Happy Birthday Gwaz

Happy 61st Ron!

Methinks you will enjoy thoust Shakespeare action figure...

More of these action figures here.

ADIOS, or Language Math

I thought this interesting enough to post:

ADIOS, or Automatic Distillation of Structure

This raises questions about language, and (very) indirectly, about how one thinks. People have been in search of patterns to how we think about things for centuries; how far away from that are patterns to how we communicate with each other?

Happy Birthday Sam

21 today. don't be stoopid.

21st Birthday Drinking Pyramid
Turning 21 finally loses its mystique
B.R.A.D. - Be Responsible About Drinking.

Opening Day 2005

Of all of the baseball-related things I've had the pleasure of experiencing first-hand over the years, the 2005 Opening Day Ceremonies at Fenway Park had to be one of the best...right up there with the 99 All-Star Game fanfare (with the last appearance of Ted Williams at Fenway and some mammoth Mark McGuire homers) and games 4 and 5 of last year's ALCS against the New York Chokers, er, Yankers. These guys really know how to do it here, and what we saw there truly lived up to at least my expectations.

Some had to complain, however, as has become the nature of the Boston Sports fan...more specifically the Boston Sports Radio personalities. Granted, the song written by Terry Cashman, "Teddy Ballgame", wasn't exactly the catchiest tune on the planet, but I think most nay-sayers simply missed the point here. Stop complaining...the Sox won the series.

I knew the Red Sox would pull out all the stops for this one. What a treat it was to see the banner raised, Boston sports all-time guys like Orr and Russell throw out the first pitches, and of course the distribution of the rings, particularly the one that went to Johnny Pesky. Standing ovation, no question. Tear in the eye, no doubt.

Other highlights worth mentioning: the uproarious applause and sarcastic standing ovation given to Mariano Rivera upon his introduction. He was cool about it, grinning ear to ear, and even gave a wave to the crowd...Joe Torre also got a loud ovation, though I got the sense it was much more on the genuine side, which was nice. Things are different around here now as far as the hatred of the Yankees is concerened; they have been defeated, in a major way, and it seems as though the fans are now actually allowing for a bit of respect to be shown to at least one of our most hated rivals. The comical highlight of the day came when, during a moment of silence for the recently deceased Dick Raditz, a fan on left field VERY clearly shouted "A-Rod, you SUCK!", a comment heard by apparently 90% of the people there and that led to a round of chuckles and gaffaws.

Oh, then the Sox beat the Yankess...always a great way to start the home season...

Sincerely, California

Forwarded from a Professor at M.I.T.

Dear President Bush:

Congratulations on your victory over all us non-evangelicals. Actually, we're a bit ticked off here in California, so we're leaving. California will now be its own country, and we're taking all the Blue States with us. In case you are not aware, that includes Hawaii, Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, and all of the Northeast. We spoke to God, and God agrees that this split will be beneficial to almost everybody, and especially to us in the new country of California. In fact, he's so excited, God is going to shift the whole country at 4:30 pm EST this Friday. Therefore, please let everyone know they need to be back in their states by then.

So you get Texas and all the former slave states. We get the Governator, stem cell research and the best beaches. We get Elliot Spitzer. You get Ken Lay. We get the Statue of Liberty. You get OpryLand. We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom. We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss. We get 85% of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get all the technological innovation in Alabama. We get about two-thirds of the tax revenue, and you get to make the red states pay their fair share. Since our divorce rate is 22% lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. You get a bunch of single moms to support, and we know how much you like that. Did I mention we produce about 70% of the nation's veggies?  But heck, the only greens the Bible-thumpers eat are the pickles on their Big Macs. Oh yeah, another thing, don't plan on serving California wine at your state dinners. From now on it's imported French wine for you. (Ouch, bet that hurts!)

Just so we're clear, the country of California will be pro-choice and anti-war. Speaking of war, we're going to want all Blue States' citizens back from Iraq. If you need people to fight, just ask your evangelicals. They have tons of kids they're willing to send to their deaths for absolutely no purpose. And they don't care if you don't show pictures of their kids' caskets coming home. Anyway, we wish you all the best in the next four years and we hope, really hope, you find those missing weapons of mass destruction. Seriously. Soon.

With the Blue States in hand, the Democrats have firm control of 80% of the country's fresh water, over 90% of our pineapple and lettuce, 92% of all fresh fruit production, 93% of the artichoke production, 95% of America's export quality wines, 90% of all cheese production, 90% of the high tech industry, most of the US low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools, plus Amherst, Stanford, Berkeley, CalTech and MIT. We can live simply but well.

The Red States, on the other hand, now have to cope with 88% of all obese Americans (and their projected health care cost spike), 92% of all US mosquitoes, nearly 100% of all tornadoes, 90% of all hurricanes, 99% of all Southern Baptists, 100% of all Televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia...a high price to pay for controlling the presidency. Additionally, 38% of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually eaten by a whale, 62% believe life is sacred unless we're discussing the death penalty or  gun laws, 44% believe that evolution is just a theory, 53% that Saddam Hussein was involved in 9/11 and - most hard to grasp - 61% that Bush is a person of moral conviction.

Sincerely,
California

Who knows if any of the stats are accurate. I love the facetious delivery, though...

We'll Miss You, Monster

Dick Radatz. The Monster.

He's one of the names forever linked to the Red Sox uniform. Though he was given his most recognizable moniker because of his looming stature and blazing fastball, and was even known for a short while as the less acceptable "Creature" on an WEEI show, he never struck me as one with an attitude problem or undesirable disposition in any way. He was a big man with a big smile, and he grew even bigger as he got older, both in size and reputation; I can see how opposing batters may have felt a bit intimidated as they looked out to the mound and saw him. He was one of if not the most successful relievers of his time, a time where stats like "saves" had a different definition. The man had 181 strikeouts as a reliever in 1964. I never saw him play, but I have had the pleasure of listening to his scratchy but cheerful voice as he was a regular on TV postgame shows, local radio shows, and Red Sox related events.

Many stories and factoids are told of Radatz, and many artcles will undoubtedly be written about him as a result of his untimely death. Here, for what they are worth, are my favorite Radatz factoid and my favorite Raditz-related memory.

Mickey Mantle, the Yankee great who is unquestionably one of the greatest all-around ballplayers of all-time, was the man who gave Radatz his ominous nickname, and he had good reason to think of this opposing pitcher this way. For his career, Mantle was 1-66 against Radatz, with 1HR and 44K. Unreal. I guess Radatz had Mantle's number, eh?

I remember one afternoon listening to WEEI in the afternoon, and the guests that day included Rico Petricelli, in studio, and Dennis Eckersley via phone. At one point Eck said something about relievers, and I think Radatz in particular, that really pissed off Rico, who promptly challenged Eck to come down to the station to "discuss the matter further". Nobody messes with the Monster, Hall of Fame or not, at least not when his former teammates are around, testament to the quality of both his pitching ability and his character.

Everyone in Red Sox nation as well as anyone who knows the game of baseball will miss Dick Radatz. He will always be Fenway's most famous and revered Monster, as far as I'm concerned.

RedSox.com Article
HOF Article
Boston.com article

Red Sox Reflections

My father dug this out from his email archive. It was something he sent to a friend the day after the Sox won the Series.

Buenos Dias

I hope your apartment stuff is going well. As I take a break from my first class this morning, I'm still pinching myself about what happened with the olde towne team this past week. I'd like to share some of my experiences with you.

Saturday, October 16th, as we're leaving the 19 to 8 debacle with the Yankees, Spencer says, "I hate the Red Sox. I hate baseball. I'm sorry you ever taught me to love them."

Dmitri the pizza guy was so excited last Wednesday night, he gave my meal for free. Top of the first, Sox go ahead. Middle of the third, Edwin calls, "Whaoaoao, youfuckhuhwawawa!"
"Hey Edwin, where are you?
"Hey brother, Amascarawcelebrateshithafucknyou!"
"Alright man, be careful, OK?"
"Whassamatta, How come you're not fucknawawawa, huh?"
"Call me back later, Edwin."
Click
Bottom of the sixth, Spencer calls, "Hey, you OK?"
"Everything's cool, what are you doing?"
"I'm at Al's place with a bunch of people. Dad, do you believe this is really happening?
"Not really; I think that's my problem."
"Call you back later."
"Cool. Bye."
Seventh inning stretch, during "God Bless America:"
Sister-in-law Denise calls, "Joe, I admire how you've done this over the years, every day, every night with this team. These past three weeks have been too much for me."
"It's a labor of love Denise."
"Why aren't you with Spence?"
"He invited me to be with him and his pals, but I think I have to do this alone."
"Are you going to be alright?"
"Sure. The pizza is already sliced. No knives necessary."
"Ha ha. bye."
"Bye."
Top of the eighth: Edwin: "Fahooshawooh man! Come on, bawashooma..."
"I have another call, Edwin."
"JOE! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOIN'?'
"Talking to someone I don't know."
"IT'S EDDY!'
It was Crazy Eddy. When I was a teenager, Eddy lived across the street. He had a great way of dealing with stress. When he became overwhelmed with everything, like a crazy person, he would run up and down the street screaming, "FUCK YOU, FUCK ME, FUCK EVERYBODY!"
"Hey Eddy, thanks for calling. Fuck you."
"FUCK ME? FUCK YOU! FUCK EVERYBODY!"
click.
Middle of the ninth. Edwin: "Are you ready to scrawhoshowasalooga?"
"I promise, when it's over, I will."
click.
As soon as the game was over, I was stunned, as a matter of fact, I still am. I watched all of the post game hoopla until 3:00am. Edwin called twice more, each time more indecipherable than the previous time. Denise called one more time, just to check on my welfare.
2:30am- Spencer:"Dad, I'm on the corner of Boylston and Mass. Ave. I want to share with you just how great this is."
"Thanks, Spence. I really appreciate that."
"Dad?"
"Yeah, Spence?"
"I love you."

Ahhh...what a touching ending. Needless to say watching the Red Sox finally win a World Series was an experience abound with joy and anticipation (I even set up a video camera in the room in which we were watching the game and recorded us watching the ninth inning, just to capture the moment forever...call me geeky, whatever). Shortly after the game I called on Pop, and when he didn't answer I feared the worst: death by elation. Luckily, he called back a few minutes later, and we had a moment.

I also had lots of friends calling me that night, and it was great to hear from so many thoroughly jubilant people. The city was electric, and it was a no-brainer that if there was ever a night to hit the city streets and celebrate, it was that night in Boston. Horns a-honkin, hi-fives a-slappin, and a moutain of smiles were had that night, and I just had to call the old man, sleeping or not, to at least sort of be there with me.

Baseball, to me, is more than just something my father and I both enjoy; it's the one thing I affiliate most with him and my relationship with him. As happy as I was that night, I was more excited to think of what he was feeling, and suddenly I found myself thinking not of the victory at all, but rather about how lucky I was to have this guy as a parent, and a friend.


So, all the heartfelt stuff aside, here we are at mid-March, in the midst of spring training, and I still haven't completely accepted the outcome of the biggest postseason in Red Sox history. I mean, I know they won, and I've watched the highlight DVDs several times each since then, but in the back of my head it's so surreal it's as if it never happened.

It did, though...

The Red Sox finally won the World Series.

AIM Privacy Scam

Ah, the internet. Home to so much connectivity and convenience, so much ability and information. It seems as though everyone I know uses it in one way or another, if only to use email or check the local weather...even my father checks out sports stories, and my mother stays (somewhat) hip to the latest music. The ability to expoit the resources available is not merely limited to us end users, however, and AOL is taking its own advantage of the world wide web's relative childhood and unregulated nature.

AOL announced their new terms of service recently, in which they boldy declare that any information you or I send over AIM or any AIM-compatible service essentially belongs to them, and they can use it any way they want. This includes your "lol"s, your cameraphone pics, audio and video chats, and anything else you send across IM. We might as well grant the USPS the right to open every letter they handle and do what they want with the contents. I see this as a blatant, albeit not yet illegal, invasion of our privacy.

So how do we deal with the AOL eye looking constantly over our shoulders? There seem to be three basic choices: deal with it and don't send sensitive information over IM, encrypt everything you do send, or stop using AIM altogether. I am at a point where I rely on IM as a major means of communication, so I don't want to give it up, and I already employ a "no sensitive information" rule. My favorite client, iChat, has no kind of encryption capability (so far as I know), and some of the other mac-happy clients do not have audio nor video chat capabilities. Ugh...if anyone knows of an easy encryption method for IM, lemme know.

AOL is now more of a bullshit organization than ever. Do we need some new kind of onine legislation? If so, what should it address? In what ways would any new kind of regulation affect us, and what we currently are able to get away with?

Read the story

We all hate being wrong.

I came across this in a book I'm reading, and thought it worth archiving somewhere...

From The Mind in the Making by James Harvey Robinson:

We sometimes find ourselves changing our minds without any resistance or heavy emotion, but if we are told we are wrong, we resent the imputation and harden our hearts. We are incredibly heedless in the formation of our beliefs, but find ourselves filled with an illicit passion for them when anyone proposes to rob us of their companionship. It is obviously not the ideas themselves that are dear to us, but our self-esteem which is threatened....The little word "my" is the most important one in human affairs, and properly to reckon with it is the beginning of wisdom. It has the same force whether it is "my" dinner, "my" dog, and "my" house, or "my" father, "my" country, and "my" God. We not only resent the imputation that our watch is wrong, or our car shabby, but that our conception of the canals on Mars, of the pronunciation of "Epictetus", of the medicinal value of salicin, or of the date of Sargon I is subject to revision. We like to continue to believe what we have been accustomed to accept as true, and the resentment aroused when doubt is cast upon any of our assumptions leads us to seek every manner of excuse for clinging to it. The result is that most of our so-called reasoning consists in finding arguments for going on believing as we already do.

Heeyah and Theyah

For the record, having and using a Boston accent outside of Boston is a secret pleasure, particularly if you are meeting people for the first time. Sometimes you get a feeling that you are representing your hometown, and I am happy to represent Boston...every part of it. I also think I can do a much better job of it than, say, Ben Affleck or Rob Mariano.

You don't really notice how much of an accent you have until you travel, and sometimes being in other places subconsciously (and maybe even sometimes consciously) amplifies the phoenetics unique to your accent. At one point in a conversation tonight the perennial "I love your accent" comment was had. I of course loved the acknowledgment and smiled, but as soon as I was conscious of my "pahked cahs in Hahvid Yahd" I noticed them becoming even more pronounced, almost uncontrolably...I was in a rut for a few. This smacks of language cognition, and is worth more study....I'll put it on the list of shit to do.

It got me thinking about the Boston accent. I believe there to be various "dialects" specific maybe to region. North of Boston, south of Boston, even the classic Ted Kennedy / Mayor Quimby Beacon Hill "Brahmin" accent. What are the key differences? What do you look out for? How do you gather information? Why is it interesting to me at all?

Where is everybody?

Have you ever noticed that when you're flying in a plane, no other planes are in sight, ever? I'm not talking about the air traffic you might see when coming in for a landing...I'm talking about up in the air, thousands of feet up. To and from this last trip I had a window (and because the plane was so small it was also an aisle) seat, and I swear I looked and looked and not one plane could be seen. Exactly how many planes are in the air at a time? Maybe it's part of an elaborate set of safety precautions in the name of national defense; lawd knows there's a bunch of new procedures in place already. This is the first time I've flown in a while, and getting through security included everyone removing their shoes, electronics, even the testing of my laptop to make sure it was a computer (I guess). These aren't really complaints...more like observations. I like the idea of going through those motions, especially if it means a safer plane trip.

They did let me go by without ever taking off my hat, though. Who knows what I could have had in there?

I blame the President. Time to remove him from office, as he is clearly not the man for the task at hand...letting people get on planes with hats and all. How irresponsible!

I Know I Have No Wings

There are lots of things in this world of which I can somewhat confidantly say I have no fear. Cruising at 33,000 feet above the ground strapped into the human equivalent of a sardine can is not one of them. Smaller planes only make matters worse, and as you realize there are only 20-some odd people on the plane, you realize that if you do crash on some remote island, the chances of having a doctor or a survivalist or even a former hobbit present aren't as good as those on a certain ABC sitcom. The older I get, the more I am aware of the fact that there is no ground underneath...or rather that the ground is a long way down. As the old man says: Gravity will always win.

Title Town is right...

Nothing like 3 Super Bowls in 4 years...

What I still find surreal is the fact that Boston teams have been so successful of late. We just sandwiched a World Series title between two Super Bowls, becoming the second city ever in history to do so (Pittsburgh,78/79 I think). Amazing. You gotta understand, most cities never come close to experiencing the kind of sports fan euphoria in Boston right now. We as a city came close in the mid-eighties (1986 Pats lost, Celitcs won, Red Sox...well), but it was over a year pretty much, not over a bunch of years. Besides, I was only 10, so I really had no idea. It's had to put into words how good it feels to be here now, particularly after so many years of (sometimes gut-wrenching) heartbreak.

This is Title Town.
Another parade tomorrow.

AL-9000 Super Bowl XXXIX post
Bill Simmons Super Bowl Blog

Sexist at Heart

Amidst all the junk and jokes one recieves in the mail, there are occasionally prizes. I found myself in a similar situation last week, which prompted this post:

 A sign in the Bank Lobby reads: "Please note that this bank is installing new "Drive-through" teller machines. Customers using this new facility are requested to use the below outlined procedures when accessing their accounts. MALE & FEMALE procedures have been developed after months of careful research.

MALE PROCEDURE
1. Drive up to the cash machine.
2. Insert card into machine and enter PIN.
3. Enter amount of cash required and withdraw.
4. Retrieve card, cash and receipt.
5. Drive off.

FEMALE PROCEDURE
1. Drive up to cash machine.
2. Reverse and back up the required amount to align car window with the machine.
3. Set parking brake, put the window down
4. Find handbag; remove all contents on to passenger seat to locate card.
5. Turn the radio down.
6. Attempt to insert card into machine.
7. Open the car door to allow easy access to machine due to its excessive distance from the vehicle.
8. Insert card.
9. Reinsert card the right way up.
10. Dig through handbag to find diary with your PIN written on the inside back page.
11. Enter PIN.
12. Press cancel and reenter correct PIN.
13. Enter amount of cash required.
14. Check make up in rear view mirror.
15. Retrieve cash and receipt.
16. Empty handbag again to locate wallet and place cash inside.
17. Place receipt in back of checkbook.
18. Recheck make-up again.
19. Drive forward 2 feet.
20. Reverse back to cash machine.
21. Retrieve card.
22. Re-empty hand bag, locate cardholder, and place card into the slot provided.
23. Give appropriate one-fingered hand signal to irate male driver lined up behind you.
24. Restart stalled engine and pull away.
25. Drive for 2 to 3 miles.
26. Release Parking Brake

Fantastic Four Movie

I came across this
...looks good. Will it take the title of "Best Comic Book Hero Movie"? Who has the title now? Spiderman?
Batman? Maybe you're more of a Captain America type?!?