How many can you get?

And Great Lyrics Quiz Rock Roll The

I guessed 42/50, and got 41/50 right.

Resurrection / The Myth of Letter Writing

I've decided to resurrect my long-dormant blog. I can't promise too much, but I will do my best to add to the din of opinionated white guys on the internet.

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One of the books I have on my Amazon wish list is The Essential Groucho, a collection of the writings of Groucho Marx, including some of famous correspondence with T.S. Eliot. Marx was a famous letter-writer, and like Dickens, and Chekov and others, his letters have been collected into books for us to marvel at how wonderful correspondence was in the pre-internet days. And while I enjoy reading letters, I am not among the throngs of people crying for the death of the letter.

Letters were the primary form of communication for people who lived some distance apart to communicate. However, I doubt that many of the famous letter writing pairs, lets say Thomas Jefferson and John Adams at the end of their lives, would have preferred to write letters versus having a real-time conversation over the telephone, or a series of short emails or instant messages (or wall posts if we're really 21st century) in which they could reply at a more convenient and timely pace. Or would Chekov really had rather written to his wife who was acting 1400 miles away in St. Petersburg, or be able to video chat with her every night?

The reason letter writing died is not because we are lazy; it is because technology has trumped hand-writing letters. In a world where my 80 year old great-aunt has an email address and my 65 year old dad uses AIM at work, and where everyone I know has a cell phone, and where travel is far easier, faster, and cheaper than in years past, why would anyone write a letter today?

Sure, I love getting mail, and I love that feeling of seeing an actual piece of mail in my box as opposed to the mortgage bill or Duquesne looking for money - but i would gladly abandon that feeling altogether if it meant the regression of communication technology back even a decade.

That being said, fewer and fewer people can string together a few sentences nowadays, and maybe that is a reflection of a society in which proper letter writing isn't encouraged. However, proper writing instruction in schools could easily make up the difference in the lack of skill that young 'ins have lost because of letter writing.

But I'm not giving up email unless you pry the keyboard from my cold, dead fingers.

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Part of the reason i stopped blogging is because no one would ever respond to what i wrote. So respond!

Opening Day Genesis

Opening Day Genesis.
BY GLENN BIRKEMEIER

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In the big inning, God created Heaven on Earth. And it
was without form, and void. God separated the dirt
from the grass. He called the grass Outfield and the
dirt He called Infield. God made the Infield a 90-foot
square and the Outfield not less than 400 feet to
center and 320 feet down the lines. He declared this
Fair Territory. All other territory, God then
declared, was Foul.

And God divided the players into two teams of nine
players each, under direction of a manager, to play
The Game on His field. God called some of these
players Pitchers and some of them Hitters. He placed a
Pitcher precisely 60 feet, 6 inches from a Hitter.
Then God commanded that it's one, two, three strikes
you're out at the ol' Ballgame.

And God granted jurisdiction of The Game to lesser
Gods, whom He called Umpires. God said the Umpires are
infallible, blessed with Heavenly authority, whose
judgment is not to be questioned under penalty of
expulsion from The Game. And God looked at his
creation and He was pleased. Then God created the
Infield Fly Rule to confuse nonbelievers.

And God said, Let there be light beer, and there was.
And, God said, let there be peanuts and hot dogs and
overpriced souvenirs and let there be frosty chocolate
malts with little wooden spoons that you can buy
nowhere else except at this Heaven, which God called a
Ballpark, and there was. God looked at His creation
and it was good.

And the Lord God formed, from the dust, a collection
of elite players in His own image. The Lord God then
breathed the breath of life into His creation. God
called this creation the National League.

And God said, It is not good for the National League
to be alone. The Lord God shall make it a mate. And
thus, while the National League slept, God took
several of its top players and created the American
League.

And God blessed The Game, saying, Be fruitful and
multiply. Put teams in every city with deserving fans,
God added, even if this occurs at the expense of
starting-pitching depth.

From time to time, God understood, The Game would be
corrupted by the Serpent. The Serpent was more cunning
than any other beast and he would take many wicked
forms: the Black Sox, segregation, the Designated
Hitter, the Reserve Clause, dead balls, juiced balls,
spit balls, corked bats, George Steinbrenner,
AstroTurf, the 1981 strike, collusion, lockouts, Pete
Rose, the 1994 strike, greenies, cocaine, HGH, Andro,
steroids, $20 parking, corporate mallparks, Scott
Boras, Donald Fehr, and Bud Selig.

But, God said, the goodness in The Game shall always
prevail. As needed, the Lord shall bestow upon The
Game a Savior. And the Savior, like the Serpent, can
take many forms. The Savior shall remind Fans how
blessed The Game truly is. The Savior shall be called
by many names, including Cy, Matty, Honus, Big Train,
the Babe, Wrigley Field, Fenway Park, Lou Gehrig,
Branch Rickey, Jackie Robinson, Buck O'Neil, Hank
Greenberg, Red Barber, Harry Carey, Vin Scully, Jack
Buck, Satchel Paige, Bill Veeck, Roberto Clemente,
Ernie Banks, Hammerin' Hank, Cool Papa, Dizzy, Lefty,
Whitey, Stan the Man, Big Klu, the Say Hey Kid, Campy,
Duke, the Mick, the Splendid Splinter, the Gas House
Gang, the Big Red Machine, the Damn Yankees, Pudge
Fisk, Pudge Rodriguez, Yaz, Pops, the Wizard of Oz,
Fernando, George Brett, Moonlight Graham, Roy Hobbs,
Wild Thing Vaughn, Bingo Long, the Ryan Express,
Donnie Baseball, Rickey, Eck, the Big Unit, the Cactus
League, Cal Ripken, Tony Gwynn, Camden Yards,
Rotisserie Drafts, Web Gems, Derek Jeter, Dontrelle
Willis, Vlad Guerrero, and, from the Far East, Ichiro.
And, God guaranteed, there are many more to come.

God looked upon His creation and He was very pleased.
And God spoke, yelling, PLAY BALL!

Until regular blogging resumes Tuesday after an extended Easter break...

...an observation.

Look how similar they look:

A really beautiful video...

...animated by Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

The Subtle Bigotry of Conan O'Brien

This post is quasi-serious.

Now, i am a HUGE fan of Conan O'Brien and have been for years (not to toot my own horn, but i was the first person i know into Conan - we're talking Pimpbot/Andy days), but i've noticed something recently with Conan that my fellow paesanos with thinner (olive) skin may take to heart more than i do, and i feel that it is a case of people just not giving a shit about Italian-Americans.

So, Max Weinberg is on vacation, and the de facto leader of the Max Weinberg 7 is Jimmy Vivino, the guitar player for the MW7. In fact, the band is addressed during Max's absence as "Jimmy Vivino and the Max Weinberg 7."



Whenever Conan introduces the band, he takes on an almost Super Mario-esque accent and says "Ah-Jimmy Vee-vee-no and-ah the-ah Max-ah Weinberg 7!"

Now.

Let me say again, i don't care. I make jokes about being Italian all the time (like that i sweat olive oil), but here is where i have a slight issue with Conesy:

Imagine if every night, Conan adopted a Jackie Mason inspired accent and introduced the band as "Eh? Max Whine-bug and the eh Max-eh Whine-bug-eh seven?" Or gave it a Woody Allen-esque treatment? The ACLU would be over that in a matter of minutes.

Imagine the absurdity if Yo Yo Ma ever sat in and Conan did a traditional 'replace the l's and the r's' and said something like "Putting down his flied lice, Yo Yo Ma and the Max Weinberg Seven!"

I hope Vivino's back-up isn't MW7 bassist, and African-American gentleman, Mike Merritt isn't in charge of the band, leading to an Ebonics infused introduction!

Of course, i really don't think O'Brien is conscious of this, nor do i really have a problem with it. What makes it even more curious, is that unlike Jon Stewart who adopts a Jew-y voice frequently, but can because he's Jewish, O'Brien is not Italian at all.

I also understand that Italians have not suffered the discrimination of the Jewish, Asian, or African-Americans of late, but i still see this as an interesting double standard.

So, the question is begged, how can Conan redeem himself to the Italian-American community? Easy.

Have me as a guest on the show.

Wow

Wow.

(For the real point of interest, scroll down to right below the picture of DMX in the desert)

Thanks to Dan for the head's up.