What's wrong with this donut?

That's right, one of the "rabbit turds" on this Entenmann's Variety Pack donut is the color of the chocolate-dipped donut. Did it somehow fall into the chocolate vat? If so, did they notice it and remove it individually so it could go back to its correct donut? Take a look at the closeup (and click to enlarge):
That was not on there as a normal colored RT, with chocolate then accidentally spilled on it--despite that the two chocolate donuts in the box were sitting next to this one, to the left. That RT was individually chocofied! I just can't figure out how this happened. If there was some dark brown on this donut anywhere but on the RT itself, I could see the spillover theory, but there wasn't. What's my next step here?

Breaking (quite literally) news: I broke the darker one in half to find it's all chocolate, inside and out! And the lighter one is also the same color inside and out. Where did this dark brown thing come from??

I've got it. They make the turds OUT OF the donut material, cutting them into turd-shape and putting frosting on. No, wait, the inside of the chocolate donuts are yellow! What is going on here? Maybe these turds exist on a different donut. The "rabbit turd donut that's chocolate instead of glazed." But I don't remember seeing that.

Aren't you glad the game got rained out?

About this Grimsley thing. Maybe this article should've tipped people off. It talks about how he was ready to come back from an injury that takes at least a year to come back from, and 18 months to come back from effectiveness-wise, and he was ready to come back from it in 9 months. And a check of retrosheet shows he did. Surgery October 12, 2004, pitched in a game July 15th, 2005.

This lady with a wicked Irish accent works in the cube next to me. When she says "how," it sounds like "hay." "Hay'r ya daing?" But she's totally Americanized, so she always says America's new favorite phrase "no worries." Therefore, whenever I tell myself in my head that there's "no problem," I hear, "noo ware-iz."

My point being that only two teams in all of baseball have fewer losses than the Boston Red Sox. We could be Royals fans, people. They're 14-42. We'll be fine. Also, remember that with te stupid playoff system, we're in already. The Tigers will drop off, leaving only the Shylock Sox in the central. One west team will get in, because only one is over .500. Then it's us and the yanks. The Jays have a chance, or am I just saying that to make it sound like I know baseball? All we have to do is come in second, basically, and we get the same chance (except for a slight home-field advantage) to win as the other seven teams. It's ridiculous, and takes away what used to be the best part about baseball--the division race--but it's the way it is. (Note: I've been saying this '95. Never liked the wild card. And don't get me started on interleague play.) Although believe me, I'm rooting my ass off for the yanks to drop out and the Jays to take their place. I still firmly believe the yanks won't make the playoffs this season.

About this "no worries" attitude: It doesn't mean I won't get really pissed and destroy villages over individual losses to the yanks. That's what I like about having a "diary." I can rant and rave about the evil yanks when that's how I feel, before the "calming down" period. I wouldn't have it any other way. If you were to read a teenage girl's diary, would you want it to say "Today I was pissed earlier about something father did, but I've thought it over and cooled down considerably."? Or do you want "OMG I H8 my dad Soooo much! He's sooo controlling and I'm just not allowed to be ME. Worst. dad. Ever. And he takes too long in the bathroom!"?

I'll answer that. You want the second way. That's the point of a diary, to blow off steam when no one else is around, and say what's in your head at that moment. (Chan has pretty much banned me from yelling at HIM for crimes of humanity perpetrated by Michael Kay, Derek Jeter, Steinbrenner, etc.) At least you people listen to me. And I thank you for that.

Another thing. If you're gonna say to me crap like "Why don't you stop hating and just be a baseball fan?", you might as well say "Why don't you stop hating Nazis and just be a human race fan?"

Mattingly succesfully removes booger from nose. Curtain call!

Proctor breathes in...and out! He's done it. Curtain call!

A-Rod files Jeter's bat in the proper slot, on only his second try! Curtain call!

Torre places hat correctly back on head--after previous curtain call. Curtain call!

Look, people, the lesson here is that Proctor only has eyebrows when he breathes out.

If I noticed anything different today, 6/6/6, it was that all the dogs of New York seemed to be going crazy. No straight lines there at all. I think it just proves my theory that dogs are evil.

Speaking of evil dogs, we played Mr. Dunbar tonight. I'm very proud of Pauley. He did just what I thought he'd do. I don't know if I really made that clear in print; I didn't want to jinx him. But ask people I talked to in real life. I had full confidence in him after that Toronto game. It just seemed like he knew he could do better. And tonight, he proved that. The poor kid misses an easy grounder, and that turned out to be the key play.

As far as the final score, what are you gonna do? It won't be the last time the yanks win on a borderline ball four call from Rudy Seanez. We'll just hope next time he's at least on another team.

Anybody still wanna cheer soulless Johnny after that little fancy-pants celebration? "Jete" has really taught him the true yankee way of taking attention from the player who actually made the play.

Well, I've just successfully taken a piss without getting any on the floor. Since I live in New York, I've been asked to take a fucking curtain call in honor of this feat. Wow, my fifth of the day. These people must genuinely love and appreciate my efforts.

If you're a yankee fan, I hope you trip and fall in front of a lot of people tomorrow. While holding two ice cream cones.

We'll just have to win the last two. Go out with the momentum.

"Okay...canker sores...acne on your face even though you're thirty...profuse sweating...uh, rapid heart rate..."

"Things that happen to you during a Red Sox-yankees series."

audience applauds

Tuesday, 6/6/6

You know how many pitches have been thrown to Johnny Damon this season? Turn 666 upside down.

You know how many at bats he has? Divide 666 by 3. (That's the date divided by the day of the week. Tuesday=3rd day.)

You know how many hits he has? 66.

Bonus material: Randy Johnson's OPS is .66666666666666....

A funny trick I learned at age three was to take a bunch of mud and put it in a glass and offer it up to the pricks in your neighborhood as a "milkshake." Ali and I never really acted out the plan, so I think it's time to finally go through with it. Milkshakes for my yankee fan co-workers tomorrow!

This is unbelievable. Emmy-winning "Hell, No" Network is currently missing what's going on. Now we're back, and the announcers are talking like they thought we were there the whole time! What the shit is happening? I have no idea what's going on. The only reason I knew anything was going on was because during the commercial (after Yes announcers assured us the inning was over), they cut back to a shot of Francona arguing, before going right back to two more commercials. They've explained everything, but NO ONE heard it because we were at commercial. Somebody needs to get fired here. Including the umps, who took a clearly fair ball, should've been double-play, and turned it into just one out. And now two runs score, after yet another shitty ball call. This game should be played under protest. At least we all know that in the end, the yanks will choke as usual.

More of this Hell, No Network crap, where they keep showing pitches from behind the plate. In other words, completely missing the action, because we can't see where the pitch is going, or where the ball goes off the bat, because the catcher and umpire are in the way. Who authorized this. As the type (the one?) who feels I need to fully witness each pitch to put the proper root-ation into it, this, naturally pisses me off. It's like I'm being cheated. Or like the cat stepped on the remote right before a pitch, turning theset off. I can't be responsible for what the Sox hitter does if I can't see the pitch!

That's a lotta hits in a row, Beckett. Better make some adj-effin-ustments.

HR by steroids man # 1. I think Curt's done a fabulous job of teaching him how to think too hard. Hey Giambi, that curtain call ain't so special after Andy Phillips just got one, is it? Fucking retarded neanderthal fans. At least we've got seven innings to come back.

Absolute classic "I'm afraid of yankee fans" umpiring. You could tell right away. Anything close by Mussina, there's a pause, the dude thinks "Oh no, if I don't raise that arm, I'm gonna get booed loudly," and then the strike is called. On a pitch to Manny, Kaat said "perfect pitch, perfect spot." Then the overhead replay is shown. Pitch nowhere near plate. Silence, then, Kay: A liberal strike zone, but he'll probably give it to Beckett, too." Uh, what? And Mussina tried to throw one even further outside to "test" the ump. It's so ridiculous how this is a part of baseball. The strike zone should be a constant, mind games shouldn't alter it. Then in the bottom of the first, sure enough, an absolutely perfect pitch is called a ball to Damon, he goes on to walk, and a run eventually scores. I'm not making excuses for our defense: Beckett, like mmost pitchers would have, blew the throw to second. And to allow that runner to go all the way around, terrible. But for some umpire to want to have 55,000 people cheer for him because he never got to play baseball always pisses me off. One of the many reasons it's ALWAYS easy to hate the yanks, no matter how mucg the media tells me I have no reason to hate them. If umps were robots, you could tell me I'm crazy. But you know these guys are psyched to take the nationwide stage, and they don't want to be booed. Especially at the one Stadium where you might actually be physically harmed if you disappoint the fans.

Anyway, we'll get some runs tonight. The legitimate way. Top 2nd, 1-0 them.

Ah, summertime--when you can go see bands without having to wait on long, depressing lines in the freezing cold for hours, among people who honestly believe they are cooler than you because they have better shoes.

As die-hard ARSFIPT readers know, I've been waiting for quite a while to see harp-sprite Joanna Newsom again. I check dragcity.com daily, to see that she's only playing in Iceland. That's not sarcasm. Since Neil Hamburger's also on Drag City Records, I at least get the pleasure of going to his hilarious site. So I get to have a laugh after finding out that Joanna is still not coming around.

Then I got one of those ticketmaster e-mails, the ones that say "Don't miss..." and are followed by "Rob Thomas," or "Third Eye Blind" or something. My eyes popped out when this one said "Don't miss Joanna Newsom."

Turns out she's playing a show in Brooklyn, at an old park with a pool that's been renovated. (The audience will be in the pool. I assume with no water.) That's on August 24th. Seems to be a one-off show, so I'm glad it's in my city. I found out about this last week, already have tickets, and stupid Drag City has still made no mention of it. Thank you, ticketmaster. (First time I've ever said that.) I'll be dragging Chan to that show, per our "deal"--you come see my blonde, short, weird, female songwriter with me if I go see yours with you. (I'm talking about Nellie Mackay, who I ended up seeing more than once with the Chan-meister.)

While researching this crazy swimming pool venue, I noticed that Sonic Youth is playing there, on August 11th and 12th. Got tix for that, too.

Central Park Summerstage isn't nearly as promising as last year's, but they could still add some stuff. Plus a lot of those shows are free, which automatically makes them more desirable.

Then you've got the yearly Hot Stove concert at Fenway, which I'll be attending once again. Terribly, it's on a Wednesday (July 12th), but I'm taking the day off to chill in the right field grandstand at Fenway, get this, facing the action. The stage will be in right field, facing the corner. Same old same old as far as bands. No Bernie Williams on the bill this year, though...

I saw this headline this morning: “Sting Helps Nab Terror Suspects.” Does this mean he's back with The Police? Oh!

Eh, you didn't miss much around here. Just me blabbing and plugging my latest movie. Scroll down if you're really curious. Above is a bonus shot from last week in Toronto. I call it "Anticipation... anticipay-ay-tion."

Also, I don't know if anyone added this up yet, but here's how Randy, Kazmir, and Lilly, our three lefty division nemeses, fared against us over a recent 8-game stretch:

14.1 IP, 22 H, 15 ER, 5 HR

Red Sox win. Mr. Dunbar? Eh, No, Peg. We're one up in the loss column going into the Bronx for four.

In the last ten minutes, I've watched Youk, Papi, and Millar go deep. Fortunately, Millar's team is playing the yanks. 6-0 O's, and 4-1 us.

Michael Backwards Kay is now pondering out loud whether Aaron Small's 2005 season was an aberration...

Saying "many thought he'd turned the corner and finally become a viable major leaguer."

Yeah, "many" meaning only Dunbar fans. The rest of us knew it was a fluke.

Another dong. 7-0 O's, and Small is done. Nice. And Matt "Stormtroopers of Death"/"Beard" Smith is in. (Only Ridgefield High Schoolers from the early '90s will understand those nicknames.)

Jeremy Bonderman scares me. Not his pitching, his face. He reminds me of a middle school bully. Looks like he has to blow his nose all the time. Eyes that make him look like he's always stoned. Ready to party, and kick the asses of anyone who isn't. He has that Kid Rock look. He scares me, too. Put a long straight-haired wig and a little crustache on Bonderman, and he's Kid Rock. Ugh, I hate those Kid Rock face-looking people.

Too bad we couldn't hit him and his Kid Rockish pitching last night.

Meanwhile, the Orioles should have won yesterday. Ninth inning, tied, a speedy dude on first, none out. Do they have him steal? No, they elect to have Jeff Conine bunt him over. One look at Conine and you know bunting isn't his forte. One-tay at most. So, of course he pops out. By the time the kid stole, there were already two strikes on the next hitter. That inning was done. And this was against Proctor. Then in the tenth, down a run, the yanks are forced to bring in Tuesday's starter against us, Wang. But since it's the Orioles, I could've got them out, and Wang did.

Having missed the first eight innings, I held my breath and did the usual "see how many hit by pitches, walks, fielder's choices, and most importantly, ERRORS, led to yankee runs." And of course, Tejada, who I've officially nicknamed "Shittiest good player in baseball history" was responsible for the yanks getting on the board in the first with a big E, his first of two on the day.

I'm wondering if any team in the league besides us will ever step up to be the triple-A effing yankees. Seriously.

Wow, 1:00 PM. Good morning. Red Sox start now. I hope I get Don and Jerry today.

Update: Nope. Mario and Ron. Oh well, they're not half bad.

A new (really, really) short film by Jere, called The O-Men. Shot in Toronto. Totally organic. Didn't plan this out in any way.

Labels: movies

For years now, Orioles fans have been screaming "O" during the singing of the national anthem, over the "oh" in "oh say does that star-spangled..." You hear it at every game at Camden Yards, and by the few O's fans who show up when the Orioles play in Boston, or anywhere else. In fact, I'm starting to hear it now at games not even involving the Orioles. Either from O's fans who happen to be in attendance, or from stupid people who think it's just some fad.

Next time the Red Sox play in Baltimore, I propose that all the Red Sox fans in attendance shout "red" at the moment of "and the rockets' red glare." I mean, the "o" thing is cheesy, but there's no stopping them now, so we might as well get in a little shout out for our side. I wouldn't want to do this all the time, just against the Orioles. The downside is that the "oh" comes after the "red," so they'll get last ups. (But at Fenway or in Balty, our "red" will be louder than their "O.") I think it would kind of shock them if we just break it out in September, next time we're down there.

I say we do it. What do you think? I'll be sure to repost this in September before that series. Or maybe before the August series at Fenway.

This was a game where the average Sox blogger had already written "I could tell we were gonna lose this one all along. One of those games where you just had a bad feeling" and was about to publish when Youk hit a two-out homer in the ninth to give us the lead. And in this crazy new Papelbon era, that was the game.

Even a crappy yankee win couldn't take from the awesome mood I'm still in. Thank you Red Sox.

Saturday Night Fever was on earlier, and now Pulp Fiction is. Funny watching the old Travolta after having just seen the young one.

The American, or inferior, Falls from the hotel room in Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada. On this day, we completely missed the game where the Sox lost 7-6 to the Jays. The day before, in another hotel in McGeesville, MA, we tuned in with the Sox up, like, 5-0, with two outs and two strikes in the ninth. After several walks, I finally said, "Watch us throw out the tying run at the plate to end the game." And we did. Now back to our vacation.

The Canadian Horseshoe Falls, upstream, to the right of the cleverly named "Casino."

The American Falls light up in the official colors of America: blue, white, and red. There are fireworks over the falls pretty much every night. The pics of those are dark. Besides, come on, have you never seen fireworks?

On to Toronto for Tuesday night's game. Canada, known for its cold, is hotter than hell. All that snow and ice imagery must be propaganda to weed out dumb Americans and their crazy units of weather and distance. Above, Tina interviews Curt.

The gentle giant among the little people.

Tito seems pissed at me.

This lady is a little out of her mind and whatnot.

Kid with mohawk.

Tito, what did I do? This isn't funny anymore.

Coco.

Papelbon.

Manny and David.

Papelbon on someone else's cell phone.

And again.

I love the Omen advertising. I wouldn't think "666" being all over the place would be acceptable, but apparently it is. I made a quick little movie on this Manny/David/Omen theme. I'll have it in my movie area soon.

Remy and DO film the intro.

Hey Trot, put your hat over your face like this.

Okay. By the way, are you George Clooney?

Manny on his birthday. Those Canadians hate Manny. They were on him all night. Terrible job. You know he wanted to get a key hit, but he wouldn't get it until the next night.

Chacin's crazy delivery.

The purple sky and the crescent moon and the open roof.

Crappy game that night, with Beckett pitching like some kind of non-Josh Beckett. No static at the border, and by the next night, I was at my parents' house, watching that crazy Totally Pauley game. I was proud of the kid. He did what he could, considering he got the call the day before. Amazing defense by my boy Gonzalez, and by the ailing Loretta, helping him to get out of a bunch of jams.

After he came out, he was big on drama that could've been saved for his mama. NESN cut to him in the dugout over and over. He showed us dejected look after dejected look. The near tears, the shaking of the head, the face buried in the hands. After all that, they cut to him yet again. He's still sulking, only this time, where there was no one before, there was Timlin, sitting next to the kid, calmly eating an apple. It's my contention that this move was purposely done by the comedian Timlin. Only a head of lettuce would have been funnier.

Then I took the late train back to NYC--to find a note on my building door: "Leave this door open. Key doesn't work, your new key is under your door." Would've been okay, except the door was shut and locked. So I had to buzz Chan at 1:30 AM. Way to be awake, Chan. Thanks.


*I'm told the song from the movie Vacation is "Holiday Road," but it's always sounded like "Holiday Roll" to me.

Seriously. How many yankees had to go down for Detroit to get just one win out of four? Almost all of them. The one that gave them the loss was Mariano, who got hurt putting on footwear, much like Wade Boggs once did. And Shef is officially going on the DL now. So anytime the yanks play a real team, they should get beat.

We're in first again. Look for my Canada pix within, uh, hours.

Roger Clemens loved breaking your heart yet again. Remember, this is a guy that cared so much about Red Sox fans, that he had no problem literally kissing and rubbing the Babe Ruth monument before every game he pitched with Mr. Dunbar. Still wondering how so many people were willing to let that slide...

The anonymous days are over. It was fun to make fun of the retarded yankee fans and their comments, but I'm finally making it so you at least have to have a blogger name to comment here.

Comments about my mom or my girlfriend will be deleted. If any of you cowards have something to say to me, email me directly.

Before leaving for my Canadian vacation with my "gf," I stopped at my parents' house, where I watched the Rays-Sox game on Friday night. Seeing that goofy Rays' catcher named Paul wearing number eight made me think of that third base coach named Butterfield whose number should be eight, because of the 1935 book Butterfield 8.

Then, my dad noted that JT Snow should wear eight--theoretically; my dad's fully aware the number is retired--because "8" is "the snowman." I never heard that one, but, I guess a two-segmented snowhuman does look a bit like an eight.

Upon from my return from the great white HOT AS HELL north, I again stopped at my folks', and we watched tonight's Jays-Sox game. I noticed that Butterfield was the Jays' third base coach. I'd forgotten what team he was with. Then Snow came in the game. Okay, both "should be eight" guys. But then Jermaine Van Buren came in. I've mentioned here before how he should be an eight, because of the Seinfeld episode where Kramer gets a free pass from the "Van B Boys" because he accidentally flashes eight fingers--the secret sign of the gang, due to Van Buren being the eighth president. Then I saw that dude Alex Rios, and realized he should be an eight. Ocho Rios, get it?

And then the cosmic ballet commenced, as Rios came up to bat against Van Buren, with Snow at first, and Butterfield in the third base coaches' box.

I live for this.

Watch for my pictures from Tuesday's Red Sox-Blue Jays game on Thursday night-ish, along with more gibberish, just like above, and talk of the Timlin apple-eating incident.

And before I go, a quick but very much expected "terrible job" to the Detroit "Laydownanddie-gers."