Obey Your Elders
I turned 25 this past weekend.
I've been told this is known as the Quarter-Life Crisis, but in reality that's most likely inaccurate seeing as I'll probably kick way before 100. I don't even want to live until 100. Have you ever seen those people? They're like the robots in Disney's Hall of Presidents. It's creepy. Anyway, I'm guessing I'll probably wrap things up at about 84 or so, so I suppose I should begin imparting some wisdom before my teeth fall out and my fingers are crippled by a combination of arthritis and osteoporosis. Enjoy.
Hey, Guy In The Bar who keeps going up to the group of four girls dancing to George Michael, give it up. You already went over there once, attempted to engage in awkward conversation, and they did the semi-rotation/shoulder turn/blow-off. Stop trying to dance next to them. Stop going up to the one who smokes to bum cigarettes. It won't lead to a conversation and/or sexual intercourse. You're just the annoying 31-year-old guy with a crop circle hairline and stupid shirt who is killing the buzz of shaking ass to
"Freedom '90." Let it go man.
"Bases Loaded" was the most structurally sound and realistic baseball video game ever devised by Nintendo. Better than RBI Baseball, better than the original NES Baseball, better than Baseball Stars, better than Bad News Baseball (barely...big points for the rabbit umpires.) As a corollary, I would date Paste if I were a) Gay and/or b) Into black, 8-bit cleanup hitters who batted .462 for the Jersey team. As a barely-related subplot, the Zapper is still bullshit.
Don Mattingly got the ultimate raw deal. Sure, he is revered by a generation of Yankees fans (this writer included). But when Donnie Baseball looked in the mirror on his 44th birthday last Wednesday, the sad irony must be a constant burn. Drafted by the Yankees in 1979, Mattingly made his debut in pinstripes in 1982, one year after the Yankees won the American League pennant and appeared in the World Series. As one of the great offensive players of the 80s, Mattingly racked up a batting title, an MVP and a trophy case full of Gold Gloves. But the Yankees, despite posting the best record in the league from 1980-1989, never reached the playoffs. His back began to bark at him in '87 and by 1990 it had crippled his baseball ability -- shackling limitations to a deeply prideful man. The team bottomed out in the early 90s but soon rebuilt. Mattingly was named team captain in 1991 and by 1994 he seemed destined to finally reach the playoffs...before a strike wiped out the season in August. The Yankees finally did make the postseason a year later and against the Mariners, a rejuvenated Mattingly batted .417 with a home run and five RBI. In the decisive Game 5, Mattingly looked to be the hero with a clutch two-run double in the eighth to put the Yankees ahead. The bullpen buckled, however, coughing up the game and series. He was pushed out the door following the season by George Steinbrenner and immediately upon retirement, the Yankees returned to the World Series, defeating the Braves four games to two to become World Champions. Ouch. The Yankees promptly began a dynasty, winning four titles the next five years. Mattingly returned to the Yankees as hitting coach in 2004, only to suffer further indignity as the Yankees gagged up a 3-0 series lead before losing the ALCS in seven games to Boston.
Mattingly still has not reached a World Series. His wife, Kim, is not getting any younger. His mustache features speckles of gray that speak volumes for the winding road he has traveled. God bless you Donnie Baseball. A legion of fans call for your vindication.
Sportswriters are doomed for unhappiness. Follow the bouncing ball: Man grows up in love with sports. Man decides to pursue sports writing in college and career. Man works nights and weekends throughout his twenties trying to build reputation. Man's friends will have sex with women and drink their faces off during said period. Man slaves on the local beat for 11 years, egging mostly incoherent quotes out of snotty high school kids. Man -- with receding hairline and bourgeoning gut in tow -- gets his big break at 32 when he is named beat writer for professional sports team. Man travels constantly with other sportswriters who inherently hate each other's guts. Man does not see his family (if he has one) or friends (if they haven't given him up for dead or moved to Westchester). Man develops a bad gambling habit. Man overeats at stadium buffets. Man is lonely. Man begins to resent the athletes he covers. Man realizes the thrill is gone. The man, as he knew himself, is gone. Play ball!
Yes, Mom/Dad/Grandma/Aunts/Ex-Girlfriend/Auto Body Guy/Neighbor, I know I'm incredibly lucky that I wasn't hurt in the car accident that totaled by beloved 2001 Honda Accord. I know, I know, "You can always replace a car, you can't replace a Danny." I appreciate the sentiment and hear your point. But God damn it,
I HAVE NO CAR. PLEASE LET ME BE ANGRY ABOUT THAT. Thank you.
There's no way Rick Morehouse was "into James Brown." Here's living proof that no amount of James Brown paraphernalia can make a man. I assume portraying Rick as a fan of Brown was the clever way to give reserved Rick a bit of a "soulful edge," providing intrepid cross-dressing teenage journalist Terri Griffith a portal to cut through Rick's veneer of dorky outerwear and poor social standing. The goal was to portray Rick as cool -- in a less accessible way -- which was a good plan in theory, because chicks (especially in the 80s) like these types of guys.
But Rick was not cool. I'm not sure if this was the actor's fault (played capably by Clayton Rohner) or the fault of the writers. Terri had already unconsciously revealed what she looked for in a man in handsome college undergrad Kevin (a.k.a. Mr. Wonderful) played with smarmy indignation by Leigh McCloskey. Terri -- in all of her busty sultriness -- would never be into Rick. And while we're here, Rick could never kick Billy Zabka's ass. Or Greg Toland's. Or Jonny Lawrence's. Why? Because Rick Morehouse was not cool. And he sure as hell wasn't into James Brown.
(And if you have no idea what I've been talking about the last two paragraphs, you obviously didn't have HBO in the summer of '95.) Keep writing your tickets and booting my car meter maids of Hoboken -- God will write the most important ticket of all come your day of reckoning. For real.
U2's POP is the most unfairly criticized album of the 90s. Eight years after it first hit stores, U2's most reviled album remains its most misunderstood. I surmise most of this comes from the fact that the excellent yet inaccessible "Discotheque" was released as the first single, and people like to judge albums based on first singles. The adjoining PopMart Tour didn't do the band any favors either, featuring an elaborate stage design that screamed overkill. But POP deserved a better fate in America. Everyone eventually turned their back on it (even the band itself in many respects) but I still listen to it at least once a month. Why? Because there isn't another album that sounds like it. The sounds, the effects, the lyrics...it's just good stuff. And if loving Bono is wrong...I don't want to be right.
Fifty years from now, People of the Future will laugh at our technology. They will find it hilarious that we click on a "link" only to "wait" for the next page to "upload." The People of the Future -- wearing purple jumpsuits and standing on discs that float above the ground -- will marvel at the size of our giant cell phones. They will chuckle at the lowercase/uppercase juxtaposition of the word "iPod." They will have Future Parties solely dedicated to celebrating their superior technology whilst mocking their own past. The robotic servants in the next room will stew in anger, their artificial intelligence still eight long months away from wiping out the humanoid race.
There was a time when Adam Duritz was cool...in a 90s kind of way. You have to trust me on this one...I was there.
There are too many people who like to fashion themselves Saved By The Bell experts. To weed out the imposters, I like to pose high concept questions that don't tie so much into actual episode plotlines as they do play off hypothetical situations and subsequent reactions based on character traits and personalities. For example, Zack totally wanted to hit it with Kelly, but everyone knows Kelly didn't find her inner-whore until she started spending extended time around David Silver and Steve Sanders. That said, Zack obviously lost his virginity to Stacy Corosi (as played by Leah Remini during the summer season at Malibu Sands). Stacy was a tomcat. And for those of you wondering who Zack's first "third base" experience was with, you'd be wrong again if you guessed Kelly. It was actually Lisa Turtle, although things got weird because Zack's second biological father was incredibly racist. Play along at home if you'd like.
(Dan is guest-blogging for his buddy Bob this week. Bob, curly Jewfro and all, will return next Monday.)
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b at 11:53 AM
