Archive for October, 2007

Red Sox now and forevah.


Ok, curse has been reversed for a few years now but I love the Venn Diagram that is Boston graffiti artists + Red Sox fans. Since I’m too lazy/busy these days to post a real post (lazy because, meh, who needs a reason…busy because I’m still doing daily NY Magazine posts here), I will re-post a poem I wrote in 2004 about that world champion team. No offense to my Red Sox Rooting Companion, but I kind of have crushes on the entire top half of the 2007 lineup, so perhaps a new poem, a love poem, is in order. Also, please let’s not sign A-Rod next year! Happy World Series, everyone!

I am an expatriate From Red Sox Nation.
Which for 86 years was devoid of elation.

Living in Gotham is not easy you see’s
For someone who hates the Mets and Yankees.

I still love my hometown and all of its dreams
We are more than bad accents and bakers of beans.

See, we all believed that our land was cursed
Preventing our team from coming in first.

Eighty six long years passed by
Babies were born, old men died.

Never witnessing their home team achieve
The ultimate win we needed to believe

That this curse was nothing more than fiction
That Yankees created to feed their addiction.

To buy up the best, on talent they gorged
Thanks to the madness of King George.

I’ll start at the start, but let’s not go crazy
The story begins with one Harry Frazee.

He sold off the Babe in Nineteen Eighteen
Making more bad calls than a young Charlie Sheen.

The time in between what was then and what’s now,
Saw a whole host of moments that made our heads bow.

Enter Bucky Dent, a less than good hitter
His homerun sent our team right down the shitter

He was a hated man in ‘78
With a bad-word nickname that wasn’t so great.

And I shan’t even dare to bring up Bill Buckner
But the ball ‘tween his legs really did suckner.

So let us bypass these times of duress
To 2004 and the ALCS

Yanks versus Sox, they were three games to none
The Vegas odds makers said it couldn’t be done.

No way could our phoenix rise from the ash
To win 4 straight games and toss the curse in the trash.

Nay sayers may say whatever they please
But I say that we won ‘cause of David Ortiz.

Some people quote Pedro and say “Who’s Your Daddy?”
Sometimes I wish he wasn’t so chatty.

The series with the Cardinals was won in a hurry
Looks like Budweiser’s the only good thing in Missouri.

Maybe you’re not a fan or maybe you’re a Brit
So let me explain some of this just a bit.

Baseball is regional, we are all divided
The way you root for Arsenal or Man United

Analogies flow from me easily, I reckon
And Johnny Damon to me is like your David Beckham.

I love New York City, it’s a wonderful town
What with the Bronx being up and the Battery down

I live in Brooklyn right over the bridge
But in October ’04 I missed Massachusetts a smidge.

From Cambridge to the Cape to Providence, R.I.
I don’t think I’ve seen so many grown men cry.

Years of sadness where we were bereaved
And none of them matter because Boston Believes.

Top Chef and Puns, my two favorite things

Ok first of all, for those of you who watched the Top Chef finale last night, the taped segments interspersed with the live segments was just too weird, right? I mean, I get that it’s easier to have a live finale because if nobody knows the winners except for Padma and her scar, there is no secrecy clause that anyone has to sign and be tempted to blab. But the lengths they went to for continuity’s sake (Padma wore the same flamenco dancer dress during the Aspen meal as she wore in the live finale! Casey maintained her somber “I totally blew it” face from pre-taped segments till now!) were funny, and funnier still was that everytime the camera cut to “Live Padma” I expected her to call out this evening’s winning lottery numbers, such was the odd, atmospheric background noise and her almost-yelly voice volume. “Tonight’s winning chef is… the number twelve! Followed by eighteen! Aaaand this dish is underseasoned! Forty-two! Last ball is…this dish needs more acidity! Seven! And the bonus ball is…Cooking with soul.”

Can’t say I’m surprised the [SPOILER ALERT] Hung won, what with his knife skills and American dream speeches, but I really thought Dale might surprise us all in the end.

Also, yesterday’s Daily News headline about Britney’s kids being taken from her was UNFITNEY. Swoon! In honor of that, I’ve come up with a few more sitcommy punny titles.

The Food Network has cornered many markets and many chefs who cater to specific forms of cooking. Giada is Everyday Italian, Paula Deen is southern-crazy and Guy of Guy’s Big Bite is retro-peroxide-craptastic. But what of the lactose intolerant Latino community? Thankfully there’s one chef who can help, and his new show is No Whey, Jose.

Hey, who wants to watch a show about a divorced seismologist who fears human contact so much that he relocates himself to the world’s most remote and volatile earthquake epicenter in order to stop impending earthquakes before they hit? I know I sure do, and wouldn’t it be great if that show’s name was No One’s Fault But My Own. Because the other level to the show is all the voiceovers he does about why his marriage ended. Layers!

Is there anything Sharon Stone can’t do? Because she sure can host the heck out of an HGTV show about gardening. Specifically cultivating root vegetables. Who knew that after her ex-husband got half-eaten by a dragon, she’d develop such an interest in potatoes, I mean, what’s the connection? I sure don’t know but thank goodness for her passion, otherwise we wouldn’t have Tubers with One Stone to watch every week.