Showing posts from June, 2005

Our problematic pool party

I was at my cousin Cara’s house this past weekend, and it was really, really hot. So, we did the only thing we could – we drank beer. And then my cousin bought a pool.

It was probably the biggest pool you can buy that doesn’t require the use of a bulldozer or a permit. In fact, on the box that it came in there was a picture of the pool, with approximately 25 kids happily playing in it, with plenty of room to spare for other things, like rafts, and urine. The box also informed us that putting the pool together would be as “easy as 1, 2, 3!” However, upon further inspection, we realized that that was somewhat of a general statement, as in, “Step 1: Put together pool. Step 2: Enjoy pool. Step 3: Dry off.”

Actually, we soon discovered that this process would be much more complicated than the box specified, especially after we realized that it came with an instructional video, which, judging from the amount of tape it held, was longer than “The Godfather Part II.” We didn’t have time to watc…

An open letter to Kevin Brown

Dear Kevin,

When the Yankees traded for you and then signed you two years ago for $800 billion, I was so excited. I hadn’t been that happy since the time I looked down at my feet and saw that my athlete’s foot had gone away, even though it came back the next day.

Anyway, I’ve been a big fan of yours for years, and I’ve followed you throughout your career. All those great times in Texas, when you were leading the Rangers to the Promised Land, except back then the Promised Land was fourth place in the AL West. Not quite the Land of Canaan, but hey – whaddya gonna do? It was probably Juan Gonzalez’s fault. The Orioles then took you on board, followed by the Marlins. Then you made it to the World Series with the Padres, but the Yankees got lucky and swept you guys. That wasn’t your fault either – I mean, could Tony Gwynn have BEEN any fatter? Was he eating the batting donuts by accident? Sheesh.

Anyhoo, I knew even back then that you’d be a perfect fit for the Yankees – what w…

The Boss, and a case of mistaken identity

I discovered something last week, to my dismay. My cell phone number is only one digit off from Yankees’ General Manager Brian Cashman’s cell phone number, which goes a long way towards explaining why I, your everyday frustrated Yankees’ fan, was on the horn with George Steinbrenner himself at 3:30 am this past Tuesday. Fortunately, I was able to illegally record our dialogue, and I will now release it to the public, because that’s what he gets for waking me up from my dream about winning the Pulitzer Prize at an awards show hosted by Angelina Jolie.

Me: (Groggy) Hello?

George: Brian, wake up! What the hell do you think this is – sleepy time? We’re a .500 baseball team, and you’re acting like that guy who fell asleep for a long time, and then woke up and he was all old and wrinkled.

Me: Rip Van Winkle?

George: What? Winky who? What the heck are you saying? Stop talking gibberish, and explain to me WHY, the $200 million of MY money that YOU spent, has been magically transformed into a …

The hand that rocks the remote

The realm of nanny-related entertainment has come full circle, and it’s about time.

The history of nannies is a fascinating one, with many twists and turns. They first arrived on a big boat called the Mayflower, but at that point in time they were known as “midwives,” and their responsibilities included a) disciplining their master’s children, b) teaching their master’s children, c) knitting, and d) having their master’s children. This was good because it gave the actual, non-biological mothers of these children increased time to do things like go to Curves.

When television arrived years later, on a separate boat, someone – I think it was Karl Marx – had the idea to incorporate the lifestyle of the nanny into the stream of mass entertainment. It all started with “Mary Poppins,” which was so influential that it bypassed television and went straight to the movies. “Mary Poppins” was a British nanny who flew on an umbrella to save children from misbehavior by singing her ass off. She would…