In case word hasn't reached your town yet, Peter, aka Peter*, aka P-10, aka the artist formerly known as "W" has started a blog. Check it out: Peter O'Nall.

I think I figured out why my Millar butt-grabbing video got so many views. I found out that it was linked a blog about spanking.

Speaking of my movies... E-mails, phone calls, and telegrams have been pouring in asking for the story behind the rogue kids. It's quite simple, really. One day, while I was living at my old apartment in Danbury, some kids showed up in the back parking lot. I think they were the offspring of a plumber or some other type of worker, who was there for the day, and had no babysitter. The person must have said, "Okay, kids, daddy's gonna be in here for a few hours. Stay outside and just run amok, making sure to concentrate on finding pieces of wood and repeatedly whacking everything in sight with them. Also, see that chain there? That's so no one will park their car down by the garbage. Don't forget to take that chain down, and swing it around haphazardly. And Billy, make sure you include your sister in the whacking activities. Michael, you just hang low during the whacking, then appear out of nowhere with a pair of boxing gloves on and do a little dance. And I better not see anyone supervising you in any way. Got that, everybody? See you tonight."

So, naturally, I started videotaping out the window. Not just for the comedic value, but in case anyone's windshield got smashed, I'd have the culprit on tape.

And then the main kid, whose shirt said "Alarm King," picked his nose. And ate it. Then he started throwing things at my building. Then they were all gone, never to be seen again.

Until now, in this three-and-a-half-minute extravaganza. The background music is the Fantomas' take on the theme from Rosemary's Baby.



[Edit, 11/30/05: Also note that at the end, you can hear the voice of Paul O'Neill coming from my TV. Terrible job, Paul, for sneaking into my movie.]

Labels: movies

I was on the subway the other day, and I saw a Native American man. He looked a little like Gene Simmons.

Naturally, I felt bad, thinking of how an entire race or races of people can and have been wiped off the face of the earth.

I'm sure he wasn't thinking about that, though. He was probably thinking, "I sure do look like Gene Simmons," or, "Three more stops before 68th Street."

A stop or so later, I looked back in Gene's direction. It was a fairly crowded tarin, and another man had boarded and was standing right in front of Simmons. He was facing Gene, and wearing a hat backwards. So instead of the face of a living, breathing Native American, I was now staring at a logo on a throwback baseball cap--that of a wild-eyed, cartoon Indian with a feathers and braids.

I felt like I'd just witnessed the last Native disappear. Or, rather, turn into a misrepresented memory.

I guess it was good that the guy wasn't wearing the hat forwards.

Now it's off to see a bunch of people that look kind of similar to me and talk to them and pay half-attention to football and eat bread but not turkey.

Info has been released regarding the annual Christmas at Fenway ticket-buying event.

Take a look at the article. The first word of it is "T'is." This is not a word.

Who wrote the article? Bonehead Dirt Dog Steve Silva, of course. The apostrophe goes before the "T," guy. "'Tis" is a contraction of "it is." But hey, who'd expect a newspaper writer to know how words are spelled.

Then again, America does seem to have a problem with apostrophes. On the Red Sox official site, they've been repeatedly using the open single quote instead of an apostrophe for '06. Nobody can figure out that rule, for some reason.

Back to the article, I think it's funny how Steve has to talk seriously about things like where people can buy tickets and the "Red Sox Nation" card. He's always ripping the Sox for their leniency toward scalpers, as well as their discount card program. It must kill him to write that stuff...well, probably not when he cashes his paycheck.

Folks, you don't even realize just what a genius Theo Epstein is. You think you do, but you don't. I'm about to blow your mind.

Josh Beckett is one of the best young pitchers in the game today. The Red Sox, pending physicals, have obtained him for some minor-leaguers. You may have heard that the Marlins are forced to get rid of players. That may be true. In fact, at the end of the offseason, we very well may be saying, "The Red Sox got Beckett, but the yankees got the rest of the Marlins."

But that's just a front. The Marlins really just wanted so badly to get Hanley Ramirez, that they gave up a huge pitcher to get him.

Now, you're probably saying, "But Guy Who Writes Stuff Sometimes, what does this have to do with the genius of Theo?"

Well, you see, Hanley Ramirez is not a baseball player. He may not even be human for that matter. He is some type of creature, whether built by Theo in his laboratory, or found on the streets of Boston wandering aimlessly. He is a myth and a legend. Created by Theo Epstein.

Theo knew he was leaving the GM job eventually. But he loves the Red Sox so much, that he spent much of his time on Yawkey Way shaping and molding this "Hanley Ramirez" player. He knew to play up the legend year after year, as an insurance policy. Because one day Theo would be gone, and the poor schlub who would take over would have to do something. So Theo figured, "At least the new person will have this solid chunk of gold at his disposal."

Sure enough, Theo leaves, and [mystery GM] immediately turns gold into, well, gold. Fool's gold into real gold, if you will.

Think about it. Remember when Hanley got a few at bats last season? Did he even swing? Of course not. If he's a human, he doesn't know how to hit a baseball. And if he's a robot, they wouldn't want to risk him shorting out in front of everyone while attempting to make him swing a bat via remote control. It's not like playing a video game. You have to know how to work the Theo-tron 7800.

And come on, "Hanley"? Have you ever met a Latin person named Hanley? Or any person, for that matter? And don't you think it's quite a coincidence that the guy's name RHYMED with "Manny Ramirez"? When inventing a superstar, you need to come up with a memorable, unique name, while bringing to mind other nearby superstars. Everyone knows that. Whose name was Jordan before Michael? And the initials, MJ, brought to mind Magic Johnson. Same with John Elway. It's the John from Johnny Unitas, combined with a completely made up last name that no one else has ever had before or since.

I'm thinking these wacky robot-superstar names are anagrams.

In fact, in the history of the Red Sox, until 2002, they Had Acquired Nothing Like Epstein's Youth. HANLEY.

I'm telling you, whatever you've read, don't believe it. Hanley has never swung a bat, never put on a glove, never played in a minor league game. You could've told the Marlins he was a SIX-tool player, and they'd believe it, without even going through the tool list and realizing it's only five items long.

If you were a GM, would you have made a trade for Hanley? Of course you would, you're not an idiot. But have you ever seen him play? No. Because he's just a figment of your imagination. Like the Wizard of Oz, or WMD. But people went to great lenghts trying to find those. In other words, they just assumed they were real.

Somewhere, Theo is smiling. The World Series ring is nothing compared to achieving complete mind-control.

End fake story.

But in all seriousness, if the deal goes down, I'll miss Hanley, he seemed cool. And he's the subject of one of my favorite baseball pics I've ever taken. I never posted it until now:

Alas, Hanley, we knew ye better than anyone else we've hardly known.

I don't know why the intro at Mike Lowell's website cracks me up so much. Maybe it's the cheesy tune that's just catchy enough for you to want to play it again and again to see just how many times your roommate can hear it before he loses his mind. But, more likely, it's the way the ball bounces into Mike's glove. You've gotta see this.

I found that because I was doing a little research on the two newest Red Sox, if the physicals go as planned. (And if the Boston Globe isn't just making shit up. But that would never happen.) I noticed that Lowell is a humble dude who survived cancer without giving Jesus unnecessary credit (in the articles I've read, at least), is from the world's most beautiful island, Puerto Rico (granted, I've only been to a few islands--Trinidad/Tobago could kick it's ass for all I know, but for now, I'm keeping PR atop my list), turned down the yanks to stay in school, does a lot for kids with cancer, and is a family-type. While Beckett is a deer-shootin' Texan. But on the field at Fenway, they will both be rooted for by me. Weird how that works.

Of course, Lowell could end up being trade bait, or the whole deal could fall through. But this is what the off-season is for. That and continuously hyping your own little movies, such as the one with the rogue kids whackin' stuff.

One of my committed readers will be doing a wicked awesome charity raffle in the spring, when love is in the air, mind you, and was looking for donations of sports memorabilia to use. Since this is a charity event, he can provide receipts for tax write-offs. Don't know what a write-off is? Well, the tax people do...and they're the ones writing it off. If you have an item you are able to donate, whether it be a Rich Gedman autographed 8-track machine or a bag of Bill Lee's underarm hair from the '75 Series, please contact soxraffle06@yahoo.com. Thank you.

Earler today I heard that the Sox could get Josh Beckett, the dude who was key in beating the yanks in the 2003 WS, but that the Rangers were the favorite. I heard that and thought, We've got him.

Well, it's not quite official,but supposedly we are getting him. This would be key. Very key. And if this does get done, without us even having a GM, maybe we'll be able to get back to concentrating on the players themselves. Which would be good.

Again, it's not official. But let's hope. Although supposedly Hanley would be in the deal, which would be sad.

Check out my new movie, "Alarm King":


You'll probably have to wait a little while until it loads up or whatever.

This one isn't baseball-related. I'll give more details about it later. For now, just enjoy.

Bonus movie talk: click here for the new & improved World Series Parade Movie. It's the same as it was before except I added my blog address, fixed a couple of sound burps.

Labels: movies

Came acrosss this pic of David Cross wearing a Sox hat. Can this guy get any more world-ruling? This is from a site called The Apiary that has lots of NYC comedy stuff.

Here's the direct link to the thing about Cross. It's from a panel he hosted in the city in October featuring State/Stella types. Wish I'd known about that one. And I hope those folks don't mind me using that picture.

Nice 56-degree day today in New York. Red Sox hats were rampant, too. And I saw Thurston Moore of Sonic Youth down by Union Square. He has to be the celebrity I've seen the most in public. But when you hang out in Northampton and NYC a lot, apparently there's just no avoiding him. Especially since he's about 7 feet tall.