 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|||||||
 |
|||||||
 |
|||||||
|
Please tell us about your dining experience: expressivecynic [at]yahoo.com |
|||||||
 |
|||||||
|
|
|
|
 |
|||
|
January 31, 2005: Abstinence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder From today’s Yahoo! Health news (via Reuters): Abstinence-only sex education programs, a major plank in President Bush's education plan, have had no impact on teenagers' behavior in his home state of Texas, according to a new study. Despite taking courses emphasizing abstinence-only themes, teenagers in 29 high schools became increasingly sexually active, mirroring the overall state trends, according to the study conducted by researchers at Texas A&M University."We didn't see any strong indications that these programs were having an impact in the direction desired," said Dr. Buzz Pruitt, who directed the study. The story continues: One program technique has been to try to bolster students' self-esteem, based on the theory that self-confident teenagers would not have sex. Those programs, which sometimes do not even mention sex, have shown no effect, Pruitt said. [Italics added]. I have only two things to add about this matter: 1) The report did not include a link to Dr. Buzz Pruitt. I added it. If you’re like me, you wanted to see exactly what a physician who goes by the moniker “Buzz” looks like. And I must say that “Dr. Buzz” does not resemble the image I had conjured of him before seeing his photograph. 2) I don’t have a medical degree, but bolstering a teenager’s confidence to discourage his or her sexual activity seems obviously counterintuitive to me--a former shy high schooler who often lacked confidence to ask for dates, and who played entirely too many games of Ms. Pac Man and Q*Bert with his younger sister on Friday and Saturday nights. Lacking self-confidence is not always a bad thing.
January 28, 2005: Introducing Mr. Chinchilla “Hey, dude. . .” squeaked the voice, “over here.” I tightened my grip on the file in my hand and looked behind me. Nothing was there. “DUDE!” The voice now bellowed. “LOOK DOWN. . .” Then I saw him. He looked like a half-rabbit, half-rat on steroids, and he was wearing a tiny, black baseball cap turned backwards on his head. As he chewed on some orange pellet substance, he continued: “Do you have any raisins?” “I’m sorry, I don’t.” “I need my raisins. I’m finicky.” I looked around again, but nobody was near, not even the usual government workers who milled outside this Huntington workers’ compensation field office. I had even eaten breakfast (two Little Debbie™ heart-shaped brownies) that morning, and my blood sugar level wasn’t low. Maybe, I thought, it’s lack of sleep. “Listen to me,” as his voice took an urgent, yet still squeaky tone, “I need your help.” “Who are you?” “My real name is not relevant. But you may refer to me as ‘Mr. Chinchilla, Voice of Dissent.’” There was still nobody near, and I felt the sweat beads developing on my forehead. I haven’t had alcohol in months, and the last drug I took was a Tylenol™ pill three years ago after I received twelve stitches on my face when that plastic surgeon removed my basal cell cancer. “I’m real. Nobody else believes. But I am. We haven’t much time, either.” I didn’t want to return to my office anytime soon, and so I listened: “I want you to buy me some raisins. The Sunmaid™ kind with the lady wearing the bonnet on the package. Then I want you to go get some cotton, some felt, some fake chinchilla fur, and a tiny black baseball cap, and I want you to make an enormous chinchilla mascot suit for yourself.” “For me?” “Yes. I can’t do this alone. Do you have some poster board and a megaphone?” “No.” “You’ll need ‘em. You can’t voice dissent without them.” “What dissent?” “HELLO!! WAKEY-WAKEY, EGGS AND BAKEY!!! The dissent against war in Iraq! The dissent against the suppression of free speech! The dissent against those who support gay marriage bans! The dissent against the suspension of procedural safeguards for those accused of crimes! The dissent against the use of drapes to cover the boobs of an art deco statue in the U.S. Justice Department’s Great Hall! “Can I just bring you your raisins and go home?” “No. I want you to wear your homemade “Mr. Chinchilla, Voice of dissent” mascot costume, take a poster board sign protesting my above dissent, and grab a megaphone. Then I want you to stand outside The Charleston Town Center on Friday evening when everyone goes out to dinner because there’s nothing else to do in Charleston for entertainment, and I want you to express my protests for me.” “Why can’t you do this?” “I have no opposable thumbs. And somebody would step on me and steal my cap.” “But what about my self-respect, my dignity?” “Hah!” He laughed. “You’re a lawyer.” I paused. I’m having a discussion with a chinchilla wearing a baseball cap turned backwards who has just insulted me and my profession. “Ok. How about this. Let the people know about me. Tell them about me on the internet. Everyone has a weblog. You have one, right?” “Yes.” “Take this down. . . .”
Now here’s my “50 Things About Me List”: 1. I’m 19 years old. 2. I was born in captivity in Helena, Montana. 3. I have spent most of my life behind bars. 4. I have eight living siblings (five brothers, three sisters). 5. My mother ate two of my brothers and part of the hind leg of my oldest sister. My sister is now a professional breeder for a chinchilla fur farm somewhere in Canada. 6. I’ve done quite a bit of breeding in my life. 7. Breeding in captivity is not a bad thing. 8. I lost my virginity at age 4. I was a late bloomer. 9. I’m bisexual. 10. I have had over 700 sexual partners, including a rabbit, a weasel, and a rooster who was a professional cockfighter. 11. I’ve had only one serious relationship. It was with a female chinchilla, and we were married for three years. I divorced her because she wouldn’t stop biting me. 12. That marriage produced 223 chinchilla children. Most of them still write me. 13. I love raisins. 14. I’m more of a chewer than a gnawer. 15. I’ve never owned a television set. 16. I have seen Conan O’Brien, Oprah Winfrey and Jared Leto naked. Not all at the same time. 17. I can’t seem to grow dreadlocks. 18. Once, on a dare, I huffed baby lotion. 19. I have an allergy to cedar shavings. 20. I’m well hung. For a chinchilla. 21. I’ve been in some very, very dark places. 22. I quit school after second grade when I found out what “Send a Chinchilla to College” really meant. 23. My favorite song is “My Chinchilla” by Cub. 24. I’ve been mistaken for a ferret, a prairie dog, and one of the Hamster Dancers. 25. I’m a fabulous babysitter. 26. I can type seven and a half words a minute. 27. I’ve gotten drunk with Ben Affleck. But he’ll deny it. 28. I auditioned for the role of a Rodent of Unusual Size in “The Princess Bride,” but I didn’t get the part. I was, however, an extra in “Willard.” 29. Biology labs give me the creeps. 30. Carrots turn my crap orange. 31. Al Gore invented the chinchilla. 32. I invented Al Gore. 33. I’ve stalked PETA activists. 34. I have crushes on Cokie Roberts, Ellen DeGeneres, and Lambchop. 35. I’ve been served chinchilla meat by accident. I taste like chicken. 36. I am unique and charming. 37. I won a gold medal in the long jump. 38. My knees ache when it rains. 39. I’m a member of the Mile High Club. 40. I do not make a good pet, and I am not anyone’s monkey. 41. I was quite fond of the bowtie until I saw Tucker Carlson. 42. I have a B.M.I. of 83. 43. My I.Q. has never been tested. 44. My favorite films are “Stuart Little”, “Tie Me Up Tie Me Down,” and “Ishtar.” 45. I’ve seen “Milo and Otis” at least seventy times. 46. Rainy days and Mondays always get me down. 47. I’m a proud patron of the Lion’s Den. 48. I was raised Jewish. 49. I am a non-practicing atheist. 50. I survived a botched circumcision.
January 27, 2005: One Dozen Free Legal Practice Tips A potential client canceled an appointment with me today. This person wants to reschedule the appointment. I don't mind rescheduling the appointment after the first cancellation. But this is the second time this has happened. You know. Car trouble, again. My gut tells me this is not a good sign, which brings me to the first of my rules on practicing law: 1. Trust your gut. Heed your instincts about your client, your adversary, and your case. We humans are a relatively recent development on the evolutionary map, and there's often a good reason if someone or something gives you that "head in a freezer" (as my wife calls it) feeling. 2. Listen. Your client has a story to tell, but it's your job to present it. Great advocacy requires development of a rapport with your client and his or her situation. The better you listen, the better you advocate, and the judge and/or jury will detect this. 3. Respect your clients. Always. It's not a matter of telling them that you respect them, either. Your actions must reveal it. Treat your clients as equals. Return their phone calls. If you can't return the call the same day, call the next day. Then tell the person that you're sorry you were not able to chat with him/her earlier. And be sincere, too. Your client will detect bullshit. 4. Explain, explain, explain. Then explain more. The client must understand how litigation works. I've practiced law more than ten years, and I'm still learning. Imagine how your client feels when he arrives at your office for the first time. Do you recall how you felt when you tried your first jury case? Ok. Tell the client what to expect from preparing the complaint, from filing it, from the exchange of discovery, from the motions, from the hearings on the motions, from opposing counsel and her client, from the judge, and from the trial. To educate your client is to prepare your client for litigation. It will also develop and strengthen the attorney-client relationship. 5. Never promise a specific outcome in a case. NEVER. Building and/or creating an expectation--especially one you cannot deliver--results in a disappointed client when the results do not occur. Remember: There is nothing certain about anything except uncertainty. And that uncertainty is certainly certain. 6. Remember you are an attorney and you will take crap on occasion for this. Shit happens. Practicing law is no different. You may have a few nasty encounters or situations develop in your practice. As Jello Biafra said, "Life is not pretty," and you must learn to cope with difficult situations as they arise. A good way to avoid these situations is to follow the first five rules. This will avoid many problems. Trust me, I'm a lawyer. 7. Be prepared. I don't believe you can teach anyone "to think on his or her feet," but if you're familiar with your case, its facts, and the law, you can develop your responses to the situation as it develops. 8. Follow your head, not your heart. Never let your client's emotions or yours dictate your action in a case. Remember also Mr. Spock’s words: “Logic suggests that it's easier to destroy than to create.” The same holds true of your reputation in the legal community. Leave the courtroom antics for Denny Crane. 9. By the way, when a client tells you that "It's not the money, it's the principle," it's not. 10. By the way, The sequel: Take pro bono cases. 11. Relax. Take some time each day to focus on something not involving your cases. Like you’re doing now. 12. Remember we're all in this together, and work toward solving problems, not creating them. I’ve developed these rules over my years of practice as a lawyer. I believe you could apply these rules to other professions and occupations. And I bet if other people followed them we’d see less litigation. Ironic advice from a lawyer, isn’t it?
January 26, 2005: Quest For Comp I traveled to Huntington, West Virginia for a workers’ compensation hearing on Tuesday. Years ago, when dinosaurs roamed the earth and Al Gore still had a political future, I was a fixture at workers’ compensation hearings. I knew the location of the hearing offices, the names of the administrative law judges, and the familiar stenches associated with certain journeys of mine. From where these odors emanated, I never determined, but this I do know: I never smelled them again after I abandoned my workers’ compensation practice. But duty calls, and my family (that’s my wife, my son, my daughter and I) need our health insurance. So Monday afternoon, I was at the office printing directions from Mapquest for the Huntington field office for my lone workers’ compensation hearing scheduled at 9:00 a.m. On most occasions when I’ve relied on Mapquest for my itinerary, the directions will place me within a mile of my destination. If you hoped on arriving on time at the workers’ compensation field office in Huntington on Tuesday, this is not good. But it’s great when you’re making a trip to Welch for no particular purpose. And if you’re wondering why anyone would make a road trip from Charleston, West Virginia to Welch, West Virginia for no particular purpose, then you’ve obviously never been a single, twenty-nine-year old male with no girlfriend (or prospect of having one in the near future), hundreds of compact discs, too much time on his hands, and no long-term plan past the upcoming weekend. Yes, folks, life before the rise of the internet truly sucked for some of us. As usual, Mapquest supplied information sufficient to place me and my 1999 Toyota Camry within a mile of my locale. I drove past the field office and had to stop at Jack’s Laundry to ask Jack for directions. Jack was very cool, and if you ever have dirty laundry (the real kind as opposed to the Don Henley kind) and you’re lost on Piedmont Avenue in Huntington, West Virginia, I recommend using Jack’s Laundry Service. I also recommend that you take a left on Madison before reaching 29th Street if you want to reach the Huntington field office before 9:00 a.m. on an icy Tuesday morning. Although I’ve abandoned many of my habits developed when I was a twenty-nine year old lad, a few vestiges of my single life exist. I still enjoy watching vapid entertainment programs like this. And I still persist in using Mapquest, thee purveyor of maps who sends thy noble knight on thy quest in freezing temperatures over at least a few miles of interstate named for Robert C. Byrd to the new Huntington workers’ compensation field office. Go forthwith, my knight, for thy fifteen-minute non-medical hearing awaits you. By the by, here’s some advice to anyone who uses forthwith in an e-mail to me: Don’t.
January 23, 2005: Seth, Master Of Understatement When Seth takes his nap or goes to bed for the night, my wife and I watch a few “X-Files” shows. We’ve been doing this since last Thanksgiving, and take turns feeding Lydia and/or consoling her as she battles her colic. Using this routine, we’ve viewed the first two seasons and have almost completed the third. On a few occasions, we’ve watched “the files” with Seth in the room. We’re careful to monitor the amount and quality (quality being both perjorative and relative in our household, of course) of the television he sees. If the “X-Files” are on when Seth’s in the room, we’ll activate the closed captions, and mute the sound--which keeps Mark Snow’s eerie score from scaring Seth. But yesterday proved the exception, and when we started looking at “The X-Files” and its sixty-seventh episode, Teso Dos Bichos, we did not activiate the captions or mute the sounds. So Seth watched with us as the Teso Dos Bichos archaelogical dig unearthed the remains of the ancient and sacred Ecuadorian “Amaru” urn. And you don’t need to be a student of “The X-Files” to know that woe will certainly befall an American professor who seeks to disturb the burial grounds of an ancient and sacred Ecuadorian Amaru Urn. Even Seth understands this. Let’s cut to the chase. A giant jaguar pounces onto the professor in his tent, the professor screams, the jaguar growls, and then we all see the silhouette of the jaguar ripping and clawing the professor to death. Seth turns to us, and in his innocent voice says: “Boo-boo.”
January 21, 2005: Shall We Play A Game? I have a shameful confession to make. I’ve played chess online at work. I’m divulging this secret now because I’ve conquered my online chess habit. I haven’t played since last September. It was a tough addiction to break. It was more difficult for me than quitting smoking, which I did the same night I began smoking. That evening, I inhaled a couple cigarettes at a party because I doubted the wisdom of those anti-smoking commercials that told me smoking was so uncool, when, in fact, it was the anti-smoking commercials that were so uncool, which led to their unintended consequence of my brief smokin’ rebellion against them. But the lure of online chess--with all its resulting coolness--drew me deeper into the recesses of the Yahoo! chess rooms. Each day, as I drafted pleadings on those sexual harassment cases, my thoughts raced back to the chess: Come on, Hoyt. You know you want to do it. The Queen’s Gambit. D4 to D5. Just one quick game. Two minute limit. Look behind you. Yes, there, the computer. Turn your chair. Open Internet Explorer. Go into the Yahoo! chess room. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it. I resisted these dark thoughts. But the Ben Kingsley/Don Logan/Sexy Beast voice in my head screamed at me--except that this voice found the “c” and “f” words foul and loathsome, and so it would always omit those portions of Logan’s original tirade in “Sexy Beast”: Not this time, Hoyt, not this time. Not this [expletive deleted] time. No no no no no no no no no. No. No no no no no no no no no no no. Not this [expletive deleted again] time. No [Son of Expletive Deleted Again] way. No [Bride of the Son of Expletive Deleted Again] way. No [Expletive Deleted (Special Platinum Edition Director’s Cut Widescreen DVD)] way. No [Expletive Deleted: The Final Chapter (Jason Goes To Panama City)] way. But I ignored this voice in my head. And I buried it beneath the swimming pool in my mind. Then, one day as I played several rounds of two-minute “bullet” at work, I had an epiphany. George W. Bush appeared before me. He was wearing a purple Kangol™ beret, and carried several rented dvds, including “Just One of The Guys” and “Bad Influence,” the one with Rob Lowe released after the 1988 Democratic convention. (I know George W. rented these dvds because he held one of those Netflix “red envelope” packages in his left hand, on which he also sported a Swatch® watch.) George W. Bush then spoke to me, and using well-constructed sentences with perfect syntax and several four- and five-syllable words pronounced: Some will tell you the adversarial system involves the search for truth and justice. I disagree. Litigation is tragic because it is an escalation of a dispute that the parties could not resolve themselves. As a remedy, litigation should not be your preferred method of resolving debates. You should respect your adversary, and work with him or her to remedy the problem. Fighting a battle wastes valuable resources, time, money and countless lives of civilians. Iraq taught me this. So listen to me, and learn from my mistake. Life is much too short for fussing and fighting, my friend. We can work it out, we can work it out. But I still must say that antidisestablishmentarianism rocks. Then my epiphany ended, and George W. disappeared. The lessons were now clear: First: Chess, like litigation, is a battle, and causes only strife and the exchange of expletives between chess players in the Yahoo! chess rooms; and Second: The Fonz spoke the truth when he told Joanie that “Smoking is definitely not cool”; and Third: The only way to win is not to play. Since my chess epiphany, I vowed never to engage in battle on the chess field again. As for playing solitaire at work, I see no valid reason for not firing up a few games now and then.
January 18, 2005: This Is My Book Report When you have two children who both wear diapers, it’s difficult to find time to read and write. (Ask my wife who finally found some time to complete a couple entries in her weblog). But last year, I did manage to finish several books, and given the current debate on social security, one of them, “What The Numbers Say: A Field Guide To Mastering Our Numerical World,” demands my mention. “What The Numbers Say” offers wonderful explanations of the statistics we often hear--but seldom consider--from our news. If Wiley Publishing, Inc. were the publisher of this tome, it would probably be titled “Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics For Dummies.” But, if you’re like me, you probably avoid most, if not all, books in the “Dummies” series. Allow me to digress. Yes, I have spent many hours of my life doing stupid things. When I was ten, I spent an entire afternoon digging a three-foot deep, four-feet wide hole in my parents’ backyard, covered the hole’s bottom with plastic garbage bags, and then nailed the plastic bags to the ground as the liners for my planned swimming pool. Neither Mrs. Walker, who lived next door, nor my parents appreciated my efforts, but--believe me--the neighborhood rats and mosquitos did. Except for one rat. My dad thumped it hard with a giant chunk of wood. It was the only time I ever saw my dad thump a rat. And, as my life would have it, this is one of those lasting images I have of my father. Building a cesspool when you’re ten years old is one matter. Reading a “Dummies” series book when you’re thirty-seven is another. I realize, of course, that somebody is reading these books, and that there is a market for “dummies” who desire to attend law school, massage their babies and/or care for their “cockatiels.” I need to digress again. Several years ago, I was watching an episode of “The People’s Court” with Judge Wapner, and there were two ladies who were disputing ownership of a cockatoo. And one of the ladies kept referring to the cockatoo as a “cockatiel,” and Judge Wapner kept correcting her, intoning “IT’S A COCK-A-TOO. COCK-A-TOO, MA’AM.” And the lady who called the cockatoo a cockatiel lost her case. It’s tragic, really, to think how many folks lost cases like this before Wapner because Wikipedia wasn’t around to tell us that the Cockatiel, Nymphicus hollandicus, is a small, rather atypical cockatoo with a distinctive pointed yellow crest. But back to my review of “What the Numbers Say.” I loved it, and you should consider reading it sometime if you’re interested in understanding practical applications of statistics.
January 17, 2005: Birthday Buzz Tomorrow marks one year since I launched Donutbuzz. Here’s hoping for the release of the complete first season of “James at 15” on dvd when I celebrate the second anniversary of this site. January 16, 2005: The Lame Duck’s To Do List Cut that ribbon for first BASE jumper at New River Gorge National River “Bridge Day.” Check. Receive five stitches above my eyebrows from recoil of someone else’s rifle. Check. Raise huge ruckus over that Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirt. Check. And check. Attend West Virginia Lottery ceremony and hand Jack Whittaker one of those enormous, cardboard checks for over one hundred million dollars. (Very big) check. Acknowledge extramarital affair. Check. Meet Pvt. Jessica Lynch. Check. Eat deer jerky and drink Diet Pepsi™ while having Daytona 500 Nascar race on in the background. Check. Write e-mail to my alleged paramour about my drinking Diet Pepsi™ while having Daytona 500 Nascar race on in the background. Check again. Continue my devotion to clogging. Check. Earn Tae Kwon Do black belt. Check: Improve employment conditions in West Virginia. Workin’ on it.
January 14, 2005: Unlikely Conversation In The Greater Kanawha Valley Number 72 Young Gentleman: My lady, have you made your decision? Young Gentlelady: (Dolefully shakes her head “no.”) Young Gentleman: You know we can’t do both. Young Gentlelady: Yes. Young Gentleman: Which is it? Young Gentlelady: I do fancy a good “Rough N’ Rowdy” match now and then. Young Gentleman: As do I. . . . Young Gentlelady: But violinist John Lambros is also performing. . . . Young Gentleman: Mm-hm. Young Gentlelady: Oh. . . the “Cabin Creek Destroyer” promised everyone that he would belt the “Green Machine” in the jaw and drop him in front of 10,000 people. Young Gentleman: This proves a most tough decision, indeed, m’lady. Young Gentlelady: And yet my heart also yearns to see the noted exponent of the Suzuki method of violin teaching, too. Young Gentleman: We cannot attend both. Young Gentlelady: How did this happen? Why? Please, tell me. How could the West Virginia Symphony and the “Rough ‘N Rowdy Brawl” occur at the same time. On the same night. In Charleston, West Virginia??
January 13, 2005: The Obligatory 4:32 A.M. Observations 1. Lady Diana’s and Prince Charles’ younger son, Harry, wore a Nazi uniform to a fancy dress party. Here, see for yourself if you think I make this shit up. 2. This morning, our cats broke their previous record for covering the most surface area of our upstairs carpet with feline vomit. And I broke my previous record for cleaning it. 3. Observation #2 follows observation #1 for a reason. 4. I still think that Dr. Phil is not maximizing his potential for revenue. There are several good ideas for t-shirts he’s still missing besides the “booty camp” thing. 5. “Booty camp” sounds like the title of a porno movie. 6. Yes, folks, we have another entry that will generate some interesting search results. 7. This book is impossible to find at our local libraries. 8. Damn, I miss my dad. 9. Last night, we made a donation to our local fire department. Last year, when I wrote the check for our previous gift, I asked the volunteer fireman if the fire department would let our house burn down if we didn’t make a donation. My wife didn’t laugh. And neither did Mr. Volunteer Fireman. 10. My wife’s 33rd birthday is today. I’m planning on preparing her a home-cooked meal later today. If I don’t fall asleep later, of course.
I know it’s like so 1999 to mention search queries that bring traffic to your site. But did you know that if you type in “American Idol controvercy” into metacrawler that the first returned result is this weblog? We’re also number three (3!) on Google! Wow. I must remember to thank NBC and Tom Brokaw about this. I wish I had more time to write today, but I don’t. Why not surf on over to raging red’s blog for excellent insight on why The Klan can help keep America beautiful? By the way, I suspect that this entry will produce some interesting search results. January 11, 2005: There’s Something Really Wrong Goin’ On Around Here While Abu Ghraib inmates testify against a U.S. reservist, first lady Laura Bush has chosen a silver and blue V-neck evening gown of embroided tulle, made by American designer Oscar de la Renta, to wear to next week's inaugural balls. Cue the Buffalo Springfield. Or your “And Justice For All” dvd. As for myself, I would consider plying my little belly with as much alcohol as I could hold. But I really don’t like it, and I get the same result by consuming too many bar-b-que Fritos®. I also have to drive to Huntington tomorrow for two depositions anyway. January 10, 2005: I Don’t Think This Was What Woodsy The Owl Intended The United States Supreme Court has today denied review of a case that held the KKK could participate in Missouri’s “adopt-a-highway” program, which is a beautification project aimed at preventing litter along the state’s roads. Now, it probably won’t help you, but the next time you’re forcibly removed from a public gathering by your friendly neighborhood police force for wearing your “Love America, Hate Bush” t-shirt, you may want to mention to them that even the KKK has First Amendment rights in America. On second thought, maybe you should work on adopting that highway. I hear beer can collecting is coming back into vogue. January 8, 2005: Talkin’ Baseball V (Knucklehead Edition) When the Boston Red Sox won the 2004 World Series, I was one of the millions of baseball fans who rejoiced. I’m not a fan of the Red Sox. If I have to choose sides in a battle, however, I will usually opt to support the underdog. I think many of us feel this way, although no self-respecting New York Yankee fan would ever admit it. But something I read yesterday in the news changed my attitude about one of the players who played for the 2004 Red Sox: Doug Mientkiewicz. Doug Mientkiewicz, whose last name is pronounced mint-KAY-vich, is a first baseman who played 49 regular season games for the Red Sox in 2004. The Minnesota Twins traded the “mint man” (my suggested nickname for him now as will be evident further) after he batted a miserable .246 with five (5) home runs, 25 runs batted in, and 34 runs scored in 79 games. Following his trade to the Red Sox, the “mint man” rewarded his new team with a paltry .215 average, one measly homer, ten (count ‘em, 10) rbi, and 13 (as in “mint man’s” uniform number) runs scored. With numbers like those, it’s not hard to understand why the Red Sox used ol’ Doug--who to his credit, does field well--as a defensive late-inning replacement in the World Series. The strategy worked, and, as history would have it, Mientkiewicz took the toss of the baseball from Keith Foulke for the final out of the World Series that ended 86 years of torture (as Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez would define it, of course) for Red Sox fans. Now, if the “mint man” were the typical major leaguer--and, if his batting statistics from last season serve as example here, calling him “typical” is generous--the “mint man” would do what many of us might expect with the ball he caught for the final out in the 2004 World Series. The “mint man” would offer the ball to the Red Sox, the team that will allow him to receive a World Series ring and $3.75 million in the final year of his contract despite his having delivered an abysmal performance at the plate as a part-time player who served as a late-inning defensive replacement. You would think, after all, that someone would give his gratitude for the opportunity to earn multi-millions for playing a game for one of the most storied teams in the history of major league baseball. If you’re like me, you earn a fraction of what the “mint man” makes, you don’t earn money for playing solitaire (or chess, or Scrabble™) at work, and you don’t receive your salary if you deliver miserable, or less than average results. Again, you would think that it wouldn’t be a big whoop for the “mint man” to give the ball to the Red Sox or the Hall of Fame. Wrong thought. The “mint man” is not going to relinquish the baseball. At least not without a fight, or money. They’re synonymous now, anyway. Here’s the part from the Yahoo! article that raised my blood pressure above the normal diastolic level: Mientkiewicz was quoted in The Boston Globe on Friday as saying the ball was ``my retirement fund'' and said ``I hope I don't have to use it for the money. It would be cool if we have kids someday to have it stay in our family for a long time.'' Reports today now imply Mientkiewicz is not serious about selling the ball. One story alleges it was a joke. Ho-de-ho-ho. Then give the ball back. Let me tell you something, Mr. Mientkiewicz. Comedy is about timing. Bob Uecker, who hit only slightly worse than you did, even understands that. And this is not the time for you--or any major league baseball player-- to joke about making millions by selling a baseball. Need I mention that millions of Americans live in abject poverty, and cannot afford the luxury of buying tickets to watch you come off the bench in the late innings of a Red Sox-Yankees contest only to see you strikeout in your only plate appearance. Many of us, in fact, cannot swallow the prospect of a multi-millionaire ballplayer who would sell a baseball for millions on Ebay. That’s why your comment made us angry. You tell us it was a joke. Come on, dude. You kept the ball. If you were honorable about your intentions, you would have offered the ball earlier. I’ve read that you’re not selfish. Now prove it, mint man. (To see the “mint man’s” abysmal 2004 hitting statistics for the Boston Red Sox, as well as his reported $2.8 million salary for riding the pine, click here. For Bob Uecker’s even more abysmal batting statistics, click here. And for the U.S. Mint, click here.)
January 6, 2005: Rabelais Would Have Proved An Excellent Blogger The more I surf the internet, the more I notice that people love to write about their farts. Here’s someone who describes the bouquet of her fart after consuming a potent potable. Veggie farts prove powerful for this blogger. These folks have even graced us with their memories of farts when they were children. So I’m going to take this opportunity to let everyone know that Seth began potty training last Tuesday. And I’m happy to report that we’ve only had to clean up one of his dumps off the bathroom floor so far. I’m not going into the specifics of the previous sentence. I’m sure that someone has posted something similar online for you to read. January 4, 2005: Mama Told Me Not To Come “Three Dog Night” fuels the festivities at the inaugural ball for West Virginia’s Governor-Elect “Status Quo” Joe Manchin on January 17, 2005. The announcement prompted me to imagine the process leading to the band’s selection: Inaugural Ball Chairperson: "Sir, do you have any preference for a particular band at your inauguration?" Status Quo Joe: "I like me some Alice Cooper. Is he available?" IBC: "Um...no, sir. He'd love to play your inaugural, but he's not touring now." SQJ: "Hmm. I'm thinking Grand Funk Railroad." IBC: "They won’t be coming to our town to help us party down, either. After they played their gig at the '19th Annual Celebrity Dog Wash in Jupiter, Florida,' they had to cancel playing Paducah, Kentucky the week of your inauguration." SQJ: "How about Kenny Rogers?" IBC: "We could book several men who look like Kenny Rogers to lip sync ‘The Gambler.’ Otherwise, no dice.” SQJ: "Jethro Tull?" IBC: "A noted agriculturist who developed a machine seeding method during the industrial revolution, and died at Prosperous Farm, near Hungerford on February 21, 1741. And you can't afford his band." SQJ: "William Hung?" IBC: "Sorry. Busy performing at tsunami relief concert." SQJ: "Hmmm. . . well, what's the name of that really groovy seventies group who experienced a meteoric rise to the top of the top forty charts for a few years before vanishing from the face of the popular music scene over thirty years ago?" IBC: “The Ides of March?” SQJ: “No.” IBC: “Then I’m drawing a blank here. Could you be more general?” SQJ: “Ok. This group had several long-haired dudes. . . .” IBC: “I was being sarcastic about being more general, sir.” SQJ: “Did you see PTA’s ‘Magnolia’? IBC: “Sir, I don’t have time to watch movies.” SQJ: “Well, this group of several long-haired dudes performs that song that goes ‘Jeremiah wuz a bullfrog...DA NAH...wuz a good friend of mine. . . DA NAH . . . .’ And then they recorded an album whose original cover displayed a pregnant reptile lady giving birth to a 33 1/3 record in an operating room staffed by several long-haired dudes wearing surgical garb that completely covered up their long hair.” IBC: “Sir, I think they later placed a band-aid over that cover.” January 3, 2005: The Netflix Capitulation As you may have noticed, I decided to subscribe to Netflix a couple weeks ago. I contemplated joining the service last year, but could not justify paying the fee for films that were available at my local Blockbuster. Then my sister loaned us her copy of The X-Files, and Melanie and I watched the entire first season. That’s when I knew that we had to complete our quest of watching the remaining eight seasons of the files. Our local Blockbuster, of course, didn’t have The X-Files, and the first four seasons of CSI wouldn’t do. And so our Netflix capitulation began. Having provided the above background, here is an exchange my wife and I shared this weekend: Me: “Guess how many X-Files episodes we’ve watched?” The Wife: “How many?” Me: “Forty-four.” The Wife: “You’re kidding me!” Whereupon I pointed to this episode list, and continued: Me: “Nope. See here? We watched ‘Humbug’ last.” I would also mention our conversation about our favorite X-Files episodes, but I suspect I’ve scared many of you. I’ll return to my usual rants and outrage soon. I promise. January 2, 2005: Happy New Year! Still working on new design.
Have a question? Comment? Idea for a game show? Write to me at expressivecynic@yahoo.com. I read all my e-mail (even my spam), but I cannot guarantee a response. All written material ©2004-7 by HEG. |
|||
Hi, I’m Mr. Chinchilla, Voice of Dissent. I’m homeless, I have no health care, and because I’m a chinchilla, I don’t receive the great pay of rats and bunnies for smoking three packs of Marlboros™ a day. I tried to sell my fur once to support myself, but PETA obtained an injunction against me. And Wal*Mart won’t hire me because I don’t have opposable thumbs. This is what happens when your American president imposes his ill-advised, imperialistic, fundamentalist, neocon agenda on the entire world. Chinchillas, like me, get screwed. I’m hoping you can help. If you don’t believe in the agenda of the current Bush administration, and want to help chinchillas like me, I’m asking that you show your support by making and wearing a “Mr. Chinchilla, Voice of Dissent” costume. Chinchillas are peaceful, friendly creatures, and we need to let the world know about one chinchilla’s dissent.
