This is where I sound like an old fuddy duddy, and I really don’t even care. Earlier this week I saw a Facebook update where a friend said he was watching the “Fat-chelor” (he swears it’s not his term, and I believe him). Now I’m pretty much in the mind set that “The Bachelor” is awful television, and here it is, bad for our kids. Now we have the, well, “super sized” version with “More to Love.”
This is the last thing our kids, especially the girls, need to see. It was bad enough for their self-image, when all they saw was pretty (see: skinny) girls acting like douches to get the affection of some douche bag, because he had the right bone structure. Ah, but they were all there for the “right reasons” (I’m aiming to set a personal record for quotation mark usage in one post). And we know the producers care, because they’re now giving us a show that the heavier girls can watch. The highlights tell me this, and that these women are just so damn proud of their bodies, and want someone to love them just the way they are.
If these producers had a soul, there’d only be one show. Not a skinny show and a fat show. What really pisses me off about this, is only one title references the body types of the contestants. Reminds me of when we call a great Spike Lee movie a great “black” movie. When you have two groups of women, and we refer to one group as just women, and the other as plus size or “More to Love” you aren’t doing any of them any favors, especially the viewers at home. “The Bachelorette” is a normal, or what should be normal, woman. “More to Love” is women who are different, because why? They don’t barf after every meal.
As an uncle to girls, this sort of thing really pissed me off. Now that I’m helping raise a girl, and I hear more about how self conscious girls are at such early ages, it pretty much makes me want to throw a shoe at my TV. Wait, I don’t mean that, sorry TV. I love you, you know this.
At the same time, we can’t just blame the producers. It’s the public that eats this shit up. But what came first, the chicken or the shit? This isn’t good for young boys either, who catch mommy and daddy watching these shows. Movies are bad enough, with the whole portraying of what they want us to consider beautiful. But this is “reality” television, so its message is allegedly real. And that’s bullshit. The Kyd doesn’t need the television getting in her head, it’s already tough enough just finding friends to sit with in the cafeteria on the first day of second grade.
July 30, 2009
July 29, 2009
Time Travel
My cousin sent me a story this morning, about a chance meeting with former Tiger and Reds manager, Sparky Anderson. He and his brother grew up in Detroit as Tiger fans, and his brother (along with the movie Mask) were really the catalyst behind my baseball card collection, which I still have, although I think the idea of it paying for my college might have missed its target. Maybe one day the Kyd will want them, or her (just shit my pants) son (my grandson) will. Please hold, I’m going to throw up, I’ll be right back.
Anyway, reading his email about the conversation he had with one of his hero’s got me to thinking about my childhood heroes. I was pretty lucky as a kid, and met more than a few ball players. When I was 11, some friends and I were allowed to skip Hebrew School to go to a baseball card store in Danbury Connecticut and meet Darryl Strawberry. This is back when Darryl was the man, a World Champion, a lock for the Hall of Fame and destined for at least joining the 500 HR club. At 11, this was one of the highlights of my young life. Later that year, after a Met game, we were able to meet, and get an autograph from the Met skipper, Davey Johnson. And a few months after that, we went to a book signing by Duke Snider. Who actually wasn’t a hero, but a Hall of Famer and a class act.
We moved to Kansas when I was 12, and within just a few months, we met Danny Tartabull at a local grocery store. My buddy across the street was the nephew of an Oakland A’s catcher, who also lived in the neighborhood. I saw a bus load of A’s go to his house one afternoon, including Rickey Henderson, Dennis Eckersley and Dave Stewart, and even though I didn’t meet them, I was pissing myself to just see them in my neighborhood. And then we found out where to stand after games, to meet ball players as they went to their cars, or as visiting players got on their bus.
Fast forward to 1995, and the strike has come to an end. Word spread that the Cleveland Indians were staying in the same hotel that my Bar Mitzvah reception was held, so a friend and I headed right over. I met Eddie Murray (questioned him on the Mets, and he said they’d never win, because the exec’s had no clue) Carlos Baerga, Jim Thome, Kenny Lofton and Manny Ramirez. I talked to Dave Winfield and Mark Clark, and saw Tony Pena getting in an elevator with two young ladies. At the Royals game the night before, we saw Albert Belle (world class Asshole) respond to a mother who was asking for an autograph for her son, that if she got in his limo they “could discuss it.”
I was no longer a kid, and I was seeing these guys for what they really are for the first time. A friend in college met Paul Pierce, who told her “I own this campus, I can get my D**k sucked anytime.” You stay classy, Paul. Later I saw Tony Gonzalez and Warren Moon in a local bar, surrounded by women, and it was no secret that Moon was married. I even was able to attend the wedding reception for a well compensated, often injured, Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher. See, I’ve been pretty damn lucky. But to have the opportunity, to go back to when I didn’t know them as assholes, man, that just sounds too good to pass up. To actually, even if just for a day, reclaim some of that innocence, is priceless, even when done so vicariously.
But this morning I read this email from my cousin, who is no stranger to rubbing elbows with familiar names and faces, and the picture of him and Sparky looked like it was just a picture of a 12 year old and one of his heroes. So I’m wondering, and day dreaming, about whom from my childhood, would have that effect on me.
There’s always Dwight Gooden. Put his well covered troubles aside, and even though I can’t say his name without wondering “what if,” I know just how clammy my hands would get. Just how dry my mouth would get, hell, just typing about it, I am starting to feel all those things. Mike Tyson and Lawrence Taylor also make my list, but again, there’s so much drama connected with those guys. I really wonder if I’d have such an innocent moment of reliving my childhood if I came face to face with them, or if I’d be filled with the disappointment of what could have been.
Magic Johnson, he absolutely would make me feel 12 again. Sadly, the 12 year old Hirp wasn’t much shorter than the 32 year old is. But I’d have my hair again, so there’s that. I think Billy Joel, Mookie Wilson, Wally Backman, and Roger McDowell would bring out the 12 year old me. And talking about “bringing out the kid in me” it’s hard to pass up on the obvious Michael Jackson jokes. But this is bigger than that; I hate myself for even thinking those jokes.
So I must say thanks to my cuz, for sharing his story and pictures, and getting me to spend some time thinking about the 12 year old version of me.
Anyway, reading his email about the conversation he had with one of his hero’s got me to thinking about my childhood heroes. I was pretty lucky as a kid, and met more than a few ball players. When I was 11, some friends and I were allowed to skip Hebrew School to go to a baseball card store in Danbury Connecticut and meet Darryl Strawberry. This is back when Darryl was the man, a World Champion, a lock for the Hall of Fame and destined for at least joining the 500 HR club. At 11, this was one of the highlights of my young life. Later that year, after a Met game, we were able to meet, and get an autograph from the Met skipper, Davey Johnson. And a few months after that, we went to a book signing by Duke Snider. Who actually wasn’t a hero, but a Hall of Famer and a class act.
We moved to Kansas when I was 12, and within just a few months, we met Danny Tartabull at a local grocery store. My buddy across the street was the nephew of an Oakland A’s catcher, who also lived in the neighborhood. I saw a bus load of A’s go to his house one afternoon, including Rickey Henderson, Dennis Eckersley and Dave Stewart, and even though I didn’t meet them, I was pissing myself to just see them in my neighborhood. And then we found out where to stand after games, to meet ball players as they went to their cars, or as visiting players got on their bus.
Fast forward to 1995, and the strike has come to an end. Word spread that the Cleveland Indians were staying in the same hotel that my Bar Mitzvah reception was held, so a friend and I headed right over. I met Eddie Murray (questioned him on the Mets, and he said they’d never win, because the exec’s had no clue) Carlos Baerga, Jim Thome, Kenny Lofton and Manny Ramirez. I talked to Dave Winfield and Mark Clark, and saw Tony Pena getting in an elevator with two young ladies. At the Royals game the night before, we saw Albert Belle (world class Asshole) respond to a mother who was asking for an autograph for her son, that if she got in his limo they “could discuss it.”
I was no longer a kid, and I was seeing these guys for what they really are for the first time. A friend in college met Paul Pierce, who told her “I own this campus, I can get my D**k sucked anytime.” You stay classy, Paul. Later I saw Tony Gonzalez and Warren Moon in a local bar, surrounded by women, and it was no secret that Moon was married. I even was able to attend the wedding reception for a well compensated, often injured, Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher. See, I’ve been pretty damn lucky. But to have the opportunity, to go back to when I didn’t know them as assholes, man, that just sounds too good to pass up. To actually, even if just for a day, reclaim some of that innocence, is priceless, even when done so vicariously.
But this morning I read this email from my cousin, who is no stranger to rubbing elbows with familiar names and faces, and the picture of him and Sparky looked like it was just a picture of a 12 year old and one of his heroes. So I’m wondering, and day dreaming, about whom from my childhood, would have that effect on me.
There’s always Dwight Gooden. Put his well covered troubles aside, and even though I can’t say his name without wondering “what if,” I know just how clammy my hands would get. Just how dry my mouth would get, hell, just typing about it, I am starting to feel all those things. Mike Tyson and Lawrence Taylor also make my list, but again, there’s so much drama connected with those guys. I really wonder if I’d have such an innocent moment of reliving my childhood if I came face to face with them, or if I’d be filled with the disappointment of what could have been.
Magic Johnson, he absolutely would make me feel 12 again. Sadly, the 12 year old Hirp wasn’t much shorter than the 32 year old is. But I’d have my hair again, so there’s that. I think Billy Joel, Mookie Wilson, Wally Backman, and Roger McDowell would bring out the 12 year old me. And talking about “bringing out the kid in me” it’s hard to pass up on the obvious Michael Jackson jokes. But this is bigger than that; I hate myself for even thinking those jokes.
So I must say thanks to my cuz, for sharing his story and pictures, and getting me to spend some time thinking about the 12 year old version of me.
July 27, 2009
Dream Teams
I was probably eight, or maybe nine, the first time I sat down with a pen and a piece of paper and drafted up my “Dream Team.” Years before I even knew what fantasy sports were, let alone started to play. Lately I’ve found myself bouncing ideas of off a few friends for a brilliant idea we had some ten years ago, and continue to revisit every few years. But the past few days I’ve had a different team in mind.
This time I’m not thinking of how Tony Gwynn and Eric Davis would share the outfield with Darryl Strawberry. I’m thinking more about movies. Picking a favorite writer, director and even a few actors to work on one movie, without even considering what the story might be about.
Originally, my “A” team included Aaron Sorkin and Steven Soderbergh. Then I read that Sorkin had signed on to help out with Soderbergh’s Moneyball. So I scratched that idea, and here are some teams I’d like to see:
Writer: Stephen Gaghan (Traffic, Syriana)
Director: Peter Berg (The Kingdom, Friday Night Lights)
Actor: Denzel Washington
Writer: Scott Frank (Out of Sight, Get Shorty)
Director: Doug Liman (Bourne Identiy, Swingers, Mr. and Mrs Smith)
Actor: Will Smith
Writer: Nicholas Pileggi (Goodfellas, Casino)
Director: Ben Affleck (Gone Baby Gone)
Actor: Robert Downey Jr.
Writer: Kenneth Lonegran (You Can Count On Me, Analyze This)
Director: Jon Favreau (Iron Man, Made)
Actor: Terrence Howard
This time I’m not thinking of how Tony Gwynn and Eric Davis would share the outfield with Darryl Strawberry. I’m thinking more about movies. Picking a favorite writer, director and even a few actors to work on one movie, without even considering what the story might be about.
Originally, my “A” team included Aaron Sorkin and Steven Soderbergh. Then I read that Sorkin had signed on to help out with Soderbergh’s Moneyball. So I scratched that idea, and here are some teams I’d like to see:
Writer: Stephen Gaghan (Traffic, Syriana)
Director: Peter Berg (The Kingdom, Friday Night Lights)
Actor: Denzel Washington
Writer: Scott Frank (Out of Sight, Get Shorty)
Director: Doug Liman (Bourne Identiy, Swingers, Mr. and Mrs Smith)
Actor: Will Smith
Writer: Nicholas Pileggi (Goodfellas, Casino)
Director: Ben Affleck (Gone Baby Gone)
Actor: Robert Downey Jr.
Writer: Kenneth Lonegran (You Can Count On Me, Analyze This)
Director: Jon Favreau (Iron Man, Made)
Actor: Terrence Howard
July 23, 2009
KU, Obama and Links. Oh my
Last weekend some old friends came in to town, and we had a great time. Saturday afternoon we all went up to Lawrence, which was the Kyd’s first trip to Larry town. First of all, I’ve never seen a kid do so well when hanging out with only grown ups. She did it in Mexico, and she hit another Home Run last weekend. It’s remarkable to see her really connect with our friends, and carry on real conversations. But aside from getting a little bored by our trip down memory lane, she really enjoyed Lawrence. She probably didn’t love us telling her about “when you come here” as much as we enjoyed saying it. But really, she better not ever dance on a bar on Mass or live in one of those sorority houses.
I was 12, when I went to visit my cousin at UCLA, and I fell in love with that school right then. The Kyd has had a soft spot in her heard for KU, for at least as long as I’ve been around, and probably longer since she’s got such a great and intelligent mother. I really hope that she looks back on that day trip and smiles, for years to come. Now I have to figure out how we’d ever afford for her to attend KU. Brilliant Kyd, wonder if we can just assume she’ll get a full ride scholarship.
***
So President Obama held a press conference on health reform last night, and I watched some of it. Bad American, I know, sue me. Here’s what drives me nuts (among 453,248 other items). Those Americans who are against doing anything that another country manages to do successfully. It’s “socialist” or “fascism”. Puh-lease. Even if the idea is borrowed from a Socialist Government, it doesn’t make the idea a bad one. Tinkering with the way we do things is also how we make progress. I don’t know anyone who is happy with how things are these days, and I’ve read plenty of comments from people who want to go “back to when…” And on occasion, a step back is actually progress. But to just run back to “then” because the unknown is scary, that’s just straight up cowardly. And to sound all patriotic, for just a second, that isn’t what our fore (or in some cases, four) fathers had in mind.
We were watching a “Mythbusters” last week, in which they were answering the challenges of all the conspiracy theorists, who believe we never made it to the Moon 40 years ago. They debunked all those claims by the way, but it got my wife and I talking. We haven’t done anything like that since. Even if there’s no big pay day in doing it again, we should go back to the moon. Let’s inspire the kids, or the next generation, and show them we’re a people that can really get some amazing shit done. Some times we do it just ‘cause we can, but at least they’ll learn that (pause for effect) Yes We Can.
***
This is one disgusting story: http://tinyurl.com/m8k5wz Sisters married the same guy, like, at the same time. No, really. I mean it. Yep, you just threw up in your mouth a little too, sorry. Might be time we consider selling off Utah to help with the National Debt.
Here is one of my new, daily visit required, favorite sites: http://mikerevolution.posterous.com/
I was 12, when I went to visit my cousin at UCLA, and I fell in love with that school right then. The Kyd has had a soft spot in her heard for KU, for at least as long as I’ve been around, and probably longer since she’s got such a great and intelligent mother. I really hope that she looks back on that day trip and smiles, for years to come. Now I have to figure out how we’d ever afford for her to attend KU. Brilliant Kyd, wonder if we can just assume she’ll get a full ride scholarship.
***
So President Obama held a press conference on health reform last night, and I watched some of it. Bad American, I know, sue me. Here’s what drives me nuts (among 453,248 other items). Those Americans who are against doing anything that another country manages to do successfully. It’s “socialist” or “fascism”. Puh-lease. Even if the idea is borrowed from a Socialist Government, it doesn’t make the idea a bad one. Tinkering with the way we do things is also how we make progress. I don’t know anyone who is happy with how things are these days, and I’ve read plenty of comments from people who want to go “back to when…” And on occasion, a step back is actually progress. But to just run back to “then” because the unknown is scary, that’s just straight up cowardly. And to sound all patriotic, for just a second, that isn’t what our fore (or in some cases, four) fathers had in mind.
We were watching a “Mythbusters” last week, in which they were answering the challenges of all the conspiracy theorists, who believe we never made it to the Moon 40 years ago. They debunked all those claims by the way, but it got my wife and I talking. We haven’t done anything like that since. Even if there’s no big pay day in doing it again, we should go back to the moon. Let’s inspire the kids, or the next generation, and show them we’re a people that can really get some amazing shit done. Some times we do it just ‘cause we can, but at least they’ll learn that (pause for effect) Yes We Can.
***
This is one disgusting story: http://tinyurl.com/m8k5wz Sisters married the same guy, like, at the same time. No, really. I mean it. Yep, you just threw up in your mouth a little too, sorry. Might be time we consider selling off Utah to help with the National Debt.
Here is one of my new, daily visit required, favorite sites: http://mikerevolution.posterous.com/
July 09, 2009
In McCauley Hirp Trust
I, logically speaking, understand why so many people enjoy riding motorcycles. Really, I get it on some level, but that doesn’t mean I agree with it or can’t mock it. Similar to the way that you can understand why I’m mocking it, but still think I’m a jackass. Out on the open road, wind in your face, bugs in your teeth, unable to hear anything with the howling wind. I can see appeal in that, very little, but it’s still something.
So what’s my beef with this activity, that’s enjoyed by millions of Americans? Let’s start hear, and to quote my man Neil McCauley in Heat, “he knew the risks, he didn’t have to be there.” That’s what I think about when I hear about motorcycle accidents. Cold? Yep, very. Makes me a pretty big asshole, I realize that. And its not at all that I’m hoping they get hurt, although I’ve thought I see some dumbass weaving through traffic at twice the speed of everyone else. But that’s what I think when I see the billboards or bumper stickers that warn us that motorcycles are out there.
And you know what else? I really don’t think that makes me very unique. When you see that tiny little two seater, Fortwo, you can’t help but think about how anyone driving one of those is screwed if they get in an accident. It’d still be tragic, but if/when that happens, it’s really not all that shocking. So if you’re riding a motorcycle, and something happens, as it recently did with a co-worker of mine and my sister-in-law years ago, it’s still tragic. But as McCauley said, “it rains, you get wet.”
Another thing that bothers me and this is probably more of the Harley Davidson riders, but the need to dress, head to toe, in apparel that advertises the brand of your bike. I get it, you’re riding one and I can see that, so I’m pretty sure you’re a fan of the brand. The shirt, hat, chaps, vest, jacket and I assume your Harley watch and wallet are just overkill. This is no different than a grown man wearing a Chiefs hat, jersey (probably tucked in), zubuz, visor, boxers and digital watch. Yeah, that’s overkill, and frankly, a little sad.
Actually, it is a little different than those sport geeks, because part of the lure, from what I understand, to the motorcycle enthusiast is the life style. There seems to be something of an outlaw or anti-establishment feel to Harley’s. That comes from the fact that, even if you see a whole group together, they’re all pretty much going alone. And well, I watch a lot of “Gangland” and I see stories on the Hell’s Angels, Bandidos, Mongols, Warlocks or Sons of Silence. So I don’t get how someone trying to feel the freedom that outlaws enjoy, and identify with something anti-establishment can become such a walking billboard. Being a rebel and so obviously brand loyal reminds me of a slutty virgin.
And that brings me to my last reason. To dress like, and identify with some group of outlaws is one thing. No one gets that as well as I do, as I’m a huge fan of Mafioso anything and can’t turn of any show that has to do with gangs. But if I wear colors, like I’m a Crip, or I try to talk like John Gotti, then I’m a damn clown. Clowned by those who really are what I’d be imitating and mocked by the rest of the world for being fake and probably slightly retarded. Hey, it’s your right to ride whatever you want. And more power to you. But just as many don’t understand my affinity for the mafia or hip hop, I don’t really understand all that comes with motorcycle fanatics. Not that I need to, but hey, this is my blog and I’ll write about whatever I want. So there’s that.
***
Steve McNair, tragic story. Sorry to hear what happened, and I always liked the guy. But you’re a married guy in his late 30’s and you have kids. You’re hooking up with a 20 year old that you met at Daves and Busters, and you’re giving her an Escalade. You’re promising her a future, and telling her you’re going to divorce your wife and marry her. This doesn’t, by itself, make you a horrible person deserving of death. But remember what Neil said, “it rains, you get wet.”
My man, it’s awful that you’re gone, but if it wasn’t the girlfriend it could have been the wife. The lesson here, for all men and women is simple. Neil McCauley knows all, and don’t cheat on your spouse.
So what’s my beef with this activity, that’s enjoyed by millions of Americans? Let’s start hear, and to quote my man Neil McCauley in Heat, “he knew the risks, he didn’t have to be there.” That’s what I think about when I hear about motorcycle accidents. Cold? Yep, very. Makes me a pretty big asshole, I realize that. And its not at all that I’m hoping they get hurt, although I’ve thought I see some dumbass weaving through traffic at twice the speed of everyone else. But that’s what I think when I see the billboards or bumper stickers that warn us that motorcycles are out there.
And you know what else? I really don’t think that makes me very unique. When you see that tiny little two seater, Fortwo, you can’t help but think about how anyone driving one of those is screwed if they get in an accident. It’d still be tragic, but if/when that happens, it’s really not all that shocking. So if you’re riding a motorcycle, and something happens, as it recently did with a co-worker of mine and my sister-in-law years ago, it’s still tragic. But as McCauley said, “it rains, you get wet.”
Another thing that bothers me and this is probably more of the Harley Davidson riders, but the need to dress, head to toe, in apparel that advertises the brand of your bike. I get it, you’re riding one and I can see that, so I’m pretty sure you’re a fan of the brand. The shirt, hat, chaps, vest, jacket and I assume your Harley watch and wallet are just overkill. This is no different than a grown man wearing a Chiefs hat, jersey (probably tucked in), zubuz, visor, boxers and digital watch. Yeah, that’s overkill, and frankly, a little sad.
Actually, it is a little different than those sport geeks, because part of the lure, from what I understand, to the motorcycle enthusiast is the life style. There seems to be something of an outlaw or anti-establishment feel to Harley’s. That comes from the fact that, even if you see a whole group together, they’re all pretty much going alone. And well, I watch a lot of “Gangland” and I see stories on the Hell’s Angels, Bandidos, Mongols, Warlocks or Sons of Silence. So I don’t get how someone trying to feel the freedom that outlaws enjoy, and identify with something anti-establishment can become such a walking billboard. Being a rebel and so obviously brand loyal reminds me of a slutty virgin.
And that brings me to my last reason. To dress like, and identify with some group of outlaws is one thing. No one gets that as well as I do, as I’m a huge fan of Mafioso anything and can’t turn of any show that has to do with gangs. But if I wear colors, like I’m a Crip, or I try to talk like John Gotti, then I’m a damn clown. Clowned by those who really are what I’d be imitating and mocked by the rest of the world for being fake and probably slightly retarded. Hey, it’s your right to ride whatever you want. And more power to you. But just as many don’t understand my affinity for the mafia or hip hop, I don’t really understand all that comes with motorcycle fanatics. Not that I need to, but hey, this is my blog and I’ll write about whatever I want. So there’s that.
***
Steve McNair, tragic story. Sorry to hear what happened, and I always liked the guy. But you’re a married guy in his late 30’s and you have kids. You’re hooking up with a 20 year old that you met at Daves and Busters, and you’re giving her an Escalade. You’re promising her a future, and telling her you’re going to divorce your wife and marry her. This doesn’t, by itself, make you a horrible person deserving of death. But remember what Neil said, “it rains, you get wet.”
My man, it’s awful that you’re gone, but if it wasn’t the girlfriend it could have been the wife. The lesson here, for all men and women is simple. Neil McCauley knows all, and don’t cheat on your spouse.
July 08, 2009
Two Quickies
I had a great idea for Bad Boys 3, the one that would never get made. Dump Martain Lawrence, and that Will Smith guy, I mean really, he doesn’t bring in the box office results that I can get. Here it is: Emmanuel Lewis and Gary Coleman. Okay it’s a ridiculous idea for a movie, but a great idea for a sketch. Come back to me “In Living Colour.”
***
I had the Michael Jackson Memorial on my computer yesterday, and let me say this, I hate how jaded and cynical I am. I mean, I love it, because it fuels this blog and 99.84% of all my jokes, that doesn’t mean they’re all funny, but 60% of the time they work every time. But really, I questioned every single aspect of that memorial. I wondered if the Jackson family resembles, in any way at all, a real family, or if they communicate through lawyers and managers only. I couldn’t help but wonder if Jermaine was going to use this to start a comeback of his own. I can guarantee we see at least a few of them on “Idol” next year, and I really expect there to be a reality show from someone in the family, that will deal with only the loss of Michael. I wondered how sincere everyone’s reaction was, did Usher really care that much? And I know damn well that Kenny Ortega brought out that kid at the end for the sole purpose of launching his career, and that’s effin’ disgusting. Or maybe I’m wrong on all of this, and everyone just feels like crap and no one has an agenda.
***
I had the Michael Jackson Memorial on my computer yesterday, and let me say this, I hate how jaded and cynical I am. I mean, I love it, because it fuels this blog and 99.84% of all my jokes, that doesn’t mean they’re all funny, but 60% of the time they work every time. But really, I questioned every single aspect of that memorial. I wondered if the Jackson family resembles, in any way at all, a real family, or if they communicate through lawyers and managers only. I couldn’t help but wonder if Jermaine was going to use this to start a comeback of his own. I can guarantee we see at least a few of them on “Idol” next year, and I really expect there to be a reality show from someone in the family, that will deal with only the loss of Michael. I wondered how sincere everyone’s reaction was, did Usher really care that much? And I know damn well that Kenny Ortega brought out that kid at the end for the sole purpose of launching his career, and that’s effin’ disgusting. Or maybe I’m wrong on all of this, and everyone just feels like crap and no one has an agenda.
Hirp Answers
My cousin recently tweeted that he thought the NBA turned into a fantasy league, so I (and hopefully you) have him to thank for this post. I couldn’t help but wonder when exactly the perception of the NBA changed. Is it really something new, or have things been this way for years, even before fantasy leagues popped up all over the country.
Was it when Kareem Abdul-Jabbar passed on a $1 million offer from the Harlem Globetrotters, and was selected by the Milwaukee Bucks in the NBA AND the New Jersey Nets in the ABA, and informed both teams that he’d sign with the highest bidder? Or was that just an anomaly? Mostly, I believe, the perception of a fantasy league stems from seeing the top players move around so frequently.
Looking back to the 70’s, the players as well as the public had to choose between the NBA and the ABA, and when the decision was made that the NBA was the league, the top players didn’t move around all that often. Dr J was a 76er, as was Moses Malone. Walt Frazier was a Knick and George Gervin a Spur. Then there’s Kareem again, who split the 70’s between Milwaukee and the Lakers. Again, it was a power move that got him to LA, when he felt the city of Milwaukee didn’t meet all his needs, and asked to be dealt to LA or New York. Was that the beginning of the Fantasy League era? I don’t believe so.
As with the 80’s we again saw the top players seldom move around during their primes. But the 80’s did lay down the tracks that lead to the Fantasy Era. Prior to the 1984-85 season they instituted a salary cap and then the lottery draft system for the 1985 draft. Which of course, we all know was famously fixed so that the New York Knicks would get Patrick Ewing. Thanks for that, Mr. Stern.
The cap and lottery worked together in creating an environment that made the Fantasy a reality. The lottery has now been around for 25 years, and the truth is this; having a better chance at picking the top college players doesn’t matter when the organization is clueless. Looking at the all-time records, the worst 10 organizations based on win-loss % are the: Grizzlies, Bobcats, Clippers, Raptors, Timerwolves, Nets, Warriors, Wizards, Cavs and Kings. Only one of those teams made the playoffs last year. Sure, they may flair up on occasion and have some good years, or sold to someone who has a clue, but over time, the bad have been bad. What does that have to do with the lottery? Over the last 10 years those 10 teams have had 22 top 5 picks. Nearly half of the top 5 picks in the league belong to a third of the leagues teams.
I’ll come back to how this has lead to a fantasy league a little later. Now it’s time to introduce another co-conspirator; the kids that came either directly from high school or before their junior year of college. First, this started a youth movement, but also a trend of unproven talent. A 22 year old that played four years of college is not only rare, he’s looked at as being old. The fact that his skill set is more defined, is also perceived as limiting, where as the younger guy has the higher ceiling, simply because less is known.
The sophomore trend began popping up in 1993 with Chris Webber, who went on to have a confusing career. He went from Rookie of the Year to drifter, to “the Man” on a Championship caliber team, to a career shortened by injury. He’s both a disappointment, because we thought he’d redefine his position, but he’s also a borderline Hall of Famer. Jason Kidd was another sophomore turned pro the next year, and has a similar career to Webber (the messy divorce in Dallas, all the talent in the world, but he’s been traded three times, twice by his prime).
Then in 1995, the shit really hit the fan. The top 4 picks had all left school after their sophomore seasons. Joe Smith (bust) Antonio McDyess (bust) Jerry Stackhouse and Rasheed Wallace. The 5th pick in that draft, Kevin Garnett, started a new trend, the direct from high school prospect. The next five drafts gave us Kobe Bryant, Tracy McGrady, Rashard Lewis, Jermaine O’Neal as well as Jonathan Bender, Al Harrington, and Korleone Young, not to mention loads more of sophomore players as well as the one and done kids.
So now we have horribly run teams taking underdeveloped players. That works in one of three ways, but two cases are more frequent. First, you get a hit and the guy works out (Kobe, KG, Antoine Walker) or you get a bust (Tim Thomas, Olowokandi, Robert Traylor) or you get someone who uses his four year contract (as part of the collective bargain agreement) as a tryout for both a bigger contract and a better team (Rip Hamilton, Mike Bibby, Vince Carter, McGrady, Stephon Marbury for examples)
Having guys who don’t go and play three or four years of college ball gives the league underdeveloped talent, who also are so used to being the man in high school and often don’t adjust well to being around so much talent. Yet, teams see where it has worked, and everyone thinks they can get lucky. The lottery has become not just a lottery for position, but talent, everyone betting a buck hoping to get rich.
So what do these poorly run organizations do, when their draft picks are mistakes? They swing for the fences in a little game that I like to call “free agency.” And you know what happens when you have a cap on how much someone can spend, when that person isn’t all that good at budget their money? You get the same thing that would happen if you sent me into Best Buy with a $5,000 gift card. Mistakes.
ESPN.com listed the top 10 worst NBA contracts ever. The list consists of:
Stephon Marbury, four years, $76 million with the Suns in ’03.
Kenyon Martin, seven years $92.5 million with the Nets as part of a sign and trade deal with Denver in ’04.
Allan Houston, seven years, $100 million with the Knicks in ’01.
Keith Van Horn (twice) but the worst was his first with the Nets, for six years and $73 million in ’99.
Vin Baker for seven years and $86 million in ’99 with the Sonics.
Jermaine O’Neal signed for seven years a whopping $126.6million in ’03 with the Pacers.
Bryan Reeves, six years and $64 million in ’97 with the Grizzlies.
Ben Wallace got four years at $60 million in ’06 by the Bulls.
Jim Mcllavine, seven years and $35 million with the Sonics in ’96.
#10 was Juwan Howard, seven years for $105 million in ’96 with the Bullets.
Remember that list of 10 awful franchises? They account for four of these 10 awful deals.
1996 is a key here by the way. What happened in 1996 was the NBA had its first major class of free agents hit the open market. The top two picks from the ’92 draft, Shaquille O’Neal and Alonzo Mourning moved to new teams. Shaq signed for seven years and $121 million and ‘Zo for $105 million. The vaults were open, as seen by the Howard and Mcllavine deals.
The freaks have made everyone’s eyes too big for their stomachs. The world saw the Lakers land Kobe Bryant, but they didn’t take notice of how they didn’t start him full time till his third year. Kevin Garnett was a part time player his rookie year, and didn’t hit his stride till he was 22, oddly enough, the same age as most players who play four years of college ball. Even Jermaine O’Neal and Tracy McGrady were brought along slowly.
In 2006 the league implemented a rule stating that a player must be at least 19 to enter the draft, thus creating the “one and done” rule. And the last three #1 draft picks have been just followed that road. And it isn’t even driven by getting that first big contract, it’s to hurry up and hit free agency as soon as possible, where the real money awaits. The league awaits King James’ free agency after this year, at the tender age of 25. Kirk Hinrich was drafted the same year, and he’ll be 29 after this season. That’s pretty much the beginning of the end for most basketball players. Lebron earned roughly $20 million his first four years in the league, but he doesn’t think that going to college would have cost him $20 million, it’s the fact that it would have cost him two max contracts in his prime, which will bring him over $200 million.
And with guys like him, Dwayne Wade, and Chris Bosh hitting the market at the same time next year, cap space has become more valuable than draft picks. So teams spend years (see the Knicks) acquiring expiring contracts, just with the hopes of being able to land a big fish.
Giving us, the fans, a league that more closely resembles a fantasy league than the league we grew up with. The perception is of today, but the foundation was built over years.
Was it when Kareem Abdul-Jabbar passed on a $1 million offer from the Harlem Globetrotters, and was selected by the Milwaukee Bucks in the NBA AND the New Jersey Nets in the ABA, and informed both teams that he’d sign with the highest bidder? Or was that just an anomaly? Mostly, I believe, the perception of a fantasy league stems from seeing the top players move around so frequently.
Looking back to the 70’s, the players as well as the public had to choose between the NBA and the ABA, and when the decision was made that the NBA was the league, the top players didn’t move around all that often. Dr J was a 76er, as was Moses Malone. Walt Frazier was a Knick and George Gervin a Spur. Then there’s Kareem again, who split the 70’s between Milwaukee and the Lakers. Again, it was a power move that got him to LA, when he felt the city of Milwaukee didn’t meet all his needs, and asked to be dealt to LA or New York. Was that the beginning of the Fantasy League era? I don’t believe so.
As with the 80’s we again saw the top players seldom move around during their primes. But the 80’s did lay down the tracks that lead to the Fantasy Era. Prior to the 1984-85 season they instituted a salary cap and then the lottery draft system for the 1985 draft. Which of course, we all know was famously fixed so that the New York Knicks would get Patrick Ewing. Thanks for that, Mr. Stern.
The cap and lottery worked together in creating an environment that made the Fantasy a reality. The lottery has now been around for 25 years, and the truth is this; having a better chance at picking the top college players doesn’t matter when the organization is clueless. Looking at the all-time records, the worst 10 organizations based on win-loss % are the: Grizzlies, Bobcats, Clippers, Raptors, Timerwolves, Nets, Warriors, Wizards, Cavs and Kings. Only one of those teams made the playoffs last year. Sure, they may flair up on occasion and have some good years, or sold to someone who has a clue, but over time, the bad have been bad. What does that have to do with the lottery? Over the last 10 years those 10 teams have had 22 top 5 picks. Nearly half of the top 5 picks in the league belong to a third of the leagues teams.
I’ll come back to how this has lead to a fantasy league a little later. Now it’s time to introduce another co-conspirator; the kids that came either directly from high school or before their junior year of college. First, this started a youth movement, but also a trend of unproven talent. A 22 year old that played four years of college is not only rare, he’s looked at as being old. The fact that his skill set is more defined, is also perceived as limiting, where as the younger guy has the higher ceiling, simply because less is known.
The sophomore trend began popping up in 1993 with Chris Webber, who went on to have a confusing career. He went from Rookie of the Year to drifter, to “the Man” on a Championship caliber team, to a career shortened by injury. He’s both a disappointment, because we thought he’d redefine his position, but he’s also a borderline Hall of Famer. Jason Kidd was another sophomore turned pro the next year, and has a similar career to Webber (the messy divorce in Dallas, all the talent in the world, but he’s been traded three times, twice by his prime).
Then in 1995, the shit really hit the fan. The top 4 picks had all left school after their sophomore seasons. Joe Smith (bust) Antonio McDyess (bust) Jerry Stackhouse and Rasheed Wallace. The 5th pick in that draft, Kevin Garnett, started a new trend, the direct from high school prospect. The next five drafts gave us Kobe Bryant, Tracy McGrady, Rashard Lewis, Jermaine O’Neal as well as Jonathan Bender, Al Harrington, and Korleone Young, not to mention loads more of sophomore players as well as the one and done kids.
So now we have horribly run teams taking underdeveloped players. That works in one of three ways, but two cases are more frequent. First, you get a hit and the guy works out (Kobe, KG, Antoine Walker) or you get a bust (Tim Thomas, Olowokandi, Robert Traylor) or you get someone who uses his four year contract (as part of the collective bargain agreement) as a tryout for both a bigger contract and a better team (Rip Hamilton, Mike Bibby, Vince Carter, McGrady, Stephon Marbury for examples)
Having guys who don’t go and play three or four years of college ball gives the league underdeveloped talent, who also are so used to being the man in high school and often don’t adjust well to being around so much talent. Yet, teams see where it has worked, and everyone thinks they can get lucky. The lottery has become not just a lottery for position, but talent, everyone betting a buck hoping to get rich.
So what do these poorly run organizations do, when their draft picks are mistakes? They swing for the fences in a little game that I like to call “free agency.” And you know what happens when you have a cap on how much someone can spend, when that person isn’t all that good at budget their money? You get the same thing that would happen if you sent me into Best Buy with a $5,000 gift card. Mistakes.
ESPN.com listed the top 10 worst NBA contracts ever. The list consists of:
Stephon Marbury, four years, $76 million with the Suns in ’03.
Kenyon Martin, seven years $92.5 million with the Nets as part of a sign and trade deal with Denver in ’04.
Allan Houston, seven years, $100 million with the Knicks in ’01.
Keith Van Horn (twice) but the worst was his first with the Nets, for six years and $73 million in ’99.
Vin Baker for seven years and $86 million in ’99 with the Sonics.
Jermaine O’Neal signed for seven years a whopping $126.6million in ’03 with the Pacers.
Bryan Reeves, six years and $64 million in ’97 with the Grizzlies.
Ben Wallace got four years at $60 million in ’06 by the Bulls.
Jim Mcllavine, seven years and $35 million with the Sonics in ’96.
#10 was Juwan Howard, seven years for $105 million in ’96 with the Bullets.
Remember that list of 10 awful franchises? They account for four of these 10 awful deals.
1996 is a key here by the way. What happened in 1996 was the NBA had its first major class of free agents hit the open market. The top two picks from the ’92 draft, Shaquille O’Neal and Alonzo Mourning moved to new teams. Shaq signed for seven years and $121 million and ‘Zo for $105 million. The vaults were open, as seen by the Howard and Mcllavine deals.
The freaks have made everyone’s eyes too big for their stomachs. The world saw the Lakers land Kobe Bryant, but they didn’t take notice of how they didn’t start him full time till his third year. Kevin Garnett was a part time player his rookie year, and didn’t hit his stride till he was 22, oddly enough, the same age as most players who play four years of college ball. Even Jermaine O’Neal and Tracy McGrady were brought along slowly.
In 2006 the league implemented a rule stating that a player must be at least 19 to enter the draft, thus creating the “one and done” rule. And the last three #1 draft picks have been just followed that road. And it isn’t even driven by getting that first big contract, it’s to hurry up and hit free agency as soon as possible, where the real money awaits. The league awaits King James’ free agency after this year, at the tender age of 25. Kirk Hinrich was drafted the same year, and he’ll be 29 after this season. That’s pretty much the beginning of the end for most basketball players. Lebron earned roughly $20 million his first four years in the league, but he doesn’t think that going to college would have cost him $20 million, it’s the fact that it would have cost him two max contracts in his prime, which will bring him over $200 million.
And with guys like him, Dwayne Wade, and Chris Bosh hitting the market at the same time next year, cap space has become more valuable than draft picks. So teams spend years (see the Knicks) acquiring expiring contracts, just with the hopes of being able to land a big fish.
Giving us, the fans, a league that more closely resembles a fantasy league than the league we grew up with. The perception is of today, but the foundation was built over years.
June 30, 2009
Jackson Biopic?
Actors who could possibly play Michael Jackson:
Janet Jackson. She has the moves, the voice, and the look.
Crispin Clover. Weird dude, almost weird enough to play Jacko.
Zac Efron. Get the tweens to see it, gotta get that core audience ya know.
Chris Brown. He can dance, sort of sing, and as feminine as Jackson (in the 80’s)
Edward Moss. Famous Jackson impersonator has portrayed him in Scary Movie 4, “The Michael Jackson Trial” as well as a show at Lake Tahoe for four years.
CGI? Maybe George Lucas could direct.
And you know what? I guarantee this movie, if given any kind of budget at all, is nominated for at least one Oscar. Best Costume and Best Make-Up, it has to get nominated.
While I’m thinking of it, here are two other ideas that Hollywood needs to get on board with:
OJ Simpson. As if Cuba Gooding Jr isn’t holding his breath waiting for that phone call. And you could play it as a dark comedy or a drama. Paging Ari Gold…
Tupac. Right, you didn’t see that coming. But really, we have our Biggie biopic, now it’s Pac’s turn. Or someone might start thinking its an East Coast bias.
Janet Jackson. She has the moves, the voice, and the look.
Crispin Clover. Weird dude, almost weird enough to play Jacko.
Zac Efron. Get the tweens to see it, gotta get that core audience ya know.
Chris Brown. He can dance, sort of sing, and as feminine as Jackson (in the 80’s)
Edward Moss. Famous Jackson impersonator has portrayed him in Scary Movie 4, “The Michael Jackson Trial” as well as a show at Lake Tahoe for four years.
CGI? Maybe George Lucas could direct.
And you know what? I guarantee this movie, if given any kind of budget at all, is nominated for at least one Oscar. Best Costume and Best Make-Up, it has to get nominated.
While I’m thinking of it, here are two other ideas that Hollywood needs to get on board with:
OJ Simpson. As if Cuba Gooding Jr isn’t holding his breath waiting for that phone call. And you could play it as a dark comedy or a drama. Paging Ari Gold…
Tupac. Right, you didn’t see that coming. But really, we have our Biggie biopic, now it’s Pac’s turn. Or someone might start thinking its an East Coast bias.
Hirp to Fix Sports
I like to think I’m a pretty smart fella, although I like to prove myself wrong, on this front, from time to time. So I’m going to take a crack at fixing sports, when attendance records tell us there’s nothing to fix. Don’t fix it if it ain’t broken? Well sometimes that’s the best time to fix it.
*disclaimer, I know that none of this is realistic. Well, until the shit hits the fan.
This is for the NBA, NFL and MLB, as I don’t follow Canadian sports, nor do I consider four left turns a sport. I made four left turns on the way to work, that doesn’t make me an athlete.
1st- Contraction, really, I mean it. In the 90’s it became hip to expand, the NBA saw Charlotte Hornets, Orlando Magic, Miami Heat, Minnesota Timberwolves, Memphis Grizzlies, Toronto Raptors and then we got the Charlotte Bobcats in 2005 after the Hornets moved to New Orleans. MLB gave us the Arizona Diamondbacks, Colorado Rockies, Tampa Rays, and Florida Marlins. The NFL has opened up shop with the Cleveland Browns (Browns moved to Baltimore, but their records stayed in Cleveland) Carolina Panthers, Jacksonville Jaguars, and in 2002 we got the Houston Texans (because in ’96 they lost the Oilers to Tennessee). That’s 14 new franchises in 3 sports in less than 20 years.
What’s my beef with giving more fans the opportunity to have a home team to support? Well, a watered down product for starters. Between the three leagues, there are now an additional 384 roster spots since expansion began in the 90’s. I can’t, not for a second, believe that the day before expansion started that there were in excess of 300 athletes who were good enough to make it.
That’s a post of it’s own, for another day, but if we just take the leagues back to how many teams we had in 1990, those teams would be exponentially better. Just look at the NBA, and take the players off those expansion teams and spread them throughout the league. Here’s a list of names, and I’m only listing the best players from those teams:
Chris Bosh, Andrea Bargnani, Shawn Marion, Jermanie O’Neal, Jose Calderon, Al Jefferson, Randy Foye, Kevin Love, Chris Paul, David West, Peja Stojakovic, Tyson Chandler, OJ Mayo, Rudy Gay, Dwight Howard, Rashard Lewis, Jameer Nelson, Vince Carter, Dwight Howard, Dwayne Wade, Michael Beasley, Mario Chalmers, Gerald Wallace, Emeka Okafor and Boris Diaw. That’s two All-NBA 1st teamers and six all-stars from THIS YEAR. Spread those players out among the have not’s and the haves (Knicks, Clippers, Kings, Wizards, Mavs, Spurs, Celtics, Cavs, and Lakers.) Every team gets measurably better, giving the fan a better product.
I can make a similar list for both MLB and the NFL, a brief preview: Carl Crawford, Hanley Ramirez, Justin Upton, Brandon Webb, Brad Hawpe and Evan Longoria. As for the NFL: Jamal Lewis, Andre Johnson, Maurice Jones-Drew, DeAngelo Williams, Steve Smith and Jake Delhomme.
And so does the college game. As there are less job openings, more kids stay in school, giving us both a better college game, and ensuring more players are better prepared to play in the next level.
2nd- Now that we’re down to having competitive leagues again, and every team really has a chance, it’s time to set up an organization that will oversee the officiating in all three leagues. These guys need to pass physical assessments, because its just silly to ask a 58 year old chase 25 year olds up and down a basketball court, to crouch behind a catcher in 98 degree heat or survive on the football field. They need to be held to a strict set of guidelines, and we need to have only the best out there. I also call for instant replay in all sports, but only for home run calls, buzzer beaters, and in bounds in the end zone.
3rd- I hate it, because it shouldn’t be a story. But the public is nuts about PED’s, so address it. I want an organization that tests randomly tests everyone, and if you fail a test, your contract is voided AND the team has to pay a $2 million fine.
4th- Lastly, and perhaps most important is marketing the game. In baseball, all World Series games need to start at a time where kids can see them. Bring back the Saturday afternoon game, and give us more double headers. Let’s have the season end in mid-October. In the NBA, I think having teams with more talent will naturally speed the game up, bring us back to the 80’s.
This is for all three leagues, no more television blackouts. If you can’t get your fans to the stadium, and they rather watch at home, well you’re better off having them do that than lose interest.
So that’s it, just a four step plan. Now I’ll just wait on the call from President Obama to put me in charge of this mess.
*disclaimer, I know that none of this is realistic. Well, until the shit hits the fan.
This is for the NBA, NFL and MLB, as I don’t follow Canadian sports, nor do I consider four left turns a sport. I made four left turns on the way to work, that doesn’t make me an athlete.
1st- Contraction, really, I mean it. In the 90’s it became hip to expand, the NBA saw Charlotte Hornets, Orlando Magic, Miami Heat, Minnesota Timberwolves, Memphis Grizzlies, Toronto Raptors and then we got the Charlotte Bobcats in 2005 after the Hornets moved to New Orleans. MLB gave us the Arizona Diamondbacks, Colorado Rockies, Tampa Rays, and Florida Marlins. The NFL has opened up shop with the Cleveland Browns (Browns moved to Baltimore, but their records stayed in Cleveland) Carolina Panthers, Jacksonville Jaguars, and in 2002 we got the Houston Texans (because in ’96 they lost the Oilers to Tennessee). That’s 14 new franchises in 3 sports in less than 20 years.
What’s my beef with giving more fans the opportunity to have a home team to support? Well, a watered down product for starters. Between the three leagues, there are now an additional 384 roster spots since expansion began in the 90’s. I can’t, not for a second, believe that the day before expansion started that there were in excess of 300 athletes who were good enough to make it.
That’s a post of it’s own, for another day, but if we just take the leagues back to how many teams we had in 1990, those teams would be exponentially better. Just look at the NBA, and take the players off those expansion teams and spread them throughout the league. Here’s a list of names, and I’m only listing the best players from those teams:
Chris Bosh, Andrea Bargnani, Shawn Marion, Jermanie O’Neal, Jose Calderon, Al Jefferson, Randy Foye, Kevin Love, Chris Paul, David West, Peja Stojakovic, Tyson Chandler, OJ Mayo, Rudy Gay, Dwight Howard, Rashard Lewis, Jameer Nelson, Vince Carter, Dwight Howard, Dwayne Wade, Michael Beasley, Mario Chalmers, Gerald Wallace, Emeka Okafor and Boris Diaw. That’s two All-NBA 1st teamers and six all-stars from THIS YEAR. Spread those players out among the have not’s and the haves (Knicks, Clippers, Kings, Wizards, Mavs, Spurs, Celtics, Cavs, and Lakers.) Every team gets measurably better, giving the fan a better product.
I can make a similar list for both MLB and the NFL, a brief preview: Carl Crawford, Hanley Ramirez, Justin Upton, Brandon Webb, Brad Hawpe and Evan Longoria. As for the NFL: Jamal Lewis, Andre Johnson, Maurice Jones-Drew, DeAngelo Williams, Steve Smith and Jake Delhomme.
And so does the college game. As there are less job openings, more kids stay in school, giving us both a better college game, and ensuring more players are better prepared to play in the next level.
2nd- Now that we’re down to having competitive leagues again, and every team really has a chance, it’s time to set up an organization that will oversee the officiating in all three leagues. These guys need to pass physical assessments, because its just silly to ask a 58 year old chase 25 year olds up and down a basketball court, to crouch behind a catcher in 98 degree heat or survive on the football field. They need to be held to a strict set of guidelines, and we need to have only the best out there. I also call for instant replay in all sports, but only for home run calls, buzzer beaters, and in bounds in the end zone.
3rd- I hate it, because it shouldn’t be a story. But the public is nuts about PED’s, so address it. I want an organization that tests randomly tests everyone, and if you fail a test, your contract is voided AND the team has to pay a $2 million fine.
4th- Lastly, and perhaps most important is marketing the game. In baseball, all World Series games need to start at a time where kids can see them. Bring back the Saturday afternoon game, and give us more double headers. Let’s have the season end in mid-October. In the NBA, I think having teams with more talent will naturally speed the game up, bring us back to the 80’s.
This is for all three leagues, no more television blackouts. If you can’t get your fans to the stadium, and they rather watch at home, well you’re better off having them do that than lose interest.
So that’s it, just a four step plan. Now I’ll just wait on the call from President Obama to put me in charge of this mess.
June 29, 2009
Good Mourning
There was a lot of death in the past week, actually, probably no more than usual. Just a lot of names we know, including a girl I went to high school with. Pretty freaky that a 31 year old could have a stroke, but I know of another girl that age that had a stroke. Never really think about anyone under the age of white hair, having a stroke.
The biggest name, by far, was Michael Jackson. It’s been said many times, and the first time I heard it was from my wife, but this is Elvis all over again. I mused on Facebook/Twitter that it wouldn’t be long till we heard rumors of an overdose, and those have surfaced. Shouldn’t really be a shock, the guy was in rehab like a year ago for an addiction to painkillers.
Michael Wilbourn, co-host of “Pardon the Interruption” said last week, that he was choosing to remember Jackson up through 1984, because after that, he just wasn’t the same guy. And I gotta say, I agree. I think it’s more than the molestation charges, before that all surfaced, he was already the living punch line. When I see the videos of him from pre-84, it really is someone completely different. He was a great entertainer, but just a bizarre guy. And I blame his father.
Papa Joe had this gem at the BET Awards over the weekend, “I have a lot of concerns…I don’t like what happened.” Really, your son dies and you don’t like what happened? Maybe blame yourself. The shit his father put him through as a child, I think, is why he never grew up and the source of everything else.
And then Sunday we get the tragic news, that icon Billy Mays also passed away. Well I’m not buying it, I smell foul play, and I think the ShamWow guy was behind this. If Infomercials had a VH1 of their own, we’d know about their on going beef. This was Tupac-Biggie. Adweek once claimed ShamWow Guy was, “the man that could beat Billy Mays at his own game.”
Mays upped the ante when he signed on to do his reality show, “Pitchmen.”
ShamWow guy, aka Vince Offer, has a violent streak. The former Jew turned Scientologist, was arrested in February of this year for felony battery when he roughed up a prostitute. The same month Mays challenged Offer to a “pitch-off.” Do you see how things spiraled out of control from there? Thanks, Wikipedia.
The biggest name, by far, was Michael Jackson. It’s been said many times, and the first time I heard it was from my wife, but this is Elvis all over again. I mused on Facebook/Twitter that it wouldn’t be long till we heard rumors of an overdose, and those have surfaced. Shouldn’t really be a shock, the guy was in rehab like a year ago for an addiction to painkillers.
Michael Wilbourn, co-host of “Pardon the Interruption” said last week, that he was choosing to remember Jackson up through 1984, because after that, he just wasn’t the same guy. And I gotta say, I agree. I think it’s more than the molestation charges, before that all surfaced, he was already the living punch line. When I see the videos of him from pre-84, it really is someone completely different. He was a great entertainer, but just a bizarre guy. And I blame his father.
Papa Joe had this gem at the BET Awards over the weekend, “I have a lot of concerns…I don’t like what happened.” Really, your son dies and you don’t like what happened? Maybe blame yourself. The shit his father put him through as a child, I think, is why he never grew up and the source of everything else.
And then Sunday we get the tragic news, that icon Billy Mays also passed away. Well I’m not buying it, I smell foul play, and I think the ShamWow guy was behind this. If Infomercials had a VH1 of their own, we’d know about their on going beef. This was Tupac-Biggie. Adweek once claimed ShamWow Guy was, “the man that could beat Billy Mays at his own game.”
Mays upped the ante when he signed on to do his reality show, “Pitchmen.”
ShamWow guy, aka Vince Offer, has a violent streak. The former Jew turned Scientologist, was arrested in February of this year for felony battery when he roughed up a prostitute. The same month Mays challenged Offer to a “pitch-off.” Do you see how things spiraled out of control from there? Thanks, Wikipedia.
June 24, 2009
Hirplings
Everyday, on my way to work, I pass this massive Church. This place, I just found out, was 110,000 sq ft as of 1999 and has grown since then. I really can’t even imagine how much it cost to build. I know that a “capital campaign” in 2002 raised $30 million to fund additional space for worship and education. But it got me to thinking, these “non-for profits” are making all kinds of serious bank. And really, what purpose does it serve to have such an expensive building and really, organization? Helps recruit new members, can offer those members a lot, like a gym and all sorts of activities, including organized sports, and education.
I’m no expert on religion, although that won’t keep me from acting like I know it all, but I just can’t help but think about all the good that could be done with that money. All those services and perks are great, but could easily be done on a smaller scale. So maybe at this point, if a Church, Synagogue or Mosque is worth X amount of dollars, we should tax that ass.
And while I’m on it, with religion wanting such a prominent voice in politics, let’s flip the script, and get Government involved in religion. I suggest a new wing of the Government that is to oversee all that’s going on in our places of worship. If we’ll allow Congress to get involved in baseball, we can allow them in the God business.
***
I never read comic books, so this might be common knowledge already, and if so, I’m sure someone will correct me. But the other day I was watching Dark Knight on HBO, and I found myself wondering about the Joker’s back story. Here’s what I’ve come up with. He was a former military guy, some sort of Special Forces. Something happened, and his face got all disheveled. Then the Government turned their back on him, as it was probably done in some hush-hush mission. So he turned on them, and that’s why dude is so bent on tearing shit up. I also found it ironic, that someone who is such a strong supporter of anarchy can be so methodical in his planning.
I’m no expert on religion, although that won’t keep me from acting like I know it all, but I just can’t help but think about all the good that could be done with that money. All those services and perks are great, but could easily be done on a smaller scale. So maybe at this point, if a Church, Synagogue or Mosque is worth X amount of dollars, we should tax that ass.
And while I’m on it, with religion wanting such a prominent voice in politics, let’s flip the script, and get Government involved in religion. I suggest a new wing of the Government that is to oversee all that’s going on in our places of worship. If we’ll allow Congress to get involved in baseball, we can allow them in the God business.
***
I never read comic books, so this might be common knowledge already, and if so, I’m sure someone will correct me. But the other day I was watching Dark Knight on HBO, and I found myself wondering about the Joker’s back story. Here’s what I’ve come up with. He was a former military guy, some sort of Special Forces. Something happened, and his face got all disheveled. Then the Government turned their back on him, as it was probably done in some hush-hush mission. So he turned on them, and that’s why dude is so bent on tearing shit up. I also found it ironic, that someone who is such a strong supporter of anarchy can be so methodical in his planning.
June 22, 2009
From The Hirp
I was never much of a Joe Montana fan; I always supported the Dan Marino party in the race for the “Best Quarterback Ever.” And Joe went to Notre Dame, which I only like when I watch Rudy. So, that being said, I was just reading a story about Montana’s son, Nick, a blue chip football recruit in his own right. But Joe and his wife, Jennifer, wouldn’t go on the record in the article because they didn’t want it to appear as if they were focusing more on one of their children than the others. That’s fantastic parenting, and just damn cool.
That brings me to this gem of a story from our weekend. Saturday we went to a wedding, and seated across the aisle from us was a young mother. Everyone knows black hooker boots have their place, but when a seven year old leans over and says, “Mommy, that is NOT appropriate for a wedding,” well, then you know that just maybe, someone has made a bad judgment call.
Niccolo Machiavelli posed the question: “Is it better to be loved, or feared?” If you want the answer, ask a parent.
What was more predictable, the Brett Farve wants to play again story, or the voting scandal in Iran? I’m saying it was a push.
I’ve seen the headlines; Tom and Kate have some big announcement tonight. It should either be “Kate’s a biatch” (I only know this thanks to “The Soup” on E) or “Obama supports taxing our viewers twice as much as everyone else.”
That brings me to this gem of a story from our weekend. Saturday we went to a wedding, and seated across the aisle from us was a young mother. Everyone knows black hooker boots have their place, but when a seven year old leans over and says, “Mommy, that is NOT appropriate for a wedding,” well, then you know that just maybe, someone has made a bad judgment call.
Niccolo Machiavelli posed the question: “Is it better to be loved, or feared?” If you want the answer, ask a parent.
What was more predictable, the Brett Farve wants to play again story, or the voting scandal in Iran? I’m saying it was a push.
I’ve seen the headlines; Tom and Kate have some big announcement tonight. It should either be “Kate’s a biatch” (I only know this thanks to “The Soup” on E) or “Obama supports taxing our viewers twice as much as everyone else.”
June 11, 2009
Hirp History X
Last night we had dinner at my in-laws, and while we were eating I brought up what had happened at the Holocaust Museum
The Kyd hears us go over pretty much the same details I just mentioned, and we tell her, that he's racist against Blacks and Jews, and that's why (how weak is that?!) he did what he did. She's 7, mature for her age, but still just 7. So her reaction, as pure and beautiful as it really was, also really bothered me. There was complete and utter shock in her face. Immediately she looked at me, we could see her making the connection in her head, "G is Jewish, and this happened because someone doesn't like Jews. Can this happen to G?"
A scene from the much underrated and very re-watchable movie, The Kingdom, immediately played in my head. Jamie Foxx, who plays an FBI agent that investigates terrorism, is trying to tell his son, who is about the same age as my step-daughter, that something very bad happened, and dad needs to go to work. His son looks at his dad and says, "there's a lot of bad people out there, huh?"
Foxx replies, "yes, but you're not one of them."
Syd, there are a lot of bad people out there, but you aren't one of them, never one of them. I've thought a lot about that brief conversation, her reaction, and just the pointless violence that took place in Washington DC
These people scare the crap out of me. We found the show when they were giving the details of a 1999 shooting at a Jewish Community and day care center. Frankly, I had almost completely forgotten about it, which makes me feel guilty. The irony is rich. At one point, they interviewed some "leader" of another Neo-Nazi organization, and he called the incident a failure. Why? Because the gunmen fired off 70 shots, and it's supposed to be 1 shot, 1 kill, and this gunmen didn't kill anyone in the center (but did kill a postman as he fled, for the simple offense of being a person of color working for the Government).
I swear, I thought I heard banjo's playing in the background as this guy with the serial killer glasses and Grizzly Adams beard spewed his20bullshit. But something occurred to me on the way to work, perhaps a little sick and twisted, but that's just how I roll. These freaks believe whites are the "master race." But if my people are in such control of all that goes on in the world, that we control the media, the courts, and all the money, doesn't that mean that Jews are actually the "master race?" I mean, just by default. Their hero, Hitler, killed six million of us, yet we're still so powerful, really? According to JewishVirtualLibrary.com, Jews account for a whopping 1.78% of the American population. There are more WNBA fans in America than there are Jews in America
Seriously though, what makes them hate so much? I get it, times are rough, and we all want to point the finger at someone else. Maybe it's easy to blame 1.78% of the population for the fact that you had to take your sister to prom. I guess it doesn't really matter, because these people are friggin' dangerous. Their ideas are even more dangero us than the violent acts they commit. They want to spread weakness and hate, and if it were up to them, 7 year olds would (and I'm sure their kids already) think like them.
Seven year olds are smarter than us. When the Kyd tells us she doesn't like someone, her reason is almost always the same. "They're mean." It's that simple, and it should still be so easy. I've seen her play with boys, girls, handicapped, Black, Mexican, older and younger kids. And all she wants is kids who are nice. If someone isn't nice, that's the extent of it. She doesn't need to find a reason and place blame. It isn't because of their race or religion, they just aren't nice. Why can't we be as mature as 2nd graders?
I don't know if it's more hypocritical or just nonsensical that they admire Adolf Hitler so much. I mean, do they not realize that as such "patriots" they're following someone who killed Americans!? Who disagreed with everything our country stands for? How is sidi ng with your enemy a patriotic act? The show we watched had the standard clips of some Derek Vinyard type, rallying about how they don't want immigrants here and this country is for them. I just want to ask them, how the ef did your family end up here?
There's really nothing wrong with having some pride in your people. Jews do it all the time, and proudly spend their money at Jewish owned businesses, but doesn't pride come before the fall? Or that must be some Jew pulling on a trip cord. It's pretty obvious, but these neo-Nazi's aren't happy and well adjusted citizens. And for that matter, neither are most Jews (or anyone else). But to actually want your kids to hate, that's their biggest sin, and most indefensible. Hate me because I had more opportunities in my life, or because I have a nicer TV than you, because I went to KU or voted for Obama and you disagree with my religious views. But for the love of whatever you actually care about, don't teach your kids to hate, asshole.
June 03, 2009
We are Hirpness
As a kid, I was always a baseball fan first. That’s my first love, and even though we’ve had a rocky relationship and grown apart some, she still has my fan heart. But I always enjoyed the NBA. In the 80’s I was a bit of a Laker fan, not just because it was the team of choice of an older cousin who lived out there, but because Magic Johnson was just too much fun to watch. For years I argued how he was the best ever, and this Jordan fella was all about stats, and actually hurt his team.
After Jordan won his first title, beating Magic and the Lakers, I still insisted that Magic was the better player. At 6’9, he was built like a power forward, but played the point. He made passes that I would end up practicing in my drive way. Only I was passing to an 18 foot wide garage, and he was making the passes to someone running full speed. Advantage: Magic. Jordan was playing above the rim, and it was awe inspiring, but just the thought of being able to reach the net was more than a tall order for me.
It took Jordan retiring for me to come around, and realize that was in fact, the best player to ever play. Luckily for me, he came back. But at the same time, I was also a Knick fan. How I was able to cheer for a NY team and an LA team at the same time was simply a product of my age. By the time the Bulls played the Lakers, I was definitely a Knick fan first, but Magic was my guy. Those passes never got old, and that smile was infectious.
Today I routinely exchange emails with that same cousin, and his partner in crime. And once again, I’m siding with the guy who makes the pretty passes. Only this guy plays above the rim too. He’s a beast, that Lebron James. I remember watching his high school games on ESPN2, and I thought he had to be at least 24 years old then. That was 7 years ago, and he’s still 24.
Nike hyped him up like they’ve never hyped anyone else. He was the #1 draft pick by his hometown Cleveland Cavilers. We were all witness. And he came on the scene like no other NBA rookie ever has. I won’t get into the stats, even though I want to. I spent the past few years rallying against Kobe Bryant, who like James, came to the NBA straight out of high school. My friends will tell you, I always like getting excited over the young athletes. And I don’t mean that in a creepy, Michael Jackson-Maculy Culkin sort of way. There’s just something about seeing the potential, wondering what kind of career someone will have, and seeing it play out. It’s one of the things that make sports so great.
But I quickly soured on Kobe. He was arrogant, and just very easy to dislike. So my cousin and I sparred, and sparred some more. I picked at every word he spoke, every face he made on the court and generally acted like a “hater.” It took some time, and some growing on my part, but I softened my stance on Kobe. He grew up, and so did I. I wrote on this blog once, that he and A-Rod were very similar. That was flat out wrong. I can admit that now.
This year the question became clear, you’re either a Lebron guy, or a Kobe guy. And I’ve planted my Lebron flag. And while it’s been much speculated that he’ll bolt Cleveland for the glitz of New York after next year, I am firm in my belief, that I don’t want him. Not because I just don’t want the best player (or 2nd best) on the planet, because of course I’d love to have his talent. I just don’t want to see an icon change teams. Icons don’t do that, no in the prime of their careers. His staying in Cleveland is better for him, basketball and all of us. Even Knick fans.
That’s a bit off point. Here’s why I think Lebron is “The One.” His play in the playoffs this year, against the Orlando Magic, even though they lost the series, sucked my wife in. She was right there next to me, on the couch, watching in pure amazement, as this guy did everything imaginable on the basketball court. That’s huge. To get someone who isn’t even a casual NBA fan, so enthralled in their play, is evidence of something special.
After Jordan won his first title, beating Magic and the Lakers, I still insisted that Magic was the better player. At 6’9, he was built like a power forward, but played the point. He made passes that I would end up practicing in my drive way. Only I was passing to an 18 foot wide garage, and he was making the passes to someone running full speed. Advantage: Magic. Jordan was playing above the rim, and it was awe inspiring, but just the thought of being able to reach the net was more than a tall order for me.
It took Jordan retiring for me to come around, and realize that was in fact, the best player to ever play. Luckily for me, he came back. But at the same time, I was also a Knick fan. How I was able to cheer for a NY team and an LA team at the same time was simply a product of my age. By the time the Bulls played the Lakers, I was definitely a Knick fan first, but Magic was my guy. Those passes never got old, and that smile was infectious.
Today I routinely exchange emails with that same cousin, and his partner in crime. And once again, I’m siding with the guy who makes the pretty passes. Only this guy plays above the rim too. He’s a beast, that Lebron James. I remember watching his high school games on ESPN2, and I thought he had to be at least 24 years old then. That was 7 years ago, and he’s still 24.
Nike hyped him up like they’ve never hyped anyone else. He was the #1 draft pick by his hometown Cleveland Cavilers. We were all witness. And he came on the scene like no other NBA rookie ever has. I won’t get into the stats, even though I want to. I spent the past few years rallying against Kobe Bryant, who like James, came to the NBA straight out of high school. My friends will tell you, I always like getting excited over the young athletes. And I don’t mean that in a creepy, Michael Jackson-Maculy Culkin sort of way. There’s just something about seeing the potential, wondering what kind of career someone will have, and seeing it play out. It’s one of the things that make sports so great.
But I quickly soured on Kobe. He was arrogant, and just very easy to dislike. So my cousin and I sparred, and sparred some more. I picked at every word he spoke, every face he made on the court and generally acted like a “hater.” It took some time, and some growing on my part, but I softened my stance on Kobe. He grew up, and so did I. I wrote on this blog once, that he and A-Rod were very similar. That was flat out wrong. I can admit that now.
This year the question became clear, you’re either a Lebron guy, or a Kobe guy. And I’ve planted my Lebron flag. And while it’s been much speculated that he’ll bolt Cleveland for the glitz of New York after next year, I am firm in my belief, that I don’t want him. Not because I just don’t want the best player (or 2nd best) on the planet, because of course I’d love to have his talent. I just don’t want to see an icon change teams. Icons don’t do that, no in the prime of their careers. His staying in Cleveland is better for him, basketball and all of us. Even Knick fans.
That’s a bit off point. Here’s why I think Lebron is “The One.” His play in the playoffs this year, against the Orlando Magic, even though they lost the series, sucked my wife in. She was right there next to me, on the couch, watching in pure amazement, as this guy did everything imaginable on the basketball court. That’s huge. To get someone who isn’t even a casual NBA fan, so enthralled in their play, is evidence of something special.
May 08, 2009
How Could I Forget
I left off a highlight of our trip to Mexico by mistake. Maybe it doesn’t really qualify as part of our vacation, as it took place on the journey home. As we boarded the plane in Charlotte (CLT) we couldn’t help but notice the screaming baby in the seats across the aisle from us. Couldn’t have been less thrilled with this situation. That is, until the passengers who would be sitting directly in front of us, took their seats. Three Army Rangers and a Catholic Priest ended up in those seats. The priest looked to be on official God business, in his Cassock (thanks Google) but, along with learning the name of the garment, I also learned it doesn’t have any added significance. And I was hoping it meant we had a big wig. Anyway, even being the agnostic fella that I am, I felt pretty good about these four. At least we had all of our bases covered, and I cracked to them, “this is going to be the safest flight ever.”
This brings me to a common topic of conversation during our recent travels. Everyone knows the story about the plane ditching in the Hudson, but my wife just couldn’t get over the fact that it appeared that none of the passengers/survivors seemed to have paid attention on the flight. Where were there floating devices, formerly known as seat cushions? It’s not as if they only occasionally mention that we’re sitting on a cross functional device.
This brings me to a common topic of conversation during our recent travels. Everyone knows the story about the plane ditching in the Hudson, but my wife just couldn’t get over the fact that it appeared that none of the passengers/survivors seemed to have paid attention on the flight. Where were there floating devices, formerly known as seat cushions? It’s not as if they only occasionally mention that we’re sitting on a cross functional device.
May 06, 2009
Hirpcation
Just one week ago today, my wife and I were on our way to Mexico. We heard all the warnings, listened to concerned family and friends, did our research online and discussed our trip with our Doctor before going. We were armed and ready for any little pesky Swine Flu. We had hand-sanitizers and medications. And we were finally on our way, back to the place where we were married, and more than ready to relax on the beach. Cartels and pandemics be damned, the Hirps had plans.
The first two days scored perfect “10’s.” The media frenzy had caused half of the booked guests to cancel their plans, and left us with an even better resort. I was enjoying the hell out of my book “The Gate House,” by Nelson DeMille (please Hollywood, make this into a movie!)We often discussed the memories of our visit last year, and how we wish everyone could be there with us again. In my head I prepared an email to send out to those who were there, and tell thank them again for all the memories.
Friday night we dined at the buffet, which wasn’t as nice as last year, but edible. Using hand-sanitizers’ was required, upon entry to any of the restaurants, by the hotel. So we felt confident that they were taking all the necessary steps, in spite of the fact that there had been no confirmed cases of Swine Flu in the entire state of Quintana Roo. My better half was enjoying her grilled chicken, which surprisingly looked good to me.
Maybe it was the hours spent in the sun that caused it, but I asked to try a bite. And sonuvagun, I actually liked it. Took another bite, and decided I’d get my own plate. Anderson Cooper was alerted and he, along with Dr. Sanjay Gupta, headed down to Playacar to cover this story. Maybe that didn’t happen, or maybe it did. Either way, this was newsworthy, and definitely blog worthy, events unfolding.
We hadn’t done much drinking, aside from an occasional cerveza, and we discussed maybe heading to the bar later that night. But we both crashed pretty early, and Chris was starting to get a little nauseous. Red flag. She woke up at around 12:30 and started to vomit. That continued, on like 10 minute intervals for almost 2 hours. It was time to see a Doctor.
We found ourselves at a Mexican Emergency Room at 3 in the morning. And we remained there for about 12 hours, while Mrs. Hirp received some fluids. It looked like we’d be spending our last day in Mexico just resting in the room. While at the hospital with Chris, I began to feel a bit nauseous myself. The doctor gave me a shot, with the hopes that it would settle my stomach and we’d be able to leave on time. It wasn’t Swine Flu, it wasn’t even Montezuma’s Revenge, just good old reliable food poisoning.
Checking in, while there was less paperwork than a hospital here, wasn’t stress free. Being that they don’t take our insurance, they require $1,000 deposit, and that goes up another grand after your first 12 hours. So this was no longer the fun/affordable getaway.
Back at the hotel we both crashed, from the exhausting night. I awoke around 7:30 and, again, wasn’t feeling well. That feeling was quickly escalated to be more than a feeling. So I was now praying to the porcelain God (of course, even that God is white, even in Mexico) and we were supposed to leave for the airport in about 13 hours.
Thinking that:
A) I wasn’t nearly as sick as my wife was, and
B) She was there for 12 hours, so if I’m there 12, we can still make the flight,
So we called down to the front desk, and arranged for transportation. The look on the faces of the nurses and doctors when they saw us again was probably pretty funny, but I wasn’t totally amused. Slightly, but not totally.
With a serious case of de ja vu, only this time from my wife’s point of view, I watched them run their tests and hook me up to an IV. The major difference was, this time the hotel informed us that they’d be picking up the tab on this one. Which was a huge sigh of relief, although, had we had that offer just a few hours ago, we probably wouldn’t have checked my better half out, and let her rest some more.
All of this because we ate one chicken breast, really, what are the odds? The hotel really went above and beyond, I can’t say it enough. They let us stay an extra night, and put us up in a suite, and they’re covering all the hospital expenses, and they easily could have just blown us off.
The first two days scored perfect “10’s.” The media frenzy had caused half of the booked guests to cancel their plans, and left us with an even better resort. I was enjoying the hell out of my book “The Gate House,” by Nelson DeMille (please Hollywood, make this into a movie!)We often discussed the memories of our visit last year, and how we wish everyone could be there with us again. In my head I prepared an email to send out to those who were there, and tell thank them again for all the memories.
Friday night we dined at the buffet, which wasn’t as nice as last year, but edible. Using hand-sanitizers’ was required, upon entry to any of the restaurants, by the hotel. So we felt confident that they were taking all the necessary steps, in spite of the fact that there had been no confirmed cases of Swine Flu in the entire state of Quintana Roo. My better half was enjoying her grilled chicken, which surprisingly looked good to me.
Maybe it was the hours spent in the sun that caused it, but I asked to try a bite. And sonuvagun, I actually liked it. Took another bite, and decided I’d get my own plate. Anderson Cooper was alerted and he, along with Dr. Sanjay Gupta, headed down to Playacar to cover this story. Maybe that didn’t happen, or maybe it did. Either way, this was newsworthy, and definitely blog worthy, events unfolding.
We hadn’t done much drinking, aside from an occasional cerveza, and we discussed maybe heading to the bar later that night. But we both crashed pretty early, and Chris was starting to get a little nauseous. Red flag. She woke up at around 12:30 and started to vomit. That continued, on like 10 minute intervals for almost 2 hours. It was time to see a Doctor.
We found ourselves at a Mexican Emergency Room at 3 in the morning. And we remained there for about 12 hours, while Mrs. Hirp received some fluids. It looked like we’d be spending our last day in Mexico just resting in the room. While at the hospital with Chris, I began to feel a bit nauseous myself. The doctor gave me a shot, with the hopes that it would settle my stomach and we’d be able to leave on time. It wasn’t Swine Flu, it wasn’t even Montezuma’s Revenge, just good old reliable food poisoning.
Checking in, while there was less paperwork than a hospital here, wasn’t stress free. Being that they don’t take our insurance, they require $1,000 deposit, and that goes up another grand after your first 12 hours. So this was no longer the fun/affordable getaway.
Back at the hotel we both crashed, from the exhausting night. I awoke around 7:30 and, again, wasn’t feeling well. That feeling was quickly escalated to be more than a feeling. So I was now praying to the porcelain God (of course, even that God is white, even in Mexico) and we were supposed to leave for the airport in about 13 hours.
Thinking that:
A) I wasn’t nearly as sick as my wife was, and
B) She was there for 12 hours, so if I’m there 12, we can still make the flight,
So we called down to the front desk, and arranged for transportation. The look on the faces of the nurses and doctors when they saw us again was probably pretty funny, but I wasn’t totally amused. Slightly, but not totally.
With a serious case of de ja vu, only this time from my wife’s point of view, I watched them run their tests and hook me up to an IV. The major difference was, this time the hotel informed us that they’d be picking up the tab on this one. Which was a huge sigh of relief, although, had we had that offer just a few hours ago, we probably wouldn’t have checked my better half out, and let her rest some more.
All of this because we ate one chicken breast, really, what are the odds? The hotel really went above and beyond, I can’t say it enough. They let us stay an extra night, and put us up in a suite, and they’re covering all the hospital expenses, and they easily could have just blown us off.
April 13, 2009
Hirpbook
I think Facebook and Twitter have teamed up to murder my blog. The random thoughts that used to end up as rants on this slice of the web, are now summed up in 140 or less characters. The irony isn’t lost on this blogger either, as the blogsphere has done it’s part in killing newspapers and even books. And as most other “current” technological advances, the shelf life is shorter than an open carton of milk on the counter in August. You know, not long.
So I’m looking at my twitter and “FB” (as the kids call it) updates, and I’m going to attempt to expand on them, in true FromTheHirp fashion.
April 11th
“The kyd just asked me "what’s donkey kong" so now I know what troubles are ahead for this generation..its gonna be ugly.”
It started when she threw down the gauntlet, challenging me to a wrestling match. My response was, the always clever, “oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong.”
And she gave me a nice age check, with “what’s Donkey Kong?”
Never mind slutty toys like Bratz, or pop shit like Hannah Montana, or the sex and drugs on television, the real problem with kids today is that they don’t even know who Donkey Kong is. The lessons that game can teach, and the hours it can waste are being missed by our kids. Someone needs to get congress involved.
April 6th
“So my dumbass causes to my wife giving the kyd A talk (not THE talk) but close enough. Daddy needs a drink.”
Here’s the story: as the wife was getting the Kyd ready for bed, I had picked up one of Mrs. Hirp’s magazines off of the coffee table and thumbed through the pages. It wasn’t even a Cosmo, but there was some article that had something to do with sex. So, of course I had to read it. Then the Kyd came back in to the living room, so I closed it. She left and I resummed my reading. Of course she had to come back in to say goodnight to the dog and I, and so I closed the magazine. She turned to leave, so I went back to the article. And who knew a 7 year old could read upside down.
She says, “I saw what that said,” and giggled. Great, way to go, Hirp. Oh well, no biggie, she’s seen that word on mom’s magazines before. Shouldn’t be a big deal. But as her mom is tucking her in, the Kyd asks the question, and just 10 years before we wanted her to. “Mommy, what’s sex? The kids at school talk about it, and said its gross.” (she’s in 1st grade, I’m not okay with this in any way)
Mrs. Hirp is thrown off her game, so she tries to get defuse the situation. “It’s when a mommy and daddy are hugging and kissing, and how they make a baby.” She’s feeling pretty good now, as that seems to have ended the conversation. Until a few minutes later when she tells me the story.
“Uh oh,” I tell her, “now when she sees us kiss or hug, she’ll think we’re having sex.” We can already see her at school the next day, “Mommy and G have sex all the time.” To be followed by a visit from the authorities. So we decide it would best for Mrs. Hirp to give a little more detail, hopefully just enough to make the Kyd slightly uncomfortable and drop it until we can consume a few drinks and hope she never, ever ever ever, asks that question again.
Way to go, Hirp. You know better than to do something as silly as read. Idiot.
So I’m looking at my twitter and “FB” (as the kids call it) updates, and I’m going to attempt to expand on them, in true FromTheHirp fashion.
April 11th
“The kyd just asked me "what’s donkey kong" so now I know what troubles are ahead for this generation..its gonna be ugly.”
It started when she threw down the gauntlet, challenging me to a wrestling match. My response was, the always clever, “oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong.”
And she gave me a nice age check, with “what’s Donkey Kong?”
Never mind slutty toys like Bratz, or pop shit like Hannah Montana, or the sex and drugs on television, the real problem with kids today is that they don’t even know who Donkey Kong is. The lessons that game can teach, and the hours it can waste are being missed by our kids. Someone needs to get congress involved.
April 6th
“So my dumbass causes to my wife giving the kyd A talk (not THE talk) but close enough. Daddy needs a drink.”
Here’s the story: as the wife was getting the Kyd ready for bed, I had picked up one of Mrs. Hirp’s magazines off of the coffee table and thumbed through the pages. It wasn’t even a Cosmo, but there was some article that had something to do with sex. So, of course I had to read it. Then the Kyd came back in to the living room, so I closed it. She left and I resummed my reading. Of course she had to come back in to say goodnight to the dog and I, and so I closed the magazine. She turned to leave, so I went back to the article. And who knew a 7 year old could read upside down.
She says, “I saw what that said,” and giggled. Great, way to go, Hirp. Oh well, no biggie, she’s seen that word on mom’s magazines before. Shouldn’t be a big deal. But as her mom is tucking her in, the Kyd asks the question, and just 10 years before we wanted her to. “Mommy, what’s sex? The kids at school talk about it, and said its gross.” (she’s in 1st grade, I’m not okay with this in any way)
Mrs. Hirp is thrown off her game, so she tries to get defuse the situation. “It’s when a mommy and daddy are hugging and kissing, and how they make a baby.” She’s feeling pretty good now, as that seems to have ended the conversation. Until a few minutes later when she tells me the story.
“Uh oh,” I tell her, “now when she sees us kiss or hug, she’ll think we’re having sex.” We can already see her at school the next day, “Mommy and G have sex all the time.” To be followed by a visit from the authorities. So we decide it would best for Mrs. Hirp to give a little more detail, hopefully just enough to make the Kyd slightly uncomfortable and drop it until we can consume a few drinks and hope she never, ever ever ever, asks that question again.
Way to go, Hirp. You know better than to do something as silly as read. Idiot.
March 25, 2009
Doc Revisited
I feel like a jackass, I really do. Not that it’s totally uncharted territory for me or anything, but the circumstances are at least new for me. I’ve really dug Facebook, it’s been a great way to keep in touch with friends, and find catch up with old friends. But I found someone, and now I’m not sure if that was a good thing. It isn’t even someone I knew personally. It’s the son of my childhood hero, Dwight Gooden, and we’ve swapped a few emails.
He’s been cool about it, and I hope I have too. But looking at his page, I was offended myself with the comments other people were leaving. Everything was about his dad, women commenting on his looks, or just fans checking in. I understand their thought process, to a point. I flat out told the guy that I grew up a big fan of his fathers, and I had read he (Dwight Gooden Jr) was now doing some music, and I wished him well. Maybe I’m just more articulate than those other fans, either way, it just feels kind of dirty.
But I couldn’t really help myself. Not that it should be his problem, but like most fans, I’ve had a relationship of sorts with his dad. Man that sounds too much like Macauly Culkin talking about Michael Jackson. But his father had a huge impact on my childhood. Not just as a sports fan, because there’s so much more to his story than what happened between the lines. I vividly remember how I reacted in 1987 when I found out that he was going into rehab. I was furious, and I was only 10.
I think Doc and Darryl’s woes forever changed the way athletes were covered and perceived. I’ll have to do some research, but I think they were the first major scandals, at least in the age of 24 hour sport networks. The day he went into rehab, was the end of the era that saw reporters covering for ball players. How much a guy drank or what he did off the field was protected in the past and with Gooden and Strawberry’s troubles, reporters began looking at the personal lives of the ballplayers as newsworthy.
That was my first experience with “knowing” someone with a drug problem, not just Nancy Reagan telling me to say “no.” Soon after, I had some much closer relationship with someone with a substance abuse problem. How I handled that was directly impacted by my response to Doc. There was, and still is plenty of anger, but there was also forgiveness and since that day, I’ve come to realize that I can handle someone messing up, as long as they can own up to it. Doc taught me that, I never learned how to throw a curve.
So here I am, 32 years old and I’ve emailed his son. There’s no ulterior motive, I’m not looking to accomplish anything. Well, other than revisit the 10 year old in me. I like that kid, and its always been important to me to remember him. That’s why I have Doc’s rookie card in my wallet. In 1996, Doc threw a no-hitter for the evil empire (Yankees) and I jumped up and down (just one jump!) on the bed in my dorm room. It looked like I was alone (had there been an outside observer) but I was with the 10 year old me. So it wasn’t just some 32 year old emailing the son of his hero, it was the 10 year old that made the decision.
He’s been cool about it, and I hope I have too. But looking at his page, I was offended myself with the comments other people were leaving. Everything was about his dad, women commenting on his looks, or just fans checking in. I understand their thought process, to a point. I flat out told the guy that I grew up a big fan of his fathers, and I had read he (Dwight Gooden Jr) was now doing some music, and I wished him well. Maybe I’m just more articulate than those other fans, either way, it just feels kind of dirty.
But I couldn’t really help myself. Not that it should be his problem, but like most fans, I’ve had a relationship of sorts with his dad. Man that sounds too much like Macauly Culkin talking about Michael Jackson. But his father had a huge impact on my childhood. Not just as a sports fan, because there’s so much more to his story than what happened between the lines. I vividly remember how I reacted in 1987 when I found out that he was going into rehab. I was furious, and I was only 10.
I think Doc and Darryl’s woes forever changed the way athletes were covered and perceived. I’ll have to do some research, but I think they were the first major scandals, at least in the age of 24 hour sport networks. The day he went into rehab, was the end of the era that saw reporters covering for ball players. How much a guy drank or what he did off the field was protected in the past and with Gooden and Strawberry’s troubles, reporters began looking at the personal lives of the ballplayers as newsworthy.
That was my first experience with “knowing” someone with a drug problem, not just Nancy Reagan telling me to say “no.” Soon after, I had some much closer relationship with someone with a substance abuse problem. How I handled that was directly impacted by my response to Doc. There was, and still is plenty of anger, but there was also forgiveness and since that day, I’ve come to realize that I can handle someone messing up, as long as they can own up to it. Doc taught me that, I never learned how to throw a curve.
So here I am, 32 years old and I’ve emailed his son. There’s no ulterior motive, I’m not looking to accomplish anything. Well, other than revisit the 10 year old in me. I like that kid, and its always been important to me to remember him. That’s why I have Doc’s rookie card in my wallet. In 1996, Doc threw a no-hitter for the evil empire (Yankees) and I jumped up and down (just one jump!) on the bed in my dorm room. It looked like I was alone (had there been an outside observer) but I was with the 10 year old me. So it wasn’t just some 32 year old emailing the son of his hero, it was the 10 year old that made the decision.
Changed Hirp
Two years ago yesterday KU was in the NCAA Tournament, and they were playing UCLA, the school I rooted for as a kid. KU-UCLA also hooked up my freshmen year at KU, when the Bruins were defending champs. They came to the Fieldhouse, and lead KU by 15 at the half. The Hawks came back to win by 15, and it was the best live sporting event I ever witnessed. I proudly sent my cousin, the UCLA grad who also showed me around the campus when I was 12, a “PHUCK UCLA” tee shirt. I still have mine, but I doubt he has his. Two years ago, that game is a distant memory, but that day changed my life.
Anyway, in the days leading up to the game I had been swapping emails with a girl I had met a week before. I invited her to meet up with some friends and I as we were going to watch the game at a bar and she even agreed. Then the plan was changed to watching the game at a friends’ house, and so our plan of watching the game together changed. Of course, the plan was changed again, and we were back at the bar. By this time she had other plans, and I wasn’t too upset by this. Not because I didn’t want to see her, but the more I thought about it, I imagined the day going one of two ways. Either I end up paying too much attention to the game, and she feels ignored and awkward (very bad) or I would ignore the game (at the time, I thought that mattered, but had I only known).
So I watched KU lose to UCLA, spent most of the game texting my cousin and then wondering if I had blown my chance with a great girl. That night I was relaxing at home (cover for “it was a Saturday
night and I was a giant loser”) and my phone went off. There was a text from this amazing girl, she sympathized with me over KU, and then invited me out to meet up with some of her friends at a bar. I declined at first, not wanting to make the drive, and even more so, afraid of having her friends grade me. She persisted, and I continued to decline, and we spoke of meeting the next day. A short time later I changed my mind, got my ass dressed and headed out. That was two years ago.
We weren’t there long, as it was nearing closing time, but the conversation came effortlessly. We made plans to meet for coffee at a little place on the Plaza (the location had nothing to do with its proximity to my apartment) and I had myself a date with a real catch. I knew, from the first time we talked, that I wasn’t in her league. Best of all, I know that to be the case today. We had coffee, talked for four hours. My follically challenged head was half burned, and my life was changed.
Anyway, in the days leading up to the game I had been swapping emails with a girl I had met a week before. I invited her to meet up with some friends and I as we were going to watch the game at a bar and she even agreed. Then the plan was changed to watching the game at a friends’ house, and so our plan of watching the game together changed. Of course, the plan was changed again, and we were back at the bar. By this time she had other plans, and I wasn’t too upset by this. Not because I didn’t want to see her, but the more I thought about it, I imagined the day going one of two ways. Either I end up paying too much attention to the game, and she feels ignored and awkward (very bad) or I would ignore the game (at the time, I thought that mattered, but had I only known).
So I watched KU lose to UCLA, spent most of the game texting my cousin and then wondering if I had blown my chance with a great girl. That night I was relaxing at home (cover for “it was a Saturday
night and I was a giant loser”) and my phone went off. There was a text from this amazing girl, she sympathized with me over KU, and then invited me out to meet up with some of her friends at a bar. I declined at first, not wanting to make the drive, and even more so, afraid of having her friends grade me. She persisted, and I continued to decline, and we spoke of meeting the next day. A short time later I changed my mind, got my ass dressed and headed out. That was two years ago.
We weren’t there long, as it was nearing closing time, but the conversation came effortlessly. We made plans to meet for coffee at a little place on the Plaza (the location had nothing to do with its proximity to my apartment) and I had myself a date with a real catch. I knew, from the first time we talked, that I wasn’t in her league. Best of all, I know that to be the case today. We had coffee, talked for four hours. My follically challenged head was half burned, and my life was changed.
March 23, 2009
One TrHirpy Weekend
The past weekend was without question one of the most bizarre, and scariest, in recent memory. And based on what we did, you’d think it was just another weekend in the ‘burbs. It started off great, as we took the Kyd to Potter’s Haven in downtown Lee’s Summit. She’s a creative kid who loves craft projects, and for a few months we’ve kicked around the idea of heading there. She loved it too, other than stressing over mistakes (I told her, there are no mistakes in art, sounds good, right?)
So I’m just about done with my project, and then we hear all the dreadful yet very distinct sounds that come from one car plowing into another. Only there was one sound missing, the sound that comes after someone slamps on their break. The helpful hippies that run Potter’s Haven had the doors open to let some fresh air in, so the sounds filled the room. Everyone looked up just in time to see debris scattering throughout the street. A early model Toyota Coralla had just plowed into the back of a Pilot. The driver of the Toyota exited his car, and while everyone around was still trying to process what had just happened, the guy took off running. With blood running down his face and drops already on his shirt and shorts. Like Gump across America, this guy was sprinting away from what was left of his car. A second or so later someone said that his head had gone through the windshield.
A few other bystanders thought it was best to run after him, I didn’t see the sense in that. If this guy had reason enough to leave the scene, well then, I’m going to take his word for it and believe he had a pretty good reason to exit stage right. He either knew something that made prefer to not be around any police, or he hit his head so hard that he had no idea what he was doing. Either way, not the guy I want to chase.
So it was pretty un-nerving. The Kyd was, understandably, upset. It was hard to understand why the guy would take off, and there was the blood. 7 year old girls just don’t enjoy seeing blood, and she was very concerned for both parties. And my wife and I were pretty shaken up too, how something so violent had crashed our Kodak moment.
That was Saturday afternoon, and Sunday was a lazy day around the house. Come Sunday night, the wife and I are chilaxin on the couch, watching some “House” when the doorbell rings. It’s 10:30 on a Sunday night, and our doorbell is ringing? That’s odd. So she takes our barking dog to the back, and I open the door. There’s a 20something year old guy standing there, and a car running in the street right in front of our house. It probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I opened the door and storm door to see what he wanted.
“I’m from the AIDS Foundation of America, does anyone here have AIDS?” he asked.
“What?” I wittingly replied.
“Do you have AIDS?” he asked again.
“Um, no,” was all I responded, and he extended his hand to shake mine. Which kinda threw me off, and I know enough to understand you can’t get HIV or AIDS through a handshake. But this whole situation was creepy, so I went and washed my hand after he left.
The wife asked what that was all about, and I relayed the story. We decided to call the police, not because he did anything threatening, but it just felt like the right thing to do. I went back outside to see if they were still around, and they drove by the house again, and then sped off.
Having seen too many movies between the two of us, we saw all the different horrendous endings this story would have if we were in a movie. And like most scary movies, it turned out to be a big (thankfully) dud of an ending. Just an peculiar ending to a bizarre weekend.
So I’m just about done with my project, and then we hear all the dreadful yet very distinct sounds that come from one car plowing into another. Only there was one sound missing, the sound that comes after someone slamps on their break. The helpful hippies that run Potter’s Haven had the doors open to let some fresh air in, so the sounds filled the room. Everyone looked up just in time to see debris scattering throughout the street. A early model Toyota Coralla had just plowed into the back of a Pilot. The driver of the Toyota exited his car, and while everyone around was still trying to process what had just happened, the guy took off running. With blood running down his face and drops already on his shirt and shorts. Like Gump across America, this guy was sprinting away from what was left of his car. A second or so later someone said that his head had gone through the windshield.
A few other bystanders thought it was best to run after him, I didn’t see the sense in that. If this guy had reason enough to leave the scene, well then, I’m going to take his word for it and believe he had a pretty good reason to exit stage right. He either knew something that made prefer to not be around any police, or he hit his head so hard that he had no idea what he was doing. Either way, not the guy I want to chase.
So it was pretty un-nerving. The Kyd was, understandably, upset. It was hard to understand why the guy would take off, and there was the blood. 7 year old girls just don’t enjoy seeing blood, and she was very concerned for both parties. And my wife and I were pretty shaken up too, how something so violent had crashed our Kodak moment.
That was Saturday afternoon, and Sunday was a lazy day around the house. Come Sunday night, the wife and I are chilaxin on the couch, watching some “House” when the doorbell rings. It’s 10:30 on a Sunday night, and our doorbell is ringing? That’s odd. So she takes our barking dog to the back, and I open the door. There’s a 20something year old guy standing there, and a car running in the street right in front of our house. It probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I opened the door and storm door to see what he wanted.
“I’m from the AIDS Foundation of America, does anyone here have AIDS?” he asked.
“What?” I wittingly replied.
“Do you have AIDS?” he asked again.
“Um, no,” was all I responded, and he extended his hand to shake mine. Which kinda threw me off, and I know enough to understand you can’t get HIV or AIDS through a handshake. But this whole situation was creepy, so I went and washed my hand after he left.
The wife asked what that was all about, and I relayed the story. We decided to call the police, not because he did anything threatening, but it just felt like the right thing to do. I went back outside to see if they were still around, and they drove by the house again, and then sped off.
Having seen too many movies between the two of us, we saw all the different horrendous endings this story would have if we were in a movie. And like most scary movies, it turned out to be a big (thankfully) dud of an ending. Just an peculiar ending to a bizarre weekend.
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