.

So given the dearth of albums I liked in 2007, I thought I'd go a different route, and for the first time rank my favorite songs of the year. So, without further ado....

Top 10 Songs of 2007

“Keep The Car Running” — The Arcade Fire
Opens with an elegant buildup of strings and drums, and never lets up.
"Life Is Beautiful" — Sixx: A.M. (Nikki Sixx)
Quite simply has one of the most ferociously ass-kicking guitar riffs I've ever heard.
"Bouncing Off Clouds" — Tori Amos
Could be the hippest, most bobbing-beat song from the Redhead Piano Princess.
"Underground Dream" — Son Volt
A pretty ballad that shines small but brilliant rays of hope.
"The Last Fight" — Velvet Revolver
A throwback to Scott Weiland's Stone Temple Pilots days, and the only really good thing to come out of the second Velvet Revolver album.
"Your Illusion" — Hanson
Yes, Hanson is still around, and they're really on my list. Shut up.
"Anniversary" — Suzanne Vega
Vega returns with a quiet but pensive track for mandatory end-of-the-day unwinding.
"Pour Le Monde" — Crowded House
A more serious ballad that uses the French phrase "Pour le monde, pas pour la guerre," which translates to "For the world, not for the war," and allows me a rare opportunity to apply five years of French.
"Good Morning After All" — Collective Soul
Another year, another pick-me-up ballad from Atlanta's alterna-pop rockers. And another opportunity to plug my review of their Home album.
"Dreamworld" — Rilo Kiley
An ignorance-is-bliss tale that combines melodic grooves and Ivy-like harmonization

The Concrete Jungle

2007-12-29T17:04:00.006-05:00

I go my way alone, grow my own
My own seeds shall be sown
In New York City...

I’ve been living in New York for just over a month now, and it’s hard to believe that this is my new home. For most of my life, New York has been a mystical sort of place. Like Los Angeles, it was a city that I’d heard of every day in way or another, but had never seen firsthand. This existential notion made me feel like New York City almost wasn’t a real place. All of that made the experience very surreal upon my first visit in late February 2002, especially on the heels of the 9/11 attacks.

It was my senior year of college and my club hockey team had made the trip up to the city for the national tournament. We didn’t have a lot of time to sightsee, but through a coach’s connection with the NYPD, we were able to take a private tour of Ground Zero normally reserved for families of the victims. Simultaneously visiting the city and the site of the terrorist attacks produced one of the strangest feelings in me. Not only was I finally in New York City, but I was bearing witness to the aftermath of the worst terrorist attack in this country’s history. I was walking on hallowed ground, and suddenly both New York City and 9/11 were very real to me. It hit me the hardest when I saw hundreds of pictures of those missing. People my age—real people—gone forever. In the end it was a sad afternoon, but also a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Onto a happier note… Not long ago I asked a friend who moved to New York earlier this year what he thought about living in the city. He responded by saying that at times, the city can make you feel the lowest of lows. But at others, like walking home at night, you look up to the sky, take in the cool night air and feel that you’re living in the best city in the world.

So far, my experience has been more of the latter. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, but upon moving to New York, my prevailing feeling is that the city is a living, breathing entity; a massive colossus of concrete. And its life force is the collective population of its 8.2-million people, always moving and dynamically interacting.

What sets New York apart from other places is its personality and charm; it has character, and everything feels real here. Real people, real places, real life. They’re all part of something I like to call "the three Ps": people, promises, and possibilities. And they’re all interrelated.

The people are largely what make New York New York. As the ultimate melting pot of culture, it’s a people watcher’s dream. On the subway alone you’ll see members of every race, age, country, class, gender, transgender, and so on. And the best part is that nobody cares. There’s no racism, no discrimination. Nobody cares about the different colors of our skin or our other petty differences that are given more attention elsewhere, because none of it matters. In New York, there are bigger concerns and ambitions that simultaneously bring people together and send them on their way, as is evident on the subway every day. The city’s driven by opportunity and individualism, but as New Yorkers, there’s also a palpable sense of unity—that we’re all in it together.

Then there are the possibilities. With so many different types of people and things to do, the possibilities seem endless here. You never know when you might run into Tim Robbins or what random thing you might get into on a Saturday night. The possibilities are completely open and invigorating. In a sense, living here feels a lot like being in college, especially not having to worry about getting a DUI as you stumble home from the bar. And judging by the sheer amount of drinking that people do here, it does indeed feel very much like being back in college :)

I’ve noticed that people who’ve never been to New York City have the perception that the city is this dark, cold, dangerous place (as is often portrayed on TV and in the movies). I, too, had that perception before I’d ever visited. Apparently the city was that way before Rudy Giuliani was mayor and proceeded to clean up the streets. Like any city, NYC has its bad parts, but for the most part, Manhattan is now one of the safest places in the U.S. And while it can be cold, it was also about 55° and sunny on December 28th (for what it’s worth in this hottest year ever).

The other common misconception is that New Yorkers are not friendly people. From who I’ve met so far, I can’t confirm this to be true. I will say that New Yorkers are not as openly and immediately hospitable as, say, your average Southerner, who will usually flash a friendly smile and a quick hello as you pass them by. But most locals are still helpful and respectful as people would be anywhere. And again, there’s that feeling that we’re all in it together. New Yorkers and transplanted New Yorkers all understand what it’s like to be lost in the city, and don’t have a problem telling you where Hudson Street is or where to get on the C train.

All that being said, New York obviously isn’t for everyone. Even I had the same initial feeling that most people have after visiting for the first time: “It’s a nice place to visit, but I could never live there.” And here I am.

It’s true that you sacrifice some peace, space, and money by living in New York, but for most people who are here, the rewards are greater, and the future is promises. And for me, the best part is knowing that at this time in my life, I’m where I’m supposed to be.

...and I thank the Lord for the people I have found
I thank the Lord for the people I have found.