My grandfather on my dad's side passed away sometime in the night. He had been diagnosed recently with terminal cancer, and our entire family had planned to fly out next weekend to visit him. The timing seems particularly cruel.

I don't know much of his life history. My memory of him begins about the time when I first began to store permanent memories. Because of the way he carried himself, I like to imagine that long before I came on the scene, he was a famous war general in the Chinese army. He's the type of guy who just seemed like he'd live forever.

I've lost lots of people in my family to cancer, and I think it's particularly heartless and unfair when it attacks the elderly, whose bodies are unable to stand up to the brutal, vicious regimen of treatment that is all that modern medicine has to offer for cancer. Someone who lives to that age should be able to spend their remaining days free of such physical pain and suffering.

I spent part of the day calling airlines to see if they had any bereavement fares for a last-minute flight out to Atlanta this weekend. I've investigated this in the past, but I'd forgotten how low my expectations should have been set. Bereavement fares, for those airlines that even offer any, are merely ridiculous instead of preposterous.

The phone call in the middle of the night--is there any sound more foreboding?

If my perception of time wasn't linear and pointed forward towards old age, if my only memory was of the future not yet lived but most likely instead of a meandering childhood, what would I be doing right now with my life?

This is the month of converging life stressors. Others include having to move to a new house in a week and stressful project presentations at the office. When they gang up like this, it becomes difficult to contain them, to compartmentalize them. While trying to deal with one, I get distracted worrying about the others, and soon they all feel oppressive.

November is getting off to a strenuous start. And then we're compelled to switch our clocks back, for daylight savings time. And suddenly, life goes dark. What are we saving the daylight for? A rainy day? That's every day in a Seattle winter. Can you bank daylight? If not, why not use it while we have it?

Fall back indeed.
posted by Eugene Wei at 10:19 PM | link

Self-destructing DVDs lived up to their name. Their poor consumer reception seemed eminently predictable, if not by common sense or consumer empathy, then perhaps using neuromarketing.

Neuromarketing?! Yep. Using an MRI, researchers can monitor your reaction to advertising and products at a neurological level. At least one company specializes in this field now, and oh doesn't their scientific-sounding jargon tickle and tempt the ears of marketers. It's straight out of sci-fi, and the company plans to apply their strategy to create motion pictures as well.
posted by Eugene Wei at 11:48 PM | link

A few jokes by Seinfeld in his standup show [he noted that common behavior these days for two people meeting up is to place their cell phones on the table, as if drawing guns at a gunfight, seeing who will be first to receive a phone call and break the appointment for a more interesting social engagement] and an article in this week's NYTimes Sunday Styles reminded me of some of the behavior of cell phone users that drive me nuts. I've been guilty of some of these from time to time and have made a conscious effort to cut it all off.

• People who constantly check their cell phone when they're out with you. Yeah, I get it, you're so damn popular. Do you want to be here or not? If you don't want to be here, then why don't you just leave? And can't you set your cell phone to vibrate or ring so you know when you have messages? Why are you looking at it every 10 minutes? Don't you know how to use your phone?


• The most annoying two types of people who are constantly checking their cell phones: quasi-big shots whose constant cell phone monitoring reminds you that they're much more important than you are and could abandon you for more important company at any time, and those people who are not all that popular or important but who monitor their cell phone as if they are.


• People who make time to see you and then spend half that time on the phone talking to other people. Yes, I'm having a lot of fun sitting here listening to one half of your conversation. Why don't you get out of here and join them and then call me on the cell phone so I can multi-task while you waste someone else's time?


• A particularly irritating variant of the previous is the person who has to call their significant other every half hour to give updates on where they are. My mom used to yell at me for gabbing on the phone with friends I was going to see in person soon. Now I understand why. Couples like this need to just marry off and then spend all their time under the same house talking to each other. No one expects to hear from married couples anyway.

Besides, true playas don't have to carry cell phones. They have assistants that run important messages to them, and you can't reach them simply by dialing their cell. You have to go through their cadre of foot soldiers and minions to prove yourself worthy of their time first. The ratio of time you spend trying to get in front of them to the amount of their time you actually receive is in inverse proportion to your relative statuses in the world.

[The only people I don't resent for their cell phone usage are those who are on call. You can see the weary resignation with which they gaze upon these homing beacons which constantly circumscribe them in an invisible cage.]
posted by Eugene Wei at 10:46 PM | link

Autumn comes and goes quickly in Seattle. It's rough on me since fall is my favorite season--crisp-cool autumn air, brown/yellow/orange, pumpkins, football, light frost on the grass. This weekend may be the only real autumn weekend we get in Seattle all year.

But in the moment, all that matters is that it's here. Rich, Tom, Brian and I stole away today for some fall golf at a new course called Trilogy at Redmond Ridge. Within that distance from Seattle, it might be the best value golf course I've played. Only a half hour drive or so for me, public, not as spendy as Newcastle, not as far as Gold Mountain or Harbour Pointe or courses like that, and nicer than Jefferson or West Seattle. Fall golf is great.

I hadn't played in a while, but the swing felt decent, and even though I didn't play driver all day, and even though I missed a three foot birdie putt on the par-5 18th, I broke 90 for the first time all year with an 89. I think I swing better without any warm up. We got lost on the way over and so we had to go straight to the first tee, no practice swings or putts on a completely strange course, and I went par par the first two holes.

Todd and Juli and Audrey and I went to the Strokes concert tonight. But first, we had a birthday dinner at Il Terrazzo Carmine where Philippe works. Now, I'm no restaurant insider, but as far as I could tell, Philippe was running the show in the kitchen. I've heard a lot about the restaurant over the years but never been. What I've missed! The food was superb, eccellente. Italian food in the low and mid range doesn't excite me, but at the high end, it can be operatic. I think Audrey's duck with Italian cherries was singing to me. All compliments to the chef.

We got to the Strokes concert just as The Kings of Leon were finishing their last song. Then, while the roadies were setting up the stage for The Strokes, songs from the Cure's Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, one of my favorite albums of all time, played in the background, and it sent me back to happy times.

The Strokes sounded fantastic, despite having to play in what the lead singer accurately described as "one fugly arena" (The Seattle Exhibition Center looks exactly like what you'd imagine an Exhibition Center would look like inside, which I suppose is suited for showing curtains and bathroom sinks and whatever else they show at exhibitions but has absolutely no business hosting any musical acts; yet, in the last month, I've seen both The White Stripes and The Strokes there--why'd they get stuck with that sterile dump?!? Well, at least it's clean). Punk/garage bands always sound better live, the feedback from the guitars registering beautifully, especially as compared to the sanitized acoustics on the album. The Strokes' songs all make me happy, and while their new album Room on Fire may prove that they're not going to change the face of rock, it's hardly an indictment that couldn't be applied to just about every album that arrives each week.

[Room on Fire is also available from The Apple Music Store, whose selection grows a little more impressive every few weeks]
posted by Eugene Wei at 12:48 AM | link

The route for the 2004 Tour de France was announced. This time they'll go around France counter-clockwise (they seem to alternate directions every year). I was hoping they'd cover Mont Ventoux so that Lance would have a final chance to win that stage, but it's not part of the route. What is interesting is that they are visiting Alpe D'Huez for the second consecutive year, but they're using it for an individual time trial this year! Alpe D'Huez has never been part of an ITT. That will be an interesting stage.

Of course, the primary drama, assuming both men make it to the start line in good form, will be the battle between Lance and Jan Ullrich. Lance is now 33, looked vulnerable last year, and Jan is 29, heading into the years when Lance was in his prime. No one has ever won six before, and some people think it's for good reason, that the human body just can't sustain that strength against that competition over so many grueling miles and years. In the eyes of many, Jan is already the betting favorite for next year.

It's going to be, as they are so fond of saying in the cycling world, epic.

[I have nothing to say, really, about the rumored romance between Lance and Sandra Bullock. Really, I tried to think of something when a few of you asked me to, but I drew a blank]
posted by Eugene Wei at 8:33 PM | link

My trip to New Zealand and Australia took place in February, and I still haven't finished collecting my thoughts, scanning my photos. I may never finish, and my memory of some portions has gone fuzzy, but I'm ready to share what I've got. If you're planning a visit to New Zealand, maybe you'll find some useful tips on what to see while you're there.

Maybe it's just me, but New Zealand seems to be the destination du jour. Everyone I know seems to be planning a trip there or have gone there in the past year or two. Popularity of anything, whether it's a travel destination or a music group, often leads to a loss of street cred, but that sentiment arises from a very small-hearted, selfish view of the world. NZ is incredible, and everyone should pay a visit.

posted by Eugene Wei at 11:51 PM | link

MTV's Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica if a reality TV show that follows teen pop stars Nick Lachey (former lead singer of 98 Degrees) and Jessica Simpson in the first year of their marriage. It has in its first year become perhaps the most extreme example of reality TV which ridicules its subjects for the entertainment of its audience (surprisingly, there are exames of reality TV that don't). Jessica Simpson has quickly become a reality TV legend, offering enough ditzy, bubbly one-liners in her first season to merit a regular rotation in Entertainment Weekly's Sound Bites. And yet one can't help feeling that it's the audience that's being played, or perhaps even conned.

Cynical stares are corrosive, and those who plead guilty to such stares don't tend to hold our interest for long. Sure, it was fun to watch the disasters that were the Osbourne household and Anna Nicole Smith for a season, maybe even two, but ratings didn't and couldn't last because they were so openly and brazenly exactly what we wanted to expose them as. In fact, how can we even resort to irony (supposedly the scourge of my generation, a disease present in everything we write and say--see footnote 1), which capitalizes on the difference between appearance and reality, when the Osbourne's or Nick and Jessica are exactly what we wanted and imagined them to be? It's more fun to ridicule when the subjects resist arrest.

It's not surprising, perhaps. TV has always depended, in great part, on feeding us exactly what we want (see footnote 2). That's their entire modus operandi, and they spend millions on market research, testing dozens of new programs every season, to find the right buttons to press, and when they do, they press them until the buttons fall off. It's difficult for me to know when it was that my generation was supposed to have descended into this cynical, ironic, post-modern funk I always hear us accused of--perhaps it was the Vietnam War--but if that is our primary mode of discourse, then somewhere along the line TV finally realized that what drew our eyes and ears was an echo of our own cynical voices. TV has co-opted my generation's mode of irony.

And so, to complement hopeful, happy television shows (Friends, for example), we're flooded with television shows that expose people for the unpleasant, money-grubbing scoundrels we always knew they were. People stabbing each other in the back on Survivor, contestants whoring themselves for money or sex on shows like Fear Factor and Dismissed, celebrities revealing their pettiness and idiocy in tabloids or in reality shows like The Osbournes, The Anna Nicole Smith show, and of course The Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica. Even when these shows attempt irony, as Joe Millionaire does by exposing the reaction of women to a rich man who is actually poor, it is in a mean-spirited, duplicitous way, and since we are already so cynical, perhaps it isn't ironic at all that the women turn out to be gold diggers. They're exactly what we expect them to be.

I'm guilty of being too cynical myself at times, and it's a voice that is common to young twenty-something bloggers who love to rant and rave about anything and everything. It's a way to preen in our superiority over the objects of our ridicule and to display our cleverness all at once, and so it's tempting, but it's also empty. Irony was once used as a form of protest and could stand on its own as a position, but negation without offering alternatives is simply empty.

Perhaps Jessica Simpson is actually a rocket scientist, but plays a dumb blonde in front of MTV's cameras to boost ratings for her show. After all, how could she, after watching season one, renew for a second season? Perhaps because she hears her fifteen minutes ticking away to oblivion and realizes that her only chance of holding the public's eye is not through her fading pop career but through her self-made caricature. Who's playing who here? Maybe Jessica's getting the last laugh after all.

You know that once it's unhip to be anything but ironic and cynical, then it's time to remember how to be sincere. I think I remember how.


Footnote 1: Worse than having my generation constantly blamed for being ironic is the chronic overuse and misuse of the word irony. Maybe my generation wouldn't be accused of being so ironic if everyone stopped labeling every damned event or statement as being ironic. Sometimes I can't even tell the difference among cynicism, irony, sarcasm, satire, and postmodernism. The blurred usage has got even me confused. It doesn't help that Alanis Morrissette's popular ditty "Isn't it Ironic" completely botched the definition of irony and profferred a slew of examples of irony, none of which were really ironic except under the broadest and loosest definitions of irony, ones which render irony somewhat meaningless and indistinct from misfortune or coincidence.

The most common case of mistaken identity is between coincidence and irony. Especially unfortunate coincidence. For example, someone who always carries breath mints in his pocket finally leaves them at home one day and then finds himself stuck with bad breath just as a beautiful woman wants to kiss. That's more Murphy's Law than irony, but many people would be tempted to say, "Isn't that ironic?"

In fact, it's probably giving my generation too much credit to call us all ironists. Many of my generation are just apathetic and/or cynical, but irony is a higher art form which few have mastered. Anyway, it's a topic which other folks have already covered in more detail than I.

Footnote 2: In this way, TV is no different than politicians, the latest and greatest example being Arnold Schwarzenegger whose election to the governorship of the 5th largest economy in the world has many people wringing their hands. Arnie read that state's discontents, echoed back their anger and desires (which he could gauge through polling), and rode that empathy and a poor economy to election. Clinton was a master of using polling data to adjust his campaign and elevate his approval ratings--by the time he reached office polling had become an art form. It shouldn't come as any surprise that Arnold won. After all, the most popular Democratic president in the U.S., by many measures, is Martin Sheen's Jed Bartlet on The West Wing, and he's just a fictional creation, so why shouldn't Arnold, an actor himself, and someone whose job in movies is to put butts in seats, attract more voters than a curmudgeonly Gray Davis, regardless of Davis' political experience?

The complaints about Arnie's victory remind me of the argument against using box office to judge the quality of movies: Just because Titanic was the greatest box office hit of all time doesn't mean Titanic . Just because a more people voted for Arnie than Gray Davis doesn't mean Arnie's an adequate, let alone superior, politician. A democratic vote isn't necessarily the best method to discern quality, just popularity.

On the topic of judging candidates, I find it ridiculously difficult to find objective information by which to evaluate one versus another. It's easier to find objective reviews of DVD players, or automobiles. Where's the comprehensive database of candidate's voting records, speeches, writings? There must be a way to remove at least some subjectivity from the whole process, lessen the influence of advertisements and PR. Perhaps the only passionate endorsements are partisan ones, but I'd like to think not.
posted by Eugene Wei at 11:33 PM | link

1. November's issue of The Believer will feature, according to the most recent McSweeney's newsletter, "Dave Eggers talking at length with David Foster Wallace about Everything and More: A Compact History of Infinity, Wallace's recently published foray into pop-technical writing. They also discuss Wallace's forthcoming collection of short stories, political empathy, tobacco addiction, "work processes," and the possibilities of crossdisciplinary communication, followed by a brief coda on teaching. The interview is very much a conversation; the two Daves get along well, but their "chairs" (so to speak) are angled toward the "audience" just enough to afford a fascinating ten-page glimpse into Mr. Wallace's hilarious, quick, and profound brain." Also featured will be "an interview with Saturday Night Live head-writer Tina Fey, who describes her office life.
("There are always lots of people fake-raping each other.")"
2. "Frank Sinatra Has a Cold."
3. Seatguru, so you can find that comfy seat for your flight home for Thanksgiving, or Xmas. Or so you can understand just why your flight was so miserable.
4. Margaret Cho blog.
5. Chris Rock doing another standup tour in early 2004! Unfortunately, at this point, seats, let alone good ones, are hard to come by.
6. Maxit workout clothes, which Lloyd Kahn claimed (to Kevin Kelly) are far superior to all that heavily marketed gear from Patagonia, North Face, etc. Given the unbelievably inclement weather here in Seattle recently, I just may have to try some if I want to cycle.
7. A Kill Bill Vol. 1 study guide.
8. Unused commentary by Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky for The Fellowship of the Ring (Platinum Series Extended Edition) DVD: Part One, Part Two
9. A purple frog (with a snout).
10. David Blaine comes out of his box: "Blaine’s reintroduction to food must now be managed carefully to avoid potentially serious problems, including sudden death from "re-feeding syndrome", while any hope of sexual relations with his glamorous German girlfriend, and ardent defender, Manon von Gerkan, could see his life cut short by an act of passion." According to this article, "publishers are now reportedly battling it out to buy the rights to his story, which could make him millions, according to the Daily Star." That will either be a short book or a long and dull one.

Finally, a gloating footnote. One of the most painful things about watching playoff baseball on Fox was enduring seemingly an infinite loop of commercials for their TV shows Skin (has any skin ever been more overexposed), O.C., or Joe Millionaire ("Now to zee best part, he's feelthy reeeeech!"). So it was great happiness that I saw this clip in IMDb's daily news:

The debut of two heavily promoted shows on Fox Monday night -- Skin (series debut) and Joe Millionaire (season debut) -- tanked in the ratings, leaving Fox executives stunned by the low numbers. "I wish I knew what happened," Fox Entertainment President Gail Berman told reporters, following the release of overnight Nielsen figures showing Millionaire finishing in fifth place and Skin in fourth. Berman acknowledged that Millionaire "clearly is no longer the phenomenon it was." The numbers came even as last week's ratings indicated a huge win for Fox, thanks to its coverage of the divisional baseball playoffs and the first two games of the World Series. But analysts observed that all of the other networks showed a significant loss of viewers that could not be explained by the popularity of baseball alone. Alan Wurtzel, who tracks ratings for NBC, told today's (Wednesday) New York Times: "Frankly, what we're seeing strains credulity." The Times observed that network execs are demanding an explanation from Nielsen for the low figures, which, the newspaper observed, "could leave the networks on the hook for hundreds of millions of dollars in so-called make-goods."
posted by Eugene Wei at 9:53 PM | link

Last night, sleeping was hard, so I hardly slept. I had one dream. The Cubs were in the NLCS again. They're still in it. Game six. Who're they playing? I can't tell, it's inconsequential in the way many dream details are. Mark Prior is starting. It's the second inning. He clutches his shoulder. Something is wrong. They're pulling him out of the game. Baker has done it, he's ruined the pitcher of a generation through overuse. Baker you idiot! Now the Cubs are losing, and Tom Goodwin is in center. It's all falling apart. How many times do I have to relive this?

Awake, I grab a drink of water from the fridge. Back asleep, and this time I awaken from sleep in a dream itself. I'm lying in bed in a strange house, my new house. I know this the way you just know certain things, intuitively, in dreams. My mom and sisters are sitting in the room. They're over to help me unpack. How nice of them!

And then I'm at a party, and someone I haven't spoken to in ages, someone I suddenly realize I've wanted to chat with for the longest time, is there. She asks if I want to catch up over dinner. What a good day I'm having.

Such vivid dreams last night, and I don't know why? I usually associate those with deep sleep, and I slept terribly last night. All day I was foggy, one foot in the subconscious.

It reminded me of the best sleep I've had recently, induced by anesthesia for surgery last week...

...I quite literally have an itch I can't scratch. There's a spot just to the side of my upper lip that itches. I'm not sure how, since I can't feel my face. When I try to scratch it, I can't feel anything.

The doctor in his scrubs, with his shower cap, looks ridiculous, like baseball managers who have to wear the same uniforms as the players.

Before the operation begins, the doctor, nurses, and anesthesiologist make small talk. Oh, you work at Amazon.com? I love that site. A godsend for us busy medical professionals. How long have you been there? Six years? Wow, you must be loving life. Do you like needles? No, you're right, no one likes needles. Okay, here goes, prick and burn. There, see, that wasn't so bad.

Just when we are pushing against the boundaries of small talk, they put a mask on my face, pumping curious smelling air into my lungs, and I start to feel woozy. This gas will knock me out any second now, and I strain to stay conscious to feel the moment when it happens. But we never remember the moment when things go dark, only moment-of-unconsciousness-minus-one (U-1). At U-1, I'm giggling. At U, I'm U.

Waking up from general anasthesia is wonderful. My brain, usually a semi-symmetrical multi-processing machine, can only process one train of thought. Wrapping my mind around any object or idea is strenuous, like trying to focus one's vision when inebriated.

Meanwhile, my synpases and muscles and nerves all are firing at about one-tenth of their usual speed, which means that each order from my brain takes about 10 times as long for my body to execute. This is what surfing the web on a 28.8 modem feels like [though I suspect my body, even drugged to the nines, still processes more data and has an effective bandwidth many times that the data network at work]. If this is what dying feels like, then I can understand why people go peacefully into the light. Staying conscious is a lot of work. If anyone asked me anything right now, I'd come straight out with the truth because it's just a whole lot easier than expending mental effort and energy to manipulate and massage the facts. Lying is hard work.

Without the distracting feedback from all the nerves in my body to process, my brain experiences a wonderful lucidity, a near perfect focus on its own train of thought. I can tap into my memories as if wandering a darkened warehouse in near silence, like the vault in the X-Files where the Cigarette Smoking Man hid all the evidence of UFO's and aliens and whatnot. I wonder what it feels like to be Stephen Hawking. I remember watching Asian cartoons as a child, ones that involved humans sitting inside a cockpit of a skyscraper-sized robotic warrior. The human would be attached to electrodes and mechanical levers and would control the robot by moving his arms and legs, the robot moving in exact mimicry.

I now realize those cartoons were all wrong. A perfect interface for controlling one of these skyscraper sized robotic warriors would actually involve a human pilot whose body had been sedated but whose mind was still awake and accepting visual and auditory stimuli fed directly into its various low-level neuro-interfaces. In this state of zen-like concentration, the human and robot would move with lightning speed of a near subconscious level, the way that someone like Andre Agassi can process the path of a tennis ball struck by his opponent and strike it with his racket while the ball still on the rise and direct it exactly where he wishes with unreturnable pace and spin. I myself can make all the shots that Andre Agassi can make in my mind, but my body cannot carry out the instructions of my brain the way Agassi's body can process the plans generated by his cerebral cortex. Of course, such an interface for controlling a giant robotic warrior would not make for great visual drama and thus is unlikely to ever supplant the more physically active interfaces seen in movies.

The patient next to me has adenocarcinoma and is opening up to her nurse. About her two young children she's trying to be strong for, about her poor husband who has to operate their family business on his own now. About how scared she is, how much she dreads these visits to the hospital for chemo. How easy it is to open up to strangers who know nothing of our past and have no expectations for us to live up to, unlike our friends and family.

For a moment, I'm an open book, ready to bare my soul. But no one's around, so I lie there, for a moment, at peace with the world.
posted by Eugene Wei at 10:30 PM | link

A budding doping scandal crossing multiple sports, involving all sorts of stars? Hmmmm.

At the heart of it is a lab in the Bay Area called BALCO (Bay Area Laboratory Co-Operative). It has a wonderfully low-budget and somewhat vague website, the type which I imagine to be characteristic of suspicious, stealthy companies. Even just a partial roster of their past clients is impressive.

On topic, this month's Outside magazine features an article in which an amateur cyclist uses himself as a human guinea pig for all the big names in the performance-enhancing cupboard, from human growth hormone (HGH) to EPO to steroids. A fascinating read, mostly because the author confesses that the cocktails he injected himself with helped. He didn't use them long enough to experience any of the dangerous side effects, but one can easily understand how, in a world of A-personality athletic competitors where the slightest edge means millions of dollars and in a world where everyone seems to be trying the latest fad diet in an attempt to locate a shortcut to lose weight, the idea of taking some drugs from time to time and experiencing noticeable performance gains would be so alluring.
posted by Eugene Wei at 9:11 PM | link

Went to see Seinfeld tonight at the Paramount. I saw him here in Seattle the last time he was touring. I think that was two years ago. In between, the movie The Comedian came out, documenting Jerry's motivation for returning to standup (despite his hundreds of millions of dollars), the stress of coming up with a routine, etc. I was expecting an hour plus worth of new material about the absurdity of the mundane.

So it was a shock when, just a short way into his routine, he told a joke he told last time. It took me a minute or two to process. I did a double take. Did he just tell that joke about the cereal called Life again? Did I put in the wrong DVD? Nope, it was true, Seinfeld was committing the comedic equivalent of the double dip. Same joke about the boredom of conversation during dating ("I want to sleep with you but I don't think I'm going to make it"), the tones of voice in marriage, the use of "ass" in conversation, the very fine line between "great" and "sucks", how his life sucks but not quite as badly as our lives sucked, and the concluding joke about the ice cream scoop that falls out of the cone onto the sidewalk.

Granted, about half the material, maybe a little more, was new. And some jokes are still funny the second time around. But even though these routines are meticulously rehearsed, the illusion of spontaneity is part of the entire experience, and hearing the exact same punchlines delivered the same way yet again burst that bubble. His material is still great, but I paid full price of $75 for about half a show of new material, and that sucked. I thought only the Dave Matthews Band got away with extorting their customers in concert year after year with the same material.

You know, Jerry was right, there isn't a that much difference between "great" and "sucks."

[Note: this isn't the first time I've heard Seinfeld reuse material. I heard him on David Letterman or one of those late night talk shows once, and he started spewing a bunch of jokes which I had read months earlier in his book.

I came home tonight and they were airing a Dave Chappelle standup concert on HBO, and I hadn't heard any of these jokes before, and while I can't reprint any of his jokes here for fear of offending someone, he was hilarious and I laughed my liver silly. So in the end, I did receive a full night's worth of new material.]
posted by Eugene Wei at 11:57 PM | link

The Yankees and the Marlins. In the abstract, any World Series makes for compelling theater, but I doubt I'll watch a single game. Of all the permutations of the remaining four teams, this was the least attractive. It could be a competitive, entertaining, thrilling contest, but I see a matchup of the richest team in baseball versus a recent expansion team that drew only an average of 16K fans per game this year.

The whole thing left a bitter taste in my mouth. Then I realized it was the taste of blood from the fresh wound in my mouth. What a week.
posted by Eugene Wei at 9:46 PM | link

If I make a list of all the times my heart has been broken over the years, the one thing in common to all of them is that I really didn't have any control over the outcome, my perceptions to the contrary notwithstanding. When I control my own fate and the outcome is negative, my emotions are 3 parts anger, 1 part disappointment. It's on me, and it can be empowering. When I entrust my happiness to the actions or decisions of others, that is called hope, or faith, and that is the setup for heartbreak, a helpless sort of failure which is aggravating in its victimization.

Last night, after the final out, I went out and drove to McDonalds where I picked up a milkshake and fries combo at the drive-thru window. Against doctor's orders, I had solid food. Comfort food.

I knew going into the last part of the regular season that the Cubs weren't as good as some people were making them out to be, but when they made the playoffs, and when they made it past the Braves, and when especially when they went up 3 games to 1 on the Marlins, I gave myself freedom to dream for just a bit. Ah, we never learn, do we?

The Cubs were outplayed by the better team. They were outhit. Miguel Cabrera proved to be a fearless hitting prodigy, and Marlins in general took the best Cubs fastballs and breaking balls and turned them around. How many times with two strikes did Pudge or Castillo or Pierre or Cabrera fight of high 90's fastballs, fouling them off over and over, and then turn a hanging slider or mislocated fastball into a base hit? One piece of solace I take from this series is that I presciently signed Miguel Cabrera in my fantasy roster league this year for $3.00 and can renew him next year at $6.00. He's going to be a star the same way FRod blossomed into one in last year's World Series for the Angels.

Meanwhile, the Cubs hitters were all or nothing. The Cubs aren't fast, don't walk a lot, so they depend on the long ball. When they are mashing, as they did earlier in this series, it's exciting stuff, especially for the ball-hawkers on Waveland. But when they aren't hitting the ball out, they're grounding into double plays or striking out. With the exception of Lofton, the Cubs can't manufacture any runs. Ironically, coming back to the cold weather in Wrigley may have hurt the Cubbies. They hit plenty of long drives to center and right in game seven that seemed to die in the cold air.

The Cubs were outpitched. With all due respect to Mark Prior, my favorite Cub, the best pitcher in this series was Josh Beckett, who finally fulfilled all the hype he's received throughout his life. You could see his confidence grow, especially after Sosa took umbrance at a high tight fastball and Beckett came back to blow him away, hitting 100mph on one fastball. If Beckett's arm remains healthy, he's going to be a Cy Young contender. In a battle of bullpens, the Marlins' pen was deeper and more reliable. Dusty went back to the same four relievers every game (Veres, Remlinger, Farnsworth, Borowski), a decision I often agreed with, but they just weren't able to close the door the way World Series-winning bullpens have to (think of the insert-middle-reliever to Mariano Rivera bullpens of the Yankees).

The Cubs were outmanaged. Dusty Baker, never a great tactician, fell back to his habits of relying on veterans he was comfortable with, while Trader Jack McKeon, all of 76 years old, showed a willingness to put the best players out there regardless of age or experience, recognizing that in a short series you have to capture lightning in a bottle. Baker's roster construction was terrible--why carry Juan Cruz if he was never going to pitch? In Game 7, if Paul Bako had gotten on base, who would have hit for Joe Borowski? I guess Ramon Martinez, the last man on the bench. If Baker had carried Hee Seop Choi, he would have had a power-hitting lefty in reserve. Baker pinch-hit when he didn't need to (Goodwin for Miller, Simon for Karros) and if the game had gone into extra innings the Cubs would've run out of players anyway. Baker also left starters in too long, mismanaged his relievers, bunted with Grudzielanek in first innings of games which obviously wouldn't be decided by a single run...the litany of errors is too long to list. Some of this is second-guessing, of course, but when I yell at the TV for three straight hours during every Baker-managed game, I have to conclude that sometimes I'm right and he's wrong.

And the one thing which will haunt me this postseason is not the foul ball which the fan deflected before it hit Alou's glove but this: what if Baker had pulled Prior earlier in that 12-3 game, game two, instead of leaving him in for 116 pitches? If Prior had just that much more energy in game six, would he have had the location and stuff to retire Castillo and Pudge and Cabrera? Baker is undoubtedly a great manager of people, one who treats his players like men and confront them with his objections face-to-face, instead of in the press like, say, Don Baylor. One gets the sinking feeling, though, that as strong a leader as he is, he might be the worst possible manager for this Cubs franchise at this point in its history. He ran the Cubs pitching arms ragged, and even pitching coach Larry Rothschild admitted "I think that [Wood] and Mark [Prior] both ran out of gas there." Maybe you can give Baker that hint next time, Larry?

You could go on. Baker gave Veres the ball in game seven to face Alex Gonzalez, pulling Farnsworth. As Rany Jazayerli in Baseball Prospectus pointed out, Veres has a severe split, dominating left-handed hitters but murdered by and right-handed hitters for a .359 clip this year. Why not Remlinger at this point, or Borowski? When you're looking death in the face, you don't pull out your pocket knife, or even your pistol. Go to what in Doom was known as your BFG, your big f***ing gun, the biggest one you have left.

In contrast, 72 year old McKeon was willing to move Miguel Cabrera, a 20 year old rookie, all over the field, and even up into the cleanup spot! He moved Derek Lee down when he was struggling, pulled Juan Encarnacion in favor of Cabrera in right, pulled Penny in favor of Pavano. McKeon didn't leave any bullets in his chamber. I think we saw just about every Marlins starting pitcher these past two games. Some of his moves worked out, some didn't, but I always found myself thinking, "Damn, that's just what I would have done, and I wish he hadn't thought of it."

He was even willing to use Beckett in Game 7 after he'd thrown a complete game 115 pitch shutout on Sunday, and it worked in his favor. I was never so unhappy as when Beckett came in out of the bullpen in game 7, fresh off of dominating us in game 5. How, you might ask, is this different from Baker's abuse of Prior and Wood? If Beckett blows his arm out next year, maybe it won't be any. But the difference in my mind was that Beckett was left out there only as long as he looked good, while Baker left Prior and Wood out there even after they'd clearly lost their command, velocity, and location. McKeon showed a quick hook with all his pitchers, willing to rely on his intuition as to the hot hand. Who says you can't teach a 72 year old dog new tricks? Regardless of who makes it from the AL, the Marlins will be the best managed team in the World Series.

And, in the end, we were also outfielded. Cabrera played right field as well as Sosa despite playing it for the first time in his life in this series. Alou dove and caught all sorts of balls which a faster left fielder would have caught much more easily. Gonzalez booted the key grounder in game six, Paul Bako let all sorts of blockable pitches between his legs, Grudzielanek showed zero range at second base, Aramis Ramirez made every throw an adventure, and the Cubs weak throwing arms in the outfield were exploited numerous times by the speedy Fish. Even Steve Bartman, the poor guy, misplayed the foul ball which has now nearly ruined his life (if he does end up having to leave the city, then shame on Chicago, and it will be another dark blight on Cubs history).

When I diagnose things this way, clinically, I feel somewhat better. And I'll still take away happy memories from this postseason. Give the Cubs this: they overachieved and fought hard, they pulled out some amazing victories this year, and they were this close (picture me holding my index finger and thumb out, an inch of space between them) to completing their fairy tale. I haven't had this much fun watching the Cubs in a long time, screaming my lungs out everytime Kerry Wood proved he was a better hitter than either of his catchers, or Bako or Miller gunned down Pierre, or some random Cubs pinch-hitter like Goodwin or Simon or O'Leary came up with a clutch hit. The Cubs didn't choke, they were just outplayed. They have nothing to be embarrassed about.

I hope the Cubs learn from this postseason and don't overestimate their own abilities. They have significant upgrades to make if they're going to be a true World Series contender. They're dangerously close to following the footsteps of recent old and overachieving Cubs playoff teams with a second year tumble back into reality. Grudzielanek, Karros, Alou, Sosa, Miller, Bako, Gonzalez, O'Leary, Goodwin...those are all players highly highly unlikely to improve, more likely to get worse. Same goes for Alfonseca, Remlinger, Veres, Estes. The starting pitching is young and solid, but the Cubs lack positional prospects. They need to go out and build around a core of Patterson, Choi, Ramirez, Prior, Wood, Zambrano, and Clement. If they recognize this and do increase their salary base next year and spend it wisely, then there's hope for a continued run of success.

There's always hope. Go Red Sox.
posted by Eugene Wei at 4:56 PM | link

After the Cubs game six loss, I felt dread, and despair. Depression? I had to call people, just to talk, like people need to do after traumatic events. All the Cubs fans I spoke to were numb, like me. And then I realized I had to call my dad, who I never really call, because I was, once again, that ten year old in 1984 crying after the Cubs NLCS Game Five loss to the Padres, trying to make sense of it all. We spoke, and he calmed me down, told me to go watch a movie, take my mind off the whole thing. He still felt good about game seven, thought Wood would seize the opportunity to be the hero in his friendly competition with Prior. I felt better after talking to him.

Later, Rich called, and Sang came down after he got home. I think both were on suicide watch. I was too dazed still to talk, and my lingering grogginess from my pain medication and anesthetic conspired with the Cubs defeat and my hunger (soups and clear juices do not satisfy; I've been constantly hungry since my surgery ended) to render me suddenly weak. Despite doctor's orders not to drive, I had to run out to the grocery store to get myself something calming. Tea, perhaps.

I ended up driving around for a while and not going to the grocery store at all, visions of grounders through Durham's legs, Gwynn's line drive taking a bad hop past Sandberg, Garvey's homer off of Lee Smith, Alan Wiggins' check-swing excuse-me hit, Will Clark reading Maddux's lips and hitting a grand slam onto Sheffield Ave., Javy Lopez's 9th inning home run off of Kevin Tapani.

Back at home, I finally had a clear head again. It wasn't that fan's fault for reaching out and deflecting the ball from Alou. Unlike game two when the fan interfered with Bako on IRod's pop-up, the fan in game six was up above Alou, a wall separating them, and Alou had to leap up and stick his glove into the stands. Any fan would have gone after the ball there and during the regular season no one would have given it a second thought (though I think Cubs fans have now been chastened for life and will never reach for a foul pop-up by an opposing player near the field of play ever again, for fear of death). Gonzalez booted the grounder. Baker left Prior in a few batters too many, and Prior threw a hanging curve that didn't snap to IRod. Lee and Mordecai murdered two hard but hittable fastballs. To blame this all on that one fan is wrong and typical of long-suffering Cubs fans' desire for a scapegoat.

Cubs fans even have a literal scapegoat in the form of a billy goat to assuage their 95 years of sorrow. But a true accounting of our past requires an honest confrontation with the truth. The Cubs haven't won a World Series since 1908 because they've just been flat out beaten by other teams. We got beat in 1945, and in 1984. And 1989, and 1998. It will take a Cubs team whose mind is free of history and its 95 years of doom and gloom to exorcise our collective demons, and even then, anything can happen in a short series.

All I can think of is that Wood will be too pumped up with adrenaline to find the strike zone, of Cabrera and Pudge catching up to Wood fastballs, of Redman taking advantage of impatient Cubs hitters with his changeup. I try to shake my negativity but my mind won't cooperate, won't stop fast-forwarding to a negative outcome to prepare itself. I hope the Cubs are stronger than I am and willing to confront all their doubts and surpass them. Part of me thinks that Kerry Wood will appreciate an opportunity to outdo Prior in their friendly competition to be the Cubs savior. I'll cling to that.

An entire nation (well, nearly an entire nation) roots for the Cubs and Red Sox today, including me (and Fox is certainly rooting for the Cubbies; having the Marlins instead of the Cubs in the World Series will cost Fox millions of viewers and lots of advertising revenue). I cut my hair, and I'm wearing the same outfit I wore when the Cubs won game five against the Braves. My body is tense and my brain is addled, perhaps from my pain medication. Last night I did laundry but forgot to put in detergent, and today I kept misplacing my cellphone.

Alan called earlier. He was worried, advised me not to be by myself tonight with all my Percocet. If the Cubbies win tonight, I won't need any of it.
posted by Eugene Wei at 4:26 PM | link

Up tomorrow morning: surgery to remove the cyst in my sinus. I can't say I'm excited by the idea of having docs cut through the roof of my mouth, but on a positive note, perhaps the cyst will weigh 10 pounds and its removal will transform me into a billy goat of a climber on the bike, and perhaps I'll suddenly be able to breathe so much more efficiently that I'll gain the lung capacity of an elephant.

Josh Beckett got nasty on the Cubs today. Yikes. I had him on my fantasy team this year and have seen him pitch before. Three plus pitches (fastball, curve, changeup), and all were filthy. Let's hope Mr. Prior can send them partying in the streets of Wrigleyville on Tuesday.

Christina and Eric took me to the Seahawks-49ers game today. It reminded me of how obnoxious football fans can be. I didn't have a rooting interest, but I did pity the few 49er fans in our section who had to put up with some boorish Seahawk fans. It amazes me that normal folks can feel justified to act like idiots because of the exploits of some sports team they've arbitrarily chosen for affiliation. No one bothered us, though, and Seattle squeaked out a win on a 49er missed extra point, 20-19.

At halftime, a whole bunch of local area high school cheerleaders put on a show. Like any male, I took a glance through my binoculars and did a double take. These were high school girls? Wow, they had been drinking their milk. Good lord. Then I realized I was looking at the Seahawks cheerleaders by mistake. Oops.

Sadie and I grabbed brunch this morning. She brought her parents along, too. She is a happy, grinning cutey, isn't she? She told me not to cry when I went under the knife and gave me one of her toys to gnaw on.

posted by Eugene Wei at 11:49 PM | link

Watching the Yanks and Red Sox game with Rich, and what a show!

Let's catalog the combatants:

• Pedro appears to try and plug Karim Garcia with a fastball between the numbers. It's all interpretation, and Pedro is a bit wild today, but his control is decent enough that I'm tempted to think Pedro meant to throw at him.


• Garcia pulls a loser move and tries to slide through Walker's knees at 2nd. Garcia wants a piece of Pedro, he should just go after him. This leads to the usual screaming from across the diamond, like a playground fight between a couple of toughies who aren't all that tough. I saw you want to brawl, then put up your fists. Give us Kyle Farnsworth pile-driving Paul Wilson through the turf, or Nolan Ryan lassoing Robin Ventura and pounding his head like a pork cutlet. All this shouting and chest-beating is ridiculous. Pedro points at his head as if saying he'll put a baseball in someone's head, but I say do it with your fists if you're going to do it.


• Manny Ramirez takes offense at a pitch nowhere near his head. Manny is a great, great hitter, no doubt, but he's also someone that no one but a Red Sox fan could like. Terrible left-fielder, occasional loafer and showboater, and now somewhat of a crybaby.


• Don Zimmer charges Pedro and gets tossed like a sack of potatoes. Pedro will get crucified for palming Zimmer's bald head like a watermelon, but Zimmer shouldn't be charging Martinez, especially at his age.

Of course, all this would be moot if players weren't so sensitive about being thrown at. This didn't happen in the old days. If Garcia just took his base after Pedro's pitch and didn't cry and scream about it, none of this would have happened.

Kerry Wood through a whole bunch of high and tight fastballs to the Marlins last night, and none of them charged the mound. Best revenge on a pitcher that throws inside or hits you is to knock him out of the game the conventional way, with your bat.

But hot damn, it makes for great television. Thankfully, the umps didn't toss anyone out of the game. If a brawl breaks out, you can bet I'll be watching. Can Ben Affleck run out there and participate? Please?

[And for once, I agree with the Fox announcers. If there wasn't the DH in the AL, we'd get to see Pedro batting against Clemens, and vice versa. Alright, who doesn't want to see that, please raise your hands? And another benefit of the fighting is it seems to have woken Pedro and Clemens up. They're throwing harder, pitching sharper. We got ourselves a ballgame! Let's hope the Red Sox can tie this thing up.]
posted by Eugene Wei at 2:46 PM | link

All through the playoffs, I've been an ardent supporter of the Cubs. Nothing new there; it's a lifelong condition first diagnosed when I was about 7 years old and there's no real known cure. Some years are worse than others, but I take my cocktails of Bud Light and bratwursts and beef franks and over time I've become numb to the pain.

But I haven't truly believed this entire postseason. Even in the regular season, I didn't truly believe. I've been living and dying on hope, but somewhere in the back of my head I've been cataloguing all the reasons to not believe, anticipating the worse.

The Cubs offense is inept. The Cubs have no team speed. The Cubs don't have disciplined hitters. Kerry Wood is wild. Dusty Baker has ridden his pitchers so hard that Zambrano can't get over the top of his sinker anymore and Prior is two years from arm surgery. The Cubs defense is mediocre. The bullpen isn't deep enough. Our closer is Joe Borowski, a journeyman pitcher without a dominant out pitch. The Cubs bench is weak; why Goodwin over Hee Seop Choi? And Doug Glanville? Don't we have enough light-hitting outfielders on the roster? Aramis Ramirez is frighteningly bad with the glove. Dusty is a terrible tactician.

I think this pessimism is a symptom of Cubs fever, an inevitable defense mechanism my body has triggered to protect me from further heartbreak. Red Sox fans can probably empathize.

After tonight's game, though, I'm beginning to believe. When so many things go your way...

• Light-hitting slap hitters Tom Goodwin and Doug Glanville each hit pinch-hit triples in crucial situations? What magic dust has Dusty sprinkled on them? Two pinch-hit triples in one game?


• Randall swing-at-everything Simon with a pinch-hit two-run home run? Why does anyone throw him a pitch anywhere but right at his hands, or in the dirt?


• Marlins load the bases in the bottom of the ninth. The Big Borowski is struggling, losing about one pound of body weight in sweat each minute. The waterbug Juan Pierre at third base, about 82 feet from home plate and the game winning run. And somehow we get out of it.


• Lofton takes off on a steal attempt in the top of the eleventh, and who should go to cover second base but the shortstop, Alex Gonzalez, instead of Castillo. Glanville then somehow turns around a 95mph fastball from Braden Looper and pulls it through the hole vacated by Alex Gonzalez. For some reason, Conine is playing close to the left field line and lets the ball get by him to roll to the wall. And Lofton, fast becoming my pick for Cubs post-season MVP, trots home.


• Aramis Ramirez boots Derek Lee's grounder but is given a gift by Luis Castillo's temporary meantal blackout.


• Kerry Wood struggles all game with his control. The SI cover jinx is breathing down his neck. Somehow, he comes out intact.

I had a terrible sinking feeling the moment Pudge singled in the Marlins 3rd run, the go-ahead run. I've had that feeling so many times these playoffs, and more often than not, the Cubbies have come back and reversed things on me. I haven't experienced such sustained and agonizing suspense since...well, never.

So yes, I'm starting to believe. Perhaps there is such a thing as destiny, or fate. If so, I just hope I have some hair and fingernails left once it has run its course.
posted by Eugene Wei at 1:25 AM | link

I received Every Second Counts, Lance Armstrong's latest auto-biography, yesterday. It was sitting on my doorstep when I got home. I cracked it open around 9pm. By about 12:30am I had finished it.

His previous bio read quickly also. Maybe it's my fascination with getting inside the head of a guy who can win the Tour de France year after year, to hear his perspective on the same races I watched every day on television. His bios are quite readable because he's fairly open, about as honest as an autobiography can be [one could argue that no autobiography is honest, especially Lance's since he has a co-author in Sally Jenkins molding his words and since he has millions of dollars of endorsement money to protect, but I found all sorts of surprising revelations that he didn't have to insert, and the language certainly isn't censored. For example, he writes that in retrospect, he wasn't so sure that Jan Ullrich was waiting for him when Lance fell on the climb to Luz Ardiden. Hmmmm.].

This one is much more focused on cycling, especially the last three Tours, and perhaps lacks a bit of the drama of his first autobiography. After all, how do you beat a comeback from cancer to win the Tour? But I don't digest 240+ pages in one sitting very often. Can Armstrong possibly live enough drama to fill a third book?
posted by Eugene Wei at 1:13 AM | link

Cinerama was supposed to accept sales for the LOTR Trilogy on Dec. 16 through Movietickets.com from 10am this morning to 10am tomorrow morning. Then they'd open up for sales through the box office tomorrow.

Well, obviously it would sell out online, so I had all the proper web windows open, waited patiently until 10am, and then assaulted Movietickets.com, hitting the refresh button like a hamster getting electric jolts to the pleasure nerves in the brain.

Nothing. The site kept crapping out on me at various stages. On and off for an hour and a half, I pounded away. I finally called Movietickets.com and was told that they had shut down the entire AMC system to try and fix things. Try back later in the evening, they said. Fine. I called Cinerama, and the line was busy. It was starting to look like I'd have to trudge out to wait in line in the morning for tix. No problem, I'd done it before..

Until Cinerama decided to go against their posted ticket sales schedule and open the box office at 3pm in the afternoon. Today. Of course, tickets sold out instantly, and by the time I finally got through on the phone to Cinerama's box office I was transferred to some guy who works at the concession stand who could only offer a "Sorry dude."

After all the huge groups I've brought to Cinerama over the years (I brought 40 people to see The Two Towers last year on opening day), all the lavish praise I've heaped on that damn theater, to have them screw me like this...I feel like a cuckold. You cheating SOB.

Now, out of love for LOTR, I'll have to beg for someone to give me a ticket to the trilogy (this is me begging...help me). And if somehow I get one I'll still go.

But me and the Cinerama, we're through. No more convincing people to head there for movies which are much more easily seen elsewhere. No more organizing large group outings. Cinerama has wasted enough of my time and taken enough of my money. I'm kicking her out into the street and changing the locks.
posted by Eugene Wei at 8:37 PM | link

There is such a thing as a ball-hawking veteran, one of those guys who stands on Waveland Ave. outside Wrigley Field awaiting home run balls. From the Chicago Suntimes:

''A game like this, it's harder,'' Dave Miedema of Berwyn, a 10-year ball-hawking veteran, said as he stood on the Waveland sidewalk Wednesday. ''A regular game, if it's not against a popular opponent, there are only four or five people out here. And tonight, you've got seven or eight guys who know what they're doing, how to catch a baseball, how to play it. A lot of people, unless it comes right to them, are never going to get a ball. All they do is get in the way. On a night like this, you've got to be careful.''
posted by Eugene Wei at 8:19 PM | link

David was gracious enough to let me write the editorial review of The West Wing Season One DVD box set for Amazon. Season One and Season Two are awesome--highly recommended to all.

But after three episodes this season, I'm sad to report that the show has lost something. Maybe it's the loss of Sorkin? The dialogue just doesn't snap anymore, and the whole kidnapping drama in the first two episodes was distracting and overblown. The show is best when it focuses on the natural tension of politics in the most powerful administration in the world, and not when it relies on shootings and kidnappings and other contrived drama.
posted by Eugene Wei at 8:01 PM | link

I like to set my iPod to play all of the hundreds of songs in its brain at random, put my headphones on, hit play, and see where it takes me. My DJ is some randomizing function, and he/she is quite good. Sometimes DJ Random plays songs I never even knew I owned.
posted by Eugene Wei at 11:50 PM | link

Mike, Joannie, and Dad getting on the CTA brown line to head to Wrigley.

Walking to Wrigley down Addison.

The grand dame herself, a glorious structure from another age.

One of the most frightening statues anywhere. Harry Caray doing his best Frankenstein impression, with some random disembodied heads at his feet. What are those, souls he has absorbed like so many bratwursts? Aww, just kidding Harry, we miss you. Wish you could be here watching your Cubbies in the playoffs.

After the loss Saturday, on Sunday it was time to turn to the good luck charm known as the dashboard monk. You want a piece of me, Robert Fick?

Cubs win! Cubs win!

Time to pop the bubbly.

Toasting our Cubbies. Champagne never tasted sweeter.

posted by Eugene Wei at 10:50 PM | link

I'm about 100 pages through Neal Stephenson's Quicksilver, and I'm struggling. Or maybe it's the book's fault. Anyone else further down the road willing to offer me hope? I wish Stephenson had stuck with the future, even though I enjoyed Cryptonomicon which delved into the past. The dialogue in Quicksilver is slow, and I find myself resorting to the Quicksilver Wiki just to keep characters straight.

Maybe I'm just stupid. The early Amazon reviews aren't glowing, though. Perhaps we're all stupid. Neal Stephenson is certainly very smart. I'm just not sure he's a great writer.

Fortunately, I received Lance's new bio Every Second Counts in the mail today so there's good reading ahead for a few days.
posted by Eugene Wei at 10:43 PM | link

We're 7 victories away from a Cubs/Red Sox World Series. It's something I might never see again in my lifetime [I don't think it's every happened in the history of baseball, either], though the two teams seem to be set up well for the next several years. That Red Sox offense is scary. Adam and Jenny already offered their place if the Cubs make it. I'm having surgery Monday to remove that cyst which will leave me unable to speak or eat for a few days, but even if I'm medicated and in a hospital gown I'm walking out of that hospital and getting to the Cubs World Series games, if they somehow by the grace of Lady Luck make it there [I have to attach disclaimers to all these thoughts because of the inevitable possibility of jinxing my team].

Are knuckleballers cool or what? Here are guys who can barely throw as hard as I can, baffling major league hitters. Are there any such physical aberrations in any other sport? Football? Basketball? Hockey? I can't think of any. Maybe tennis. There are some weirdos in tennis, who hit forehands and backhands on the same side of the racket, or hit two-handed off both sides, things like that.

Alan called to give me a feel of the atmosphere at Yankee Stadium. He was sitting in the bleachers for game one. He said all the Yankee fans were shouting at the few Red Sox fans to get their attention, and when those citizens of Red Sox Nation turned around, about 50 or 60 Yankee fans would scream "A$$hole!!" and flip them off.

You've got to love that Yankee Red Sox rivalry. If I end up at either Fenway or Yankee Stadium, I'll be giving as good as I get.
posted by Eugene Wei at 8:48 PM | link

What's worse, getting Steve Lyon again, or having to put up with that blowhard Tim McCarver? Well, the Cubs get relegated to FX and the Brennaman, Lyons, Leiter crew.

My palms are sweating. There are never any guarantees in baseball, even with Prior pitching. Cubbies need this one badly. In the playoffs, every game seems to be a must win, doesn't it?

Top of the 1st: Good, Fox has the radar gun back on tonight. Hard to tell how a pitcher is feeling late in the game without some raw data, like velocity.

Fox shows a stat that Grudzielanek had a fielding percentage of .986, third in the NL this year. I've never thought his range was all that great, though. What was his zone rating? Range factor? Do any sites online keep those stats?

That dude in the red shirt in the front row? Cubs fan? Throw him out for interfering with Bako on that pop-up. If IRod comes back to do some damage, that fan should be tarred and feathered. The fans start chanting "A$$hole, a$$hole." Serves the guy right. Rich yuppie idiot. This is the NLCS, you fool! If Pudge ended up with a hit and I were at the stadium, I would have run down there and whupped his butt.

Fortunately, Prior is smart enough not to throw the free-swinging Pudge a strike. Prior's pitching IQ is high. Whiff.

Cabrera's going to be a good hitter. Prior wins this matchup, but I'm definitely renewing Cabrera in my keeper league next year.

Bottom of the 1st: Pudge gets crossed up on signs on a pitch two to Alou and nearly takes a fastball in the, uhh, jewels. Brennaman miscalls it as a pitch in the dirt, and Leiter correctly notes it was a cross-up. Leiter's commentary on the pitching is growing on me. He doesn't have the best TV voice, but as a smart pitcher he's offering the type of insight which Steve Lyons, as the color commentator, should be providing.

Bases loaded. Simon up. Swings at everything. Penny is wild. Who will win?

Simple Simon wins, taking a fastball away through the hole b/t SS and 3B! Simon is a love-him/hate-him player. Most of the time you're screaming, wondering why he's swinging at every pitch, no matter where it is. But then he'll swat some ball a foot out of the strike zone for a hit and you find yourself cheering wildly. Plus, he has that whole crazy routine where he points at the dugout with his right hand as soon as he reaches first while his left hand gropes madly for his 10 pound gold chain. I feel you brutha, and hope you keep bringing the bling.

Top of the 2nd: My first near heart attack as the Fish get men on 1st and 3rd, nobody out. But Prior pitches out of it. On the topic of Prior's baseball IQ, one always feels Prior is using pitch selection and location to attack hitters, while pitchers like Zambrano and to an extent Wood worry about pitch selection but can't execute on the location. With the stuff those guys have, it's not always a problem, but if they had the ability to locate they'd be, well, like Kevin Brown and Roger Clemens.

In between innings, they show the Rafael Palmeiro Viagra commercial for the eight millionth time. I wish the Cubbies had kept Palmeiro and his 500+ home runs, but I'm not sure I'd be that excited to see him pushing Viagra while in a Cubs uniform either.

Bottom of the 2nd: Penny's location is off. C'mon Cubbies, let's give him the early knockout. Let's give the Fish bullpen a workout.

Grudzielanek doesn't agree with the check swing call. Again, I reiterate, a check swing is not defined in baseball's rule book. The umps just make a guess. If everyone works on a common understanding, then fine, but what is that common understanding? C'mon MLB, let's clean up this hole in the rule book.

Lofton swipes 2nd. Good baserunner. On offense, Lofton is just plain fun to watch. He's a classic pesky leadoff disrupter.

SAMMY! Dear lord, he hit that one halfway to Michigan! Yeeeee haaaaaaa! WOW! The expression on Lofton's face as he watched Sosa's bomb sail out? Priceless.

Top of the 3rd: Wow, that Pudge is a tough hitter. You'd think someone who swings at everything would be easy to pitch. He can hit the fastball away and the fastball in, but given that he's taking the pitch away to right so well right now, I'd like to see the Cubs pound him on the fists and then go away with the breaking stuff.

These Fish are tough on offense because they're good fastball hitters, and they all happen to be pretty hot right now. They'll make it tough on Cubs pitching the whole series.

Commercial for Kill Bill. I'm all over that this weekend. Tarantino gets far too much credit for originality [Any HK film fan can cite any number of action sequences and plot point he's borrowed from, and his mundane pop-cultural dialogue smacks of David Lynch], however, that doesn't mean his movies aren't entertaining. Kill Bill is supposedly based on those old chopsocky revenge flicks, and my dad used to rent a ton of those. Love that stuff. As Mike noted, it's not clear that Uma deserves to don Bruce's yellow tracksuit, but I'll assume it's homage and withhold judgment.

Commercial for Armageddon. Do you realize Michael Bay's silly action flick got a Criterion treatment? How did that happen? Years later, we'll look back and wonder how that happened, like Brady Anderson hitting 50 HR's in one season. In fact, Michael Bay has two movies that have gone Criterion: The Rock is the other. The Rock is a lot of fun, though.

On a positive note, both Le Cercle Rouge, Tokyo Story, and Schizopolis are getting the Criterion makeover and hit stores Oct. 28. Good stuff.

Bottom of the 3rd: Bringing in Nate Bump is like waving the white flag. Hopefully this means Dusty can keep Prior's pitch count down today. When Paul Bako gets in on the act and starts pounding balls off of the ivy, you know things are going your way.

This is just what the Cubbies needed today, a laugher.

Bottom of the 5th: Leiter provides more good insight, saying Pudge should have blocked a Helling pitch instead of trying to backhand it. Good call.

Then again, Leiter says Helling is coming in and stemming the bleeding, and then Gonzalez turns on a Helling fastball and hits it onto Waveland where hundreds of loonies fight over the ball. 10-0. I predict Juan Cruz will get some innings tonight.

Fox shows an ad for Skin [some absurd modernization of the Romeo and Juliet story, if the commercials are to be believed] on the faux green screen banner behind homeplate. What a disgrace.

Ken calls. We wonder if Prior can just sit down now and come back and pitch Saturday.

Top of the 6th: Leiter notes that a pitch to Conine, which was a strike, is called a ball because Bako set up inside and had to reach outside. Leiter is growing on me everyday.

Conine gets doubled off of 1st with his team trailing by 9.

I think it's time to get Prior out of there. C'mon Dusty, give the guy a rest.

Top of the 7th: Why is Prior still in this game? Sometimes Dusty Baker drives me crazy. I scream at the TV, and he never listens, leaving his young arms in to work and work and work. They're hitting Prior hard tonight. Is someone up in the Cubs bullpen? Why not? If Prior walks out to the mound the next inning I'm going to cry.

Bottom of the 7th: Why don't they show the 7th inning stretch on Fox? Because they're grubbing money. That's extra commercial time for Fox. Greedy bastards. I want to see who's singing. When are they bringing Bill Murray back?

Brennaman says Prior is heading back out there. I thought with O'Leary pinch-hitting they were going to the double switch. But no, Dusty will stretch Prior out for no good reason. Dusty!

Top of the 8th: I'm counting pitches now. Now the Fox announcers are talking pitch counts. Leiter says he isn't high on pitch counts, but Prior has gone over 130 pitches in 3 straight starts. This is plainly a weakness of Dusty Baker, and as much as I think he's a great leader and straight-up guy, as a manager of pitcher's he's just very poor. Why risk your franchise arm? In a 10 run game, no less?

I'm almost glad Simon drops that throw from Grudzielanek so Baker is forced to pull Prior. Even not at his best, Prior still fights the whole game. Stud. He deserves a rest. Prior shakes his head walking off the field. Competitive guy; he knows he wasn't at his best tonight. The Fish hit him pretty hard tonight, but with a big lead he didn't mess around and that's the right approach.

Bottom of the 8th: Michael Tejera's first pitch is one of the wildest pitches I've ever seen, landing in the stands. That will his claim to fame for the rest of his life.

We'll also be seeing shots of that little girl cradling that foul ball. Cute.

Speaking of Kill Bill, Ken and I ponder the utter stupidity of Ethan Hawke, who cheated on Uma Thurman. Uma Thurman? How do you even leave her lying in bed in the morning to go to work?

I know you have two kids, Uma, but I am here for you babe. My poetry is better than Ethan's, too.

Top of the 9th: And that's all she wrote, as Karros makes a nice diving stop and then flips to Guthrie for the barehanded catch. Think the Cubs are loose, what with a 9-run lead?

Not much suspense tonight, but I will take that every game if it means Cubs victories. Every game.
posted by Eugene Wei at 8:21 PM | link

I laugh when I read about people like Jennifer Garner described as the girl next door. Next door to who? I don't know where you live, but none of my neighbors ever looked like Jennifer Garner. If they had, I wouldn't have moved.
posted by Eugene Wei at 5:12 PM | link

Top of the first: Zambrano is pretty straightforward as a pitcher. He doesn't try to locate the ball precisely. He rears back, throws that nasty, heavy sinker over the plate, and dares you to hit it. He looks like he's overthrowing a bit--you can tell because his sinker flattens out. But when he doesn't overthrow it tails down and away to lefties, and down and in on the hands of righties. Nasty, and he shatteres one of Derek Lee's bats with one of those. Derek Lowe threw two such beauties to end yesterday's game

One thing I hate: umpires don't call strikes strikes if the ball misses the catcher's glove.

Gonzalez and Grudzielanek nearly collide on Lee's popup. Johnny Damon may miss a few games in the ALCS because he and Damian Jackson ran into each other. Do professionals not know how to call for the ball? Sheesh. I learned that in Little League. Waving your arms does no good if the other fielder is looking in the sky for the ball. You have to use those things in your throat called vocal chords.

Bottom of the first: Alan calls. He's stuck on a bus somewhere in Manhattan. He asks if I'm watching the game. Yes, it's a rhetorical question. I tell him Lofton has walked and that I'll give him updates as they occur.

The announcers praise Dusty Baker for having Grudzielanek trying to bunt Lofton over. In the first inning? Whatever. If your #2 hitter isn't good enough to swing away in the first inning, you're in trouble. Fortunately, they then let Grudzielanek swing away and he triples over Pierre's head in center, plating Lofton. I call Alan.

"What happened?" he asks as soon as he picks up.

"Grudz plated Lofton with a triple. Center fielder misplayed it and fell down."

"That's what I'm talking about." That's our phrase. During the Cubs clinching game 5 against the Braves, we were both watching on TV and called each other to say that just about every inning.

Alou homers! I call Alan again. That's what I'm talking about.

Right away, Ramirez hammers a Beckett fastball. I'm on the phone to Alan again. Then Gonzalez singles and Conine misplays it into a double. I'm on the phone to Alan again. I should just put him on speakerphone.

Good to jump on Beckett early. He's not the type of pitcher you expect to blow out, and if he gets things together he could put up a lot of zeroes later. Perhaps it was first inning jitters for the Fish.

Zambrano has to be feeling really good. Just throw sinkers over the plate, nothing fancy, and dare the Fish to hit them. Do that enough and this game could be over.

If by the grace of the baseball gods the Cubs should make it past the Fish, you can't go wrong with either the Red Sox or Yankees. The Red Sox vs. Cubs would obviously make a great story. And the Yankees are pretty much as despicable a team as there is. They're the good-looking, wealthy, snobbish neighbor everyone loves to hate. And, if the Yanks make it, Alan and I can fly back and forth between Chicago and NYC to catch every game.

Between 2nd and 3rd: Commercial for Intolerable Cruelty. A strange choice for a Coen brothers movie, huh? I'll see it, of course. I hope I'm half as studly as Clooney at his age. Zeta-Jones still looks smoking. Why did she marry that old fart?

Top of the 3rd: Another triple, this from Pierre. There will be a lot of triples in this series, especially in the more spacious confines of Pro Player Stadium, with speedsters like Pierre and Castillo and the slow Cubs outfield.

Zambrano walks Castillo. Just what he didn't want to do with a big lead. Carlos! Just throw strikes and force the other team to hit the ball to beat you. With stuff like he has, there's no reason to walk anyone.

And Pudge pounds one deep into the seats. That's why you don't want to walk anyone. Didn't look like a sinker, either. A sinker that flattened out, perhaps. Zambrano is off and has been for several starts now. Is he fatigued, or just overthrowing? Hard to tell. He still has very good velocity.

Another flat fastball, and Cabrera pounds a frozen rope into left field. That ball may have killed one of the spectators.

And now Encarnacion pounds a missile of a homer. From feeling on top of the world to burying my face in my hands. Zambrano's sinker ain't sinking. Is it his release point? Should he go more 3-quarters instead of over the top?

To add insult to injury, Fox has superimposed that ugly faux billboard on the wall behind home plate at Wrigley. I had Beckett, Cabrera, Encarnacion, and Pudge on my fantasy baseball teams this year, so I have a very good idea of how good they can be. Sigh.

Bottom of the third: Alou grounds into a double play. The Cubs have grounded into about 98 double plays this playoff series. The Cubs have zero speed in their starting lineup--Lofton used to be fast, and now he's just quick.

Top of the fourth: Bako throws out Pierre. The Cubs were surprisingly good at stopping running games this year, considering how many power pitchers they have with big leg kicks.

Bottom of the fourth: Steve Lyon comments on the fact that Pudge stands up high to receive what would seem to be a high fastball. Even though Pudge then sits down, it reminds me that I've seen a lot of that in this postseason, catchers standing nearly as tall as the batter to receive a high fastball. Very strange, especially with runners on base who can obviously telegraph the pitch location to the batter.

Crap. Stella, err, Beckett has got his groove back.

Top of the fifth: Why is Al Leiter color commentating? Good pitcher. Terrible announcer. Steve Lyon isn't going to win any awards for his insight either. Thom Brennaman is working with the B team for Fox.

Bottom of the fifth: Zambrano just barehanded a Beckett curve on a bounce. Why isn't anyone commenting on that? Wow. He has a good at-bat but gets blown away by Beckett cheese on 3-2. I have a sinking feeling. When Beckett gets his stuff going, he is an ace.

Top of the sixth: Beckett is bunting with two outs and two strikes and pops one foul, striking out. Why is he bunting with two strikes and two outs? I have no idea. The Fish score one in the inning and are now up 6-4. I think I'm having an ulcer, or the onset of severe and sudden depression. Is there such a thing?

Bottom of the sixth: Gonzo goes with the pitch and hits an opposite-field 2-run homer!!! Oh yeah!! Oh yeah!! I'm dancing by myself in my room! The depression has lifted! It's better than Prozac! A guy who tries to pull just about every pitch suddenly goes to right?! Only in the playoffs baby!

Top of the seventh: Could Kyle Farnsworth be growing up in front of our eyes? Once a total head case, he has been very solid in these playoffs, and if he comes out of the postseason with solid #'s, his confidence will be sky high next year. His breaking stuff is nothing special, but it's all set up by the cheese. That 100mph fastball he struck out Derek Lee on? As Janet Jackson might say...NASTY.

Bottom of the seventh: Cubs blow a great chance. Grudzielanek swings at everything and pops out, and Sammy's heat seeker is snared on a short hop by Gonzalez. Damn!

Top of the eighth: Go Farnsworth! Kyle looks like a bodybuilding frat boy. Keep him away from your sister. Surprisingly, he has looked timid on the mound in the past. If he ever became as cocky and confident on the mound as he looks off of it, watch out.

Bottom of the eighth: Pinch-hitting Goodwin? Sure, he had a hit the other day, but you just don't catch lightning twice, even if your name is Dusty Baker. Here's where you really wish Dusty had carried Hee Seop Choi. As expected, the light-hitting Goodwin strikes out.

Earlier, Alou was out at second on a force. If the Cubs had any team speed, they would have gotten that base.

Top of the ninth: Grudzielanek misplays a grounder, allowing Pierre to reach second, and to make things worse, the Cubs fail to get Castillo at first. That's where the difference in team speed gives the Fish an Edge over the Cubs. The Cubs need to out-homer the Fish--it's like a grizzly chasing fish in a stream. An error like this always leads to bad things. Sure enough, Pudge drives home two. The Big Borowski has let us down. I'm on the phone with Dan the whole time. I tell Dan I have to hang up and slit my wrists.

I receive Apple's iTunes New Music Tuesdays e-mail. Hey, the iTunes Music Store just added the White Stripes. If the Cubs fail to score, I'll have to buy some tunes to console myself.

Bottom of the ninth: Fox shows a graphic saying the Cubs have lost 66 straight games after trailing after 8 innings. Please let this act as a reverse jinx. As soon as the graphic displays, Lofton pulls a double down the first base line. McKeon argues. Jack, watch out you don't have a heart attack.

Oh, they show the stat on how Sammy is 1 for 11 in the postseason. How Sammy has never hit a postseason home run. This has to be a reverse jinx.

OOHHHH YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAH!!!!! SAMMY GOES WAVELAND!! THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT BABY!!! No lying, Sang bursts through my door, my cell phone receives 3 calls (Dan, Alan, Rich) and my land line rings (Joannie) all within 2 seconds. I'm answering, screaming for two seconds, hanging up, and picking up the next call, deftly, one after the other. 10% of my hairs have turned gray in the last two hours.

Top of the 10th: Alou with the diving catch! Cubs got the mo now! Just to scare me, though, Fox shows Guthrie and Alfonseca warming up. Sacre bleu! Please let the Cubs win in the bottom half, before either of those two batting machines gets in the game.

Top of the 11th: Oh no, it's Mark Guthrie. We're into the dregs of our bullpen. And sure enough, Mike Lowell pops a homer out into center in the wind. The EKG of my mood has entered a valley of death yet again. The Cubbies can't come back from this one, can they?

Oh dear, now they're bringing in Alfonseca, El Guapo. Let's ensure that Guthrie never pitches in any game of any import again, okay Dusty? He blew the game Saturday, and now he's given up the lead again. Of course, this is like going from the frying pan into the fryer. The only thing bigger than Alfonseca's waistline is his ERA. Dear god, please let him hold the Fish down, somehow, some way.

There goes Castillo, stealing on Alfonseca who has a terribly slow motion. No pitchout? No throw to first? I have a sinking feeling. An intentional walk to Pudge. Only a miracle can prevent utter disaster now. Cubs fans were admonished earlier this year for booing whenever Alfonseca is brought into the game, but c'mon. Why do you think it is that we boo? If a monkey gets shocked a few seconds after a red light comes on, is it any surprise when they start to flinch the next time the red light appears?

Another walk. El Guapo is delivering, as usual. Finally Veres gets up in the bullpen. Why wasn't he up to lead off this inning? Everyone in the stadium knew if Guthrie came in that Lowell would pinch hit. Even if Veres had been brought in, who else would McKeon pinch hit? Brian Banks? Heck, if McKeon wanted to get the lefty-right matchup, bring in Veres and force McKeon to go to Lenny No-hit Harris! Oh Dusty, Dusty.

There's our miracle. Cabrera scorches a liner to short and Martinez doubles Pudge off of second. Damn Guthrie and Alfonseca. Bums. It never fails. In the playoffs, you never seem to be able to hide your weaknesses. Bring in your bum pitchers, they pitch like bums. Red Sox and Cubs fans can empathize over our vulnerable bullpens this year.

Bottom of the 11th: 1-2-3. There's the ballgame. I feel empty. I feel nothing. Someone make this pain go away. I want to curl up and vomit.
posted by Eugene Wei at 9:07 PM | link

I'm so happy. I'm so happy.
posted by Eugene Wei at 9:58 PM | link

5:08PM: The Cubs are in a rain delay, and they're showing the tail end of the Marlins-Giants game. Jeff Conine, leading off the bottom of the 11th, hits a lazy fly down the right field line. Thinking it will be caught or go foul or both, Conine just strolls down the 1B line holding his bat. And then Jose Cruz Jr. drops the ball. Oops. Conine wasn't hustling, though, and only gets to first base.

Is there any excuse for not hustling on every ball in the playoffs? You see major leaguers just trotting down to first base on grounders and it has to make you sick, that these professionals making millions of dollars hustle less than your average little league player. Pitchers that jog down to first like old ladies? Weak.

But the Marlins still make the Giants pay. Pudge punches a fastball away through the right side, and there's no way you get the speedy Pierre from 2nd with the winning run. Wow. Giants are up against it now.

5:40pm: Prior is off. The ball must be hard to grip, because Prior is missing Miller and his spots by a wide margin. Or is it nerves? This, from the man everyone is claiming has perfect pitching mechanics? But then he rips off a beauty of a curve to get Lopez.

Prior may be the new sports messiah of Chicago. Someone everyone feels absolutely confident in and yet still lives up to expectations. Not since Jordan has Chicago's faith been so rewarded.

6:04pm: Randall Sausage Simon pulls his hands in and fists a single! Before he rounds first he's already going for the gold, buried below four turtlenecks and jerseys. Rich, Dan, and I snort beer through our nose watching him pound his chest and hold up his necklace. Who the hell is he pointing to? Dusty Baker and his gold? Who cares, he's the man right now. You'd think Maddux would dominate a free-swinger like Simon, especially with two strikes.

6:40pm: Dan and I suddenly get an impulse to fly to Chicago for tomorrow's game. 4 tickets are going for $1025 on eBay right now. Hmmm. I start examining ticket prices on Southwest, Priceline, Expedia. The wheels are turning. "You'll make the money back, Weegie," says Rich. "You'll never recover your youth." His warning reverberates from the other side of marriage like a voice of doom. I'm shaken.

7:12pm: I'm high bidder on 4 tickets! Not the 4 tickets I mentioned before, which sold for $1025. Cheaper, and since the auction doesn't end until tomorrow morning, the seller says he'll close off the auction at 5pm CST. It's now past 5pm CST. Why isn't the seller responding to my e-mails? I'm high bidder.

Meanwhile, Wrigley Field is the Cubs 10th player tonight, its slick infield causing Braves fielders to slip and slide all over the place. Andruw Jones runs past an Alou single, and Sosa goes to third. But swing-be-free Simon tries to pull an outside sinker and the result is predictable: groundout to 2nd. Why isn't this seller contacting me?!?

7:20pm: Prior's fastball gets away and nails Sheffield on his left wrist. Not throwing at him, obviously, but the Braves lineup certainly looks a lot less intimidating with him out of it.

7:39pm: Ryno leading the 7th inning stretch! Is that a good omen? Must be. I had a poster of him on my wall growing up. I hope Bill Murray is singing tomorrow. Could the Cubs win the World Series and Bill Murray an Oscar within a half year? Could life be as beautiful as it is in a Victoria's Secret TV commercial?

Facing Prior on a cold, damp day like this has got to be brutal. Just throw the ball over the plate and let the hitters try to muscle the ball out of Wrigley or through that damp, tall infield grass. Just won't happen. If the Cubs grounds crew was smart, they let the grass grow real tall. Cubs want low, low scoring games.

8:00pm: Seller calls. The tix are mine! She wants cash, unmarked bills, delivered by my sister, no questions asked. But she has a question for me. Am I a Cub fan?

Lady, I'm flying out from Seattle for one game. Am I a fan?

She's happy. She wanted her tickets to go to a real fan.

I call my sister, tell her to pawn off some of her jewelry and to stuff the cash in a brown paper sack. I feed her the drop point coordinates.

8:24pm: Cubs Win! Cubs Win! And not only that, I've got my 4 tix from eBay for tomorrow's game, and I just used airlines miles to book flight to Chicago tomorrow morning. The guy on the phone hears why I'm going, and despite not being a Cub fan, books me first class.

I'm going to game 4!!!

12:00am: Packing up for my flight in a few hours. Dan and I took in The Rundown after the ballgame. Terrible movie, one of the worst I've seen. Ebert gave this turd of a movie 3.5 stars. Roger'