the chosen one

My hopes for fantasy baseball superiority rest solely on the shoulders of one of the greatest young hitters I've ever seen, Albert Pujols, first baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals. I picked third in my league's fantasy draft, and my target was Johan Santana, fantasy baseball's king stud pitching ace. Santana went first, though, in a move that surprised me a little, and I was happy to see Mr. Pujols fall down the list to me. I may have been better served picking up a pitcher, as I think the best pitchers will earn more points in my league over the course of the season, but I'm happy to know that I own the best hitter, and he's not even in his prime yet. He's just 26 and has already hit over 200 homers, drove in 621 RBIs and has hit for a .332 career average; and since I play in a keeper league, Pujols will remain a member of the Rosebank Twins through out his prime. Unless the rest of my team turns out to suck, which could very much be the case, and then he may be trade bait so I can win in the future sometime. Hopefully. I mean, there's 500 bucks to the winner and I can buy a whole lotta pizza with that.

It's pouring rain outside (again) but now that my fantasy baseball team is all drafted, I can almost hear the spring birds chirping and the flowers blooming. I hunger for beer and hotdogs and Cracker Jacks, but just the peanuts, really and not the carmel-y pop corn part.

the working man is a sucker

Is it bad to be not quite 30 and already listing the places I'd like to retire to (Ensenada, Mexico, is number one on the list right now, even though I've never been there). I'm really tired and I should be asleep. I worked till 11:30 tonight and I haven't eaten anything that has resembled a real meal in two days, though those Frosted Flakes I had on Saturday were pretty good. This Pacifico I've been nursing for the past couple hours is pretty good too, even though it's kinda warm and skunky.

Worst entry ever.

annie hardy thinks i'm cool. sorta.

It's been a while because I had a friend in town and I had to make a concerted effort to stay away from the computer. We went to Reno and San Francisco and the strip club north of town where I ended up spending a lot more money than I'd planned on because I'd won a few bucks in Reno and the girls were especially hot. Once they heard my friend was visiting from New York, they were on us like vultures on a rotting carcass. It was frightening and pretty fucking cool.

Yesterday, I heard from one of my coworkers who was at SxSW that he'd spotted Annie Hardy--of Giant Drag and on a lesser scale Counting Backwards' most posted female (with Jenny Lewis and Asia Argento close runners up)--after her band played a show at some club that I wasn't at because I was here in California working my ass off. I guess he'd told her who he was with and he said she remembered us and the interview and being on the cover and passed on a thank you and things of that nature. He said hello to her from me. That bit of news made me very, very happy, so I thought I'd share it. I stole that neato picture from Aaron Farley who can be reached at his Web site or his blog. I hope he doesn't mind the thievery. I spoke with Annie once in San Francisco, but the only thing I was able to muster up the courage to say was "You guys rocked." I'm a bit of a dork.

I'll be working all weekend and taking time out to choose players in my fantasy baseball draft (I've got the third pick!) and to go see girls in short skirts beat the shit out of each other at Roller Derby. I got a free ticket since my place of employment is a sponsor. Hopefully I won't be too stressed out to enjoy it.

very well preserved

Today R alerted me to the fact that ridiculously gorgeous and sexy and gorgeous Victoria's Secret model Adriana has managed to maintain her virtue, and will continue to do so until after she's married. I suppose R alerted me to such a thing because, really, the only news that is of any consequence to me is news that concerns ridiculously gorgeous and sexy and gorgeous Victoria's Secret models...and, like, stuff about dumb indie bands that no one's ever heard of.

I'd imagine it'd be difficult for a woman that beautiful to get anyone to have sex with her, anyway. I think a simple "hello" or an accidental glance from Adriana Lima would put me in desperate need of a handi-wipe. And a body like that shouldn't be sullied by sweaty mortal hands. For the sake of the gene pool, I think we as a species should have a say over who she's allowed to breed with so we can ensure that future generations will be blessed with the poutiest of lips, the smokiest of eyes and tannest of flesh. For the good of mankind, of course.

In summation, I guess, that's one lucky dog, but y'know. not THAT lucky.

After a long day of work today, I filled my belly with some seriously yummy sushi. We went to this recently opened sushi bar, and the kid who makes the stuff--I'm not sure if he's old enough to drink--is really cool and is super enthusiastic about what he does. With the shitty weather and the kids being gone for spring break, me and my old roommate were the only two at the bar, so he gave us a rundown of what was good. We decided on a roll that we were too stuffed to try the last time (after eating it, I realize we just should have forced ourselves to eat it the last time too), we asked him to make us whatever he thought we'd like. He concocted this brutally spicy but addictive roll with fresh tuna and serano peppers on the inside topped with shrimp and avocado and served on a plate drizzled with thai chili sauce. It was HOT. I had no idea what the sauce was so I took one and dipped it in a glob of the stuff, and then popped it in my mouth. I drank just about half my draught of Sapporo in one shot, but damn it was good. To finish up, he made us two pieces of sushi that was salmon wrapped aroudn a ball of rice with this spicy mayo kinda sauce and diced scallops. It had a chunk of lemon on it too. It was a weird mix of all these different flavors and my brain was kinda confused. But in a good way.

I came home and vegged out and watched Crash for the first time. It was pretty powerful, but it didn't really tell much of a story. It was kinda episodic, but I thought it was good overall. It certainly wasn't the typical Oscar winner as I didn't get all those heartwarming, life affirming vibes that I'd expect, but it did have Tony Danza.

my sincere sympathies

Korean Park Chan-wook is one of my favorite directors. His shit's pretty tight, though it can be sensational in the same way M. Night Shyamalan's work is. Still, the man (both of them, actually) knows how to put a film together. Tonight, I got to watch Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, which is the final part of the revenge trilogy that also included Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance and the cross-over hit Oldboy (both of which, I believe, are getting the American remake treatment).

All three are worth a look, at the very least, but Lady Vengeance may be the finest of the bunch, because it's the one that's least dependent on the shock value or the surprise twist at the end. I don't want to go into it too much, but Lee Yeong-ae is captivating in the lead role, and Choi Min-sik (star of Oldboy) also clocks in with a crucial performance.

I'm a little drunk and very tired, so if you're reading this, you'll just have to trust me.

Just about everyone I know is out of town. Most of my coworkers are at South by Southwest in Austin, TX, and, since it's spring break, most of the students are gone, so the town is really empty. They'll all be back soon enough, though, and I'll once again be able to lose myself in the background noise. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow, so I'd rather just leave it at that. Nothing caps off a stressful day better than a couple beers (and maybe a couple too many) and a good movie. Tomorrow, I hope, will be less hectic and much more productive.

that not so fresh feeling

I know I live in California, but I'm surry. It's been fucking cold lately. The temp's been hovering around 40 and it's been damp and rainy and overall shitty. I don't mind the cold. I like the crisp arctic style cold that makes your bone marrow go stiff, but this cold soggy shit's gotta end. Today I nearly slipped and died when I misjudged the tackiness of a curb on the corner of Main Street, but my left fore arm, a light post and my surprisingly cat-like reflexes saved me from an embarassing fate: Dead on Main Street. I can see the cheesy graphic on local news already.

Earlier, my roommates and I halfheartedly went on a search to find a washer and dryer. We heard that this place next to the Econowash rented machines, which would be cheaper than buying one in the short run (especially since we're all broke). The building was pink and sketchy on the outside, and sketchier on the inside. Especially since many of the products they had were really nice. "Slightly dinged and dented returns," as the proprietor said. He also informed us that, because the insurance was so high, he no longer rented machines. The search ended there. We left because the showroom stunk of cat shit.

On the way to the shop (I'm working backwards here right now), a perfectly fuzzy yellow honey bee landed on the windshield of my roommate's car. It was the most picture-perfect bee I've ever seen, probably because I have the usual "FUCK! A BEE!" reaction that most people usually get when confronted with one of our dutiful, honey-making friends. Google Images is being super slow, but even if it wasn't, I'm sure I couldn't find a bee as perfect as this one was. Though I'd rather they stay at a distance, I like bees for the same reason I like ants. They live their short lives with such purpose. I admire their hard working attitudes and their dedication to a task. They're noble little critters, for the most part, there are the vicious ones of both species, but mostly they do what they were made to do, languishing as just a faceless appendage of the colony.

I felt particularly bad for this bee, as pretty as it was, because it had clearly emerged from its egg at the wrong time. It was dampened by the rain and windswept and probably wondering where the rest of the bees were. When the light turned green, we moved forward and the bee zipped off to, I hope, a dryer spot. Good thing it wasn't in the car, because I probably would have freaked.

I just got an e-mail that I'll be interviewing the dude who looks like Egon Spengler from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs tomorrow, and I have no clue what I'm going to talk to him about seeing as I've only heard the single and by the time the interview gets published, everyone will have heard the album but me, so I'll sound like a complete tool. But bees make honey, I suppose.

classic

Today I got my first healthy dose of the World Baseball Classic--also my first healthy dose of baseball since the end of last season. I've seen bits and pieces of the WBC here and there, but the first round was on at all weird hours it seemed, and I never was in front of a TV when the games were going on. I wasn't one of the many under the impression that this tournament is a dumb idea. Quite the contrary. Spring Training games are boring as piss, and, being a foaming at the mouth consumer of all things baseball, the thought of having a couple extra weeks of real, competitive games made me kinda tingly in my unmentionables.

First off, haters better recognize. If you think this tourney is bullshit, you haven't been watching the games. If you think the players are dogging it out there and not giving it their all, you're sadly mistaken. And the fans are ultra stoked. The game between Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic wasn't close, but the stadium (Hiram Bithorn in San Juan) was rocking, and any time you can see Big Papi Ortiz and Albert Pujols bat back to back, you're seeing something special. And I was happy to see my boy Beltran smack a homer.

After that, I watched Mexico v. Korea, which was one hell of a game. Korea won 2-1 thanks to Seong Yeop Lee's first inning lazer beam of a two-run homer. I really enjoyed watching players I've never seen before and also watching those who aren't featured prominently in the bigs anymore (like Korean pitcher Chan Ho Park) get some time in the spotlight. I found it hard to choose which team to cheer for because I want to retire to Mexico one day, and if it were up to me, I'd be taking my Korean Bride with me. I ended up opting for Korea, because I like a lot of their movies and I'd heard of fewer of their players. I hope that still entitles me to burritos.

The game went down to the wire and though there wasn't much hitting, there were tons of web gems, especially by Mexico, and personally, I love a good pitching battle. I was bummed, however, that I missed the Japan v. USA game earlier today. USA won thanks to an Alex Rodriguez single in the ninth inning and what had to be the worst call in the WBC's history (granted, it's on the first year). Personally, I think the fix is in. The US team's been playing like shit the whole tournament. They even lost to Canada. And I'm sure the powers that be have told the umps to go easy on them. This is where I'm in a bit of a conundrum with the WBC. While I'm all gung ho for the US when it comes to the Olympics, seeing as I only give a shit about snow boarding or discus throwing once every four years, I have a much more vested interest in our nation's pastime. That being said, there are players on the US team that I have issues with: Chipper Jones can go fuck himself; Roger Clemmens is a shit eating hick, and the only person I ever wished injury on; A-Rod and Derek Jeter are bitch-ass Yankees, which automatically only puts them one small step lower than Adolph Hitler and, well, Chipper Jones and Roger Clemmens, on the people I despise list. How can I chant "USA!" when Chipper Jones is at the plate when really all I want is for the pitcher, any pitcher, to hit him upside the mouth with a fastball? Therefore, though it kinda pains me to do so, it looks like it's Korea (and/or Mexico) all the way. Maybe next time they'll consult me before they put together our national team.

dear kim bauer 2

Hey...uh. It's me again.

I know what you're probably thinking. "It's totally wee in the Sunday AMs and 24's like more than a day away." But I've got some stuff I'm mulling over in my head, and I figured you were as good a person as any seeing as you're totally fictional (and totally hot). I guess not totally fictional, but I don't know Elisha Cuthbert, per se. I'm more familiar with Ms. Bauer.

ANYWAY.

I opened my big mouth again and they made me managing editor of the mag. I totally didn't want to do it, but I thought it was the right thing to do, and my mom drilled it in my head that doing the right thing is important. At least I think she did; but I'm not trying to blame her for what I've done. Mom didn't factor into my decision to open my big mouth and volunteer myself for the position. I think that was a mixture of my ironic pride and misguided megalomania. I won't get into all the details, because it's been such a dizzying week that I've forgotten them.

I never raised my hand in class, even when I knew the answers. I'd give them when the teacher's called on me, but otherwise I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want to be seen as a suck up or a know-it-all. It was easier for me to be a background fixture. I always worked hard, though. Being lazy in my family was kind of a crime, seeing as my dearly departed grandfather used to work something like 304 jobs or something like that. The basement of my grandparents' house was a depository for all sorts of tools of his many trades. i think he even made boots. He had the tools to do so anyway, though I can't say I've ever seen any of the boots he made.

I guess that's it. I'd like to think my grandfather made nice boots. But right now, I'm more concerned about why I thought it'd be a good idea to make more work and stress for myself.

Ready for an ulcer,

-j.

dear kim bauer

[24 spoilers, so be careful] So there you were, thinking your daddy Jack was daddy dead. That loser Chase dumped you because he couldn't handle you being a wreck.

You travelled further down the spiral.

Who could blame you after losing your mother and father? And let's face it. You were always a bit of a problem. I didn't see the first season, but I heard you were a handful. In season 2, you rescued some little girl from her abusive asshole father, which was honorable, but your little caper made life tough for daddy Jack as he tried to track down a nuclear bomb. That's a matter of national security. Number one priority.

I'm sure you had to hear that plenty, though. Priority this and priority that. I bet daddy Jack wasn't at your dance recital in the 6th grade because he had to save the president from a sleeper cell of terrorists in the Carpathian Mountains. That's gotta fuck a kid up. How do you even compete with that?

So then some shit goes down in season 3 (I didn't see the whole thing) and then more shit happens in season 4 (I skipped the whole thing, but I kept tabs) and daddy Jack has to fake his own death. He doesn't tell you--to protect you of course--but he does tell Tony Almeida, Michelle Dessler, the former president and even weird ass computer geek Chloe. Seriously. Chloe? And now Audrey Raines calls you into CTU--a place that holds nothing but bad memories--and tells you that your dad's still alive. Even the evil dude who played Robocop knows you're in a fragile state. You're dating C. Thomas Howell for chrissakes! If that's not a cry for help, I don't know what is.

Anyway, I just wanted to write that I think daddy Jack's a dumb ass prick for bailing out on you like that, but it's good to see you back. Even if you're sealed in the "situation room," and the rest of CTU is contaminated with deadly Centox nerve gas.

Sorry you had to watch Edgar die like that. That's cold.

-j.

the best of the best

If anyone was wondering, the recent prolonged absense from doing this thing I do here a lot of the time was sorta planned but sorta not at the same time. I guess that doesn't mean that much, but work has kinda become a four-letter word and since I've had to talk about it so much in my regular life--both professionally and personally--I didn't want to have to spend the extra worry writing about it here. Safe to say, it's pretty much all I eat, breathe and shit lately, and not because I'm busy. I prefer to leave it at that because I'm not as funny as Dooce, and I don't have any savings; I may work for peanuts, but those peanuts manage to pay the rent, kinda.

Luckily, there are distractions like Sasha Cohen winning the silver, Two Gallants' What the Toll Tells, alcohol and, most importantly, tonight's Oscars broadcast. I watched the show with my new roommates and their boyfriends, for the most part, but most importantly, I was joined by a steady flow of rum and mixers from my fridge and freezer. (PS. I made that three picture thing all by my lonesome in Microsoft Picture editor. I don't know why it turned black and white, but it did. Still, I'm pretty stoked about it, even if i stole the idea from Steve, who's a lot better at finding pictures for his blog than I am, meaning, that I usually just pick a picture of some hot chick and he chooses images that actually coincide with the narrative of his entry. Go figure. Either away, I made that, so suck it bitches.)

I spent the better part of the day watching pre-Oscar coverage. What did I learn? Reese Witherspoon is just about the greatest white person on the planet (I think she's kinda awesome, to be honest). And if you're gay, you're pretty much allowed to say or do anything that you want. Especially if you're fabulous. And Ryan Seacrest really needs to die and take Simon Cowell with him (not that Simon had anything to do with the Academy Awards coverage, but really).

Unfortunately, I missed the opening monolog and a couple of the early awards, such as George Clooney taking best supporting actor because I was stuck in a far less glamorous place: the "Econowash" Laundromat just two blocks away from my house. Unfortunately, it's been dumping rain all day (and still dumping), and I don't have a car, so I had to walk, with clothes in a covered plastic bin, detergent and fabric softener in tow. I used to have a washer/dryer here at the house, but they went away with my old roommates. I did enjoy the laundromat culture, however. A nice Mexican lady pointed out which dryers worked best and I met this cute tweaker couple's precocious young pitbull (that I ended up talking at at length because I'm really good at embarassing myself when doggies are present). I'm actually looking forward to going back because when I was in high school, I always pictured that I would meet the girl of my dreams in a laundromat once I went away to college. I didn't go away to college until I was 25...and until today I've never been in a laundromat, which goes to show you how stupid high school kids are.

Anyway, since last year's Oscar's recap (excuse the missing pictures) was such a big hit in my own mind, here are some reflections on this year's Oscars:

Salma Hayek followed up last year's stellar cleavage performance with yet another dose of her ample bossoms as she presented the nominees for this year's best score. I don't remember who won, but I'll never forget her boobies.

Three 6 Mafia won the award for best song for their number from Hustle and Flow, which, I think, is hip-hop's first official Oscar. That's probably the coolest and saddest thing ever as some old dudes actually listened to "hippity hop" and thought it was pretty fresh, but may have effectively sent rap music to the same retirement home as punk rock. Either way, coolest acceptance speech of the night.

Reese won Best Actress! Seriously, she rocks. Have you ever seen Freeway? I didn't actually see her play June Carter Cash, but I heard the soundtrack and I thought she had an amazing voice. Even better than Joaquin Phoenix (who also rules) but only because I thought he was trying too hard to sound like Johnny.

Keira Knightley made me feel sweaty in my nether regions. And not just because I was wearing (and still am) the same underwear from the night before. Though I'm sure that played some part of it. Regardless the only thing that sucked about the dress she was wearing was that it looked like it would take quite a while to tear it off her body with my teeth. Just typing that made me blush a little.

I thought Jon Stewart was a good host. I loved that Stephen Colbert did voiceovers for the satirical awards campaign commercials. Sean Penn didn't feel the need to come to the defence of any of his colleagues, so I guess shit went pretty smooth. Though I can't believe they cut off the acceptance speeches of the people who won Best Picture (Crash). I mean, I don't really care who they wanted to thank either, but it is the biggest award of the night. Honestly, though I like the Oscars even when it sucks, so I'm probably not the best judge. It's the same mentality that has kept me from missing a single Super Bowl.