Thursday, October 30, 2008

Placeholder, vol XXVII

....Overrated, Underrated...

Well, this doesn't really count as "content," per se, but I figured I'd crank out a Slog entry to keep this baby from entering Indefinite Hiatus territory. See you in a few days when I repeat the process.

I just had a thought (probably ripped off from Goldilocks) about the notions of Overrated and Underrated bands. There are always bands that are hyped above and beyond their genuine capacities, and others that are much, much better than they're given credit. I think I officially have the Platonic1 ideal of each measurement.

And, unless you close the window now, you're gonna learn 'em:

Overrated
Radiohead. If you aren't a fan, you know exactly what I mean. They are a poor man's Wire, if Wire were about 100 times less interesting, and if Wire's lead vocalist was Gollum doing a Tiny Tim impression. If you are a Radiohead fan, repeat after me: "I promise to listen to more Fuguzi."

Underrated
Fugazi. Yeah, I know. They are generally acclaimed by most critics and about as popular as any independent-label band can ever hope to be. But, honestly, they need more credit. If you aren't a Fugazi fan, you should be. If you are a Fugazi fan, repeat after me: "I promise to listen to more Fuguzi."

So Overrated They're Underrated
The Beatles. C'mon, they're the fucking Beatles. Everyone says they're awesome, so they can't really be, right? Wrong. I used to deny this fact, but I was full of it. If you think the Beatles are overrated, you are just trying to be a provocative ass. And you should probably listen to more Fugazi.

Rated Exactly Right
Led Zeppelin. Everything everyone ever says about them is true. The good. The bad. The sick. The stupid. Even if it contradicts.

Little known Zep fact:2 If Robert Plant and Ian Mackaye ever came into direct contact with each other, Thom Yorke's OTHER eye would go googly.

There. I said it. And I'd say it again.



  1. Plato was a dickhole, by the way.
  2. Little known, but ultimately true.

Friday, October 24, 2008

The Slog's Endorsement For Best Album of 2008

HANK III


Damn Right, Rebel Proud



Fuck. Yeah.



Seriously, this album basically takes everything awesome about bands like Social D, the Supersuckers, The Reverend Horton Heat, and Mötorhead then shakes in all the good aspects of honky tonk dive music, then sprinkles the spite of GG Allin and David Allan Coe. After that, it bakes in a sweaty, drunk oven at 800 degrees for about 40 minutes and comes out THE TRUCKLIEST1 FUCKING THING IN HISTORY.

Buy it. Or steal it. Or buy it, give it as a gift, then steal it back. Whatever.2 Just listen, or you're a pussy who hates everything good.

Oh, and punch somebody. Anybody.



  1. Just in case any reader is unfamiliar with the word "Truckly" or the concept of "Truckliness," I refer you to this little bit of Florida Legislature Crazytime:
  2. Sen. Jim King, R-Jacksonville, said he had a set [of Truck Nutz] on one of his vehicles, which he described as "all pimped out." They are no more than "an expression of truckliness," he said, although he'd acceded to his wife's request to take them off."

    I find it shocking we'd tell people with metallic testicles on their bumpers that this is a violation," said Sen. Steve Geller, D-Hallandale. "There's got to be better things for us to spend time debating."

  3. Actually, you should buy it. Because Hank needs to be remunerated for being this badassed.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

The Only Series That Matters: Game 1

Of all the things I have ever done on the internet that were baffling to the brain, Bleed Grizzly Pink may be the brain-bafflingest. A fictional Chicago team that sold out completely to corporate interest and non-fans, the Grizzlies were based on a reader comment made at the inexplicably popular Bleed Cubbie Blue. At one point BGP had like 9 writers, each of which pretty much made up whatever the hell they wanted to. And that is all you get from me. Here's an archived piece:

I apologize for the long delay in posting over here, but it's been hard to even profile this team right now. Sure, I could blame it on the nervous breakdown I suffered a couple of weeks ago which caused my temporary committal to a medical facility until I was no longer "a danger to myself and others," but that would be disengenuous.

The honest truth is I was just plain bummed.

There's no other way to put it. I was bummed at Major League Baseball's cowardly last-minute decision to "level the playing field" by not allowing the Grizzlies to participate in the postseason this year.1 Something about "the game has become massively unpopular in several major markets " due to the near quarter century of unquestioned dominance displayed by our Boys in Pink. Those quarters? The decadent East Coast baseball establishment, led by the longtime also-ran sports network, ESPN. ESPN, if you may remember, came on strong in the early 80s, only to be ousted by the juggernaut that was formed when a winning Grizz team prompted a WGN/Lifetime Network merger in 1987. While ESPN still clings to life by duking it out with TBS and FOX for non-Grizzly table scraps every summer and feasting on its monopoly of winter sports like curling and indoor ping-pong, the jealousy felt by the media in the ironically nicknamed "First City" is palpable.

So, their endless and pathetic lobbying has finally found success. On a trial basis, the MLB office has suspended the Grizz from the postseason, citing that they violate Anti-trust legislation. A terrifying precedent to set. Grizzly Manager Skip Essian has retired in disgust, and several players are seriously considering forming their own barnstorming team. Alonso Sorialdo has selflessly offered to bankroll this Globetrotting team from his vast personal fortune,2 should the need arise, but most Grizz players are trying to ride this out, and hope that public outcry will be sufficient to get the Pink Train back on the rails in 2009.

However, in a gesture of love for their fans, the Grizz are giving back to the community the only way they know how: by playing baseball at a level not seen outside of the Gods of Olympus.3 The Real World Champions are playing a best of seven against the only team that stands a chance of winning: themselves.

And I was there for Game One last night at the Pad, still in my hospital gown,4 to cheer them on!

Though I was hoping for a surprise unveiling of the mythical "40-Therroyo roster6" vs. the rest of the Grizz, I was treated to a different, arguably greater experience.

The Grizz had designated two team-members as captainsof each squad:7
  • Squad A: Third Baseman Extraordinaire and reknowned animal rights activist Ramis Rodriguez
  • Squad B: "El Toro del Oro" himself, the always zany starting pitcher Pacho Zapato
The agreement was, just like on a schoolyard, the Grizz Squads would pick each player, one by one until the 40-man roster was split evenly. Ramis won the bat grab after Zapata failed to kick it out of his hand, and selected supersub Marv DelaRosario. Zapato paused for a moment before announcing over the PA at The Pad a single word:

"Finito."

A hush spread over the crowd, as thousands of Grizzheads checked their iPhones for a translation of Zapato's comment. A gasp spread over the same crowd when they realized what he meant.

"Ginormous Z" was challenging the entire Grizz lineup singlehandedly.

An argument ensued as various members of the Grizz lineup attempted to convince Pancho that that was madness. Of course, that was like pouring gasoline on the fire, as Pancho has had a long running bet with Ozzie Guillen and Hugo Chavez as to who is the craziest Venezualan alive.

I could say that cooler heads prevailed, but I would be lying. Eventually Derrick Li and Woodrow Kerrigan managed to talk Z into taking on a catcher, just so the balls wouldn't pelt celebrity umpire Jeremy Piven. Of course, given the choice between rookie phenom Giovanni Solo and seasoned veteran Carlos Negro (Or "Chuck Black" as he's known to his legions of fans), the Z-man made the only choice he could have made.

Mack "Little Big Klusz" Fontegna.

This was a stunning development, as Fontegna has never played the position before. Nor did he fit into either of the catcher's gear (a local little league coach living nearby had to race home to get pads that fit the diminuative infielder-turned-backstop). But just getting Z to agree to have a teammate took 25 minutes, and the lines to every Shenanigan's in the Pad were starting to grow full of hungry and restless Grizzheads.

Finally, the game began in earnest. And what a game! Zapata and "Little Big" took an early lead after Z hit a first inning grand slam off of Canadian newcomer Rick Wardon8 that brought in Fontegna and the "ghost runners" on second and third. After that, Wardon settled into a strong series of shutout innings before getting pulled in the seventh.9

Meanwhile, Zapato was pitching like a man possessed. He struck out the first 19 batters, despite the fact that he was clearly just aiming his pitches at Fontegna's (admittedly shaking) glove. Then, in the seventh, leadoff man Sorialdo got the first ball into play. It was a line drive comebacker that Z fielded barehanded.

For a lark, Z pitched lefthanded to the next two Grizzlies (Ryne "Ryngo" Therroyo and Derrick Li), striking The Royo out on 5 pitches and beating out a grounder to first by Li. The fact that Pancho only beat Li by a step apparently scared Ginormous Z enough that he switched back to righthanded pitching and gunned down his rival captain in three pitches.

A scoreless and batterless eighth followed, though it was not without heroics as left fielder Rook Jackson (replacing Alonso Sorialdo, who had to rush to a board meeting) made a spectacular diving catch headlong into the Pink Monster. He got up and finished the game, though at the time of my writing it is unclear whether the speech centers of his brain will ever recover from the impact.

Zapata and Fontegna failed to score in the ninth (as Woodrow Kerrigan was playing at his regular postseason levels), stranding a ghost on third and Zapata at first on a groundout. In the ninth inning, the rest of the Grizz turned on the heat. Number 8 hitter, Kotsay Thundudome got the first hit the game for his side (and ended his 4 game mini-slump - the longest of the season), a triple scorching down the right field line.9 Pinch hitter Darlyle "Big Possum" Wadd advanced to first after the inexperienced Fontegna dropped strike three - Thundudome would have scored then but, as he stated in the postgame interview, Pancho Zapata stared at him with such rage that he feared for both "his life and the lives of his ancestors" if he left third. It is unsure what this actually means, but Kotsay looked pretty rattled.

Of course, none of this mattered as the now-functionally-retarded Rook Jackson belted a homerun over the very same Pink Monster that had taken a sizable chunk of his prefrontal cortex in the previous inning. Z fumed, Fontegna quaked, and The Royo stuck out on a close fastball on a full count (that umpire Piven originally called a ball until Z stared him down). Derrick Li then hit a combacker at Zapata that might have been an out had the Golden Bull not attempted to field it in his teeth.

The richocheted ball landed in the "visitors" dugout and was ruled a ground rule double by a visibly quivering Piven. This set the stage for the at-bat to end all at-bats: Pancho Zapata vs. Ramis Rodriguez. I would love to give a play-by-play for this AB, but at that exact moment my table number was called at Shennanny North, and I missed the first 8 pitches getting seated. By the time I could locate a jumbotron, it was a full count. And it stayed that way for 37 straight foul pitches. I was already finished with my Tater Nachos before El Hombre Gigantico hung a slider right in Rodriguez's zone. He grooved it all the way to where the old "Eamus Catuli" sign used to be (now a jumbotron devoted to Designing Women reruns)!10 The crowd erupted, half of them hanging up their cellphones to applaud, the other half calling friends to see if they got on TV.

It was a madhouse! With just one game down, this series is already interesting. While the underdog Zapata squad lost, it was a nailbiter, and I think any of the local media calling for a sweep are premature.

I for one, am just glad that the Grizz aren't letting a little thing like not making it to the postseason end their season.

Here's hoping everyone tunes in for game 2, and whether you're rooting for squad A or Squad B - Go Grizz!


  1. An event that annoyed me so much I could hardly even enjoy watching Boise get leveled by the Tampa Bay Devils (wise move to drop Ray from their name, as it was clearly cursing them).
  2. The recent crash has hardly affected Lonzie's bottom line at all - alert as always, Sorialdo had closed a crafty series of deals days before anyone else was aware of the cracks in the market. In fact, his net worth rose considerably in the first few unstable days. Some economists think his personal pledge of 800 billion to bail out the banking industry is the only thing keeping consumer confidence from plummeting.
  3. Who, strictly speaking, just played Rounders.
  4. Hot pink, of course.5
  5. I did remove the IV stent. I'm not a freak.
  6. Sadly (as was told later by a friend who works in the Michael Kors boutique on the Pad's Mezzanine level - a favorite haunt of fashion conscious owner "Smilin" Sam Zeeck), this is still not within the realms of current medical science.
  7. In the absence of "Skip" Essian, these captains would act as managers as well.
  8. It's been said before, but it bears repeating: the man deserves some respect for surviving the rather harsh hazing that all players receive that arrive in Chicago from the AL (or as the Grizz nicknamed it after their starting lineup won the all-star game for the fifth straight year, "the Sissy Circuit"). Few players can throw a shutout after having the pinky on their non-throwing hand broken (if the player cries, it's back to the minors - club tradition) - but the "Shawshank Redeemer" is as hard as they come.
  9. I found out in today's paper that Ramis Rodriguez, as acting manager, pulled him because setup man Carlo Marmot wanted to try a "really, really neat idea for a new trick pitch." This later turned out to be just a four finger fastball, only really, really fast.
  10. To be honest, it probably wouldn't have been more than a single, but without any fielders behind him, Z had a devil of a time getting it to Fontegna at third.
  11. Reputedly a favorite diversion of longtime Grizzly legend Grant Madison during his off days.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Comics Ideas That Never Were: The Knight Owl

Here at the Slog, we are fascinated by history of all kinds, especially the kind that never existed. And even more important than that, the kind that is particularly geeky and stupid. With that in mind, we bring you the first installment in the ongoing Secret Apocryphal History of the American Comic Book.
The Knight Owl
Vol. 1
#6
August 1965
Cranston Press
Gary, Indiana



Red & Blue = Hero, Purple & Green = Villain. See for yourself!

The Story Behind the Story.

"A Hero both Nocturnal and Chivalrous"

This was the mandate of the idiosyncratic publisher Norman Cranston1 when he "created" his flagship title in the spring of 1964. Hoping to cash in on the popularity of the Silver Age of comics, specifically the Marvel House style, Cranston (then a struggling publisher of romance novels) assembled a team of the most desperate artists and writers in the Gary, Indiana area. Though Cranston would take credit for the creation of all 4 comics published by "CP" in its heyday (The Knight Owl, The Top-Notch Three, The Mechanical Man-Wolf, and Jericho Jewel - Amish Alien),2 he almost certainly did no more than string a few adjectives together and provide a spate of work-for-hire contracts to his stable of "talent."

Per industry legend, writer "Winston Wycliffe"3 and an un-credited artist4 created The Knight Owl at a 24-hour diner near the Cranston Office - inspired by their own plight, the pair quickly turned a hideous pun into a hero "with One Talon in the Past, and One in the Future." The distinctive medieval armor and fluffy owl suit were apparently designed in a matter of moments - which caused a great deal of trouble in future issues, given the pointless level of detail was difficult to reproduce in the budget methods used by Cranston, and led to constant deadline issues.

The debut issue was dated December, 1964 and hit the newsstands that October, in accord with the dating standards of the day. It would be the last time the issue came out anywhere near on time. The story in the first issue was pretty standard fare, involving the character's origin.

Origin

"The Screeching Sword of the Celestial Sentinel of Chivalry"

John Owlsley, an antiquarian of the Castleton Museum of History, is a quiet and shy man. Afraid of almost everything from the dark to heights to his own shadow, he spends most of his time reading ancient books of Knight Errantry in the manuscript wing. One evening, a loud thunder crack during a storm startles the timid Owlsley, who drops his glasses. They shatter, leaving him practically blind. He fumbles around, and pushes in a book on one of Museum Library shelves. This in turn opens a trapdoor beneath his feet. He falls into a mysterious tunnel under the building, and staggers about looking for help. A mysterious and silent stranger, who appears only as a silhouette leads Owlsley to an underground grotto, whereupon he discovers a sword and shield resting on a throne. The stranger then disappears - prompting the nervous Owlsley to pick up the weaponry.

In a flash he is transformed into a mighty armored warrior whose feet are the talons of a mighty owl. He discovers that while he holds the sword and shield, he has enormous strength, enhanced senses, and superior wisdom. These powers, he soon learns, disappear (along with his talons) if he loses contact with either item for more than a minute. As is the custom of the day, he decides to use his newfound powers to battle evil, dubbing himself "The Knight Owl."

Later issues revealed that Owlsley is the direct descendent of the mighty Sir Roger Owlsley, defender of the Sacred Shrine of Nocturnia - a fictional Medieval kingdom that appears every 100 years, like an Arthurian Brigadoon. His sword also develops the ability to "screech," sending waves of solid sound into his enemies.

This rather hackneyed origin, with elements lifted from Captain Marvel, Thor, and countless other tales, led naturally to the lackluster writing of the first 5 issues of the series, where the Knight Owl mostly battled bankrobbers and jewel thieves (including the bungling Gypsy King, who later reformed and became a rather humorously portrayed Private Investigator in issue 12 after his gang of baby-stealers betrayed him to the police).

However, with issue #6, either a new "Winston Wycliffe" was hired or the original one figured out what the Knight Owl was missing: a Signature Villain, one with panache.

The Arch-Nemesis

"The Hideous House Call of the Diabolical Dr. Deadline"

In issue #6 (shown above in the 1992 "Cranston Classics" reprint with computer colored cover - sadly I could not locate any of the original hand-colored issues), we are introduced to the "Diabolical"5 Dr. Deadline. Clearly a bogeyman based on the nightmarish ticking of our own internal clocks, Dr. Deadline is the most nefarious and indeed only "successful" villain to face the Knight Owl. Though colorful and fun in a silly Silver Age way, such also-rans as Sir Shade Sinister, the Insomaniac, and Baron von Batt never struck the primal chords of mortality and the fear of loss and change like Dr. Edward Lineman, erstwhile Nobel Prize-winning Physicist, and his errant time controlling curse.

For, "due to a hideous accident, Dr. Deadline is a slave to an unpredictable personal timeline in which certain moments seem like eons and weeks pass in a instant - beyond his subjective perception." While the sophisticated goggles he has designed enable him to project his affliction on to others, "it takes a monumental effort of will to exert the mental control needed to ensure that the goggles keep him in sync with the rest of the world. " Every tick of the second hand of every clock on earth resonates in Dr. Lineman's mind, for if not, he could lose his tenuous grasp on linear time and suddenly realize that he is hour, days, or possibly years closer to death.6

The Rest of the Run

"Tempus Fugit, My Dear Owl"

The Knight Owl's initial run lasted for 36 issues (averaging about 7-8 "monthly" issues per year), facing Dr. Deadline on 4 other occasions spread out over six additional issues. After the final time they faced each other (Issue #34, "Knights of Our Lives, Part 2"), Dr. Deadline was presumed to be dead when his clockwork lab assistant/bride-to-be "2 P45t M1dn1gh7"7 accidentally set off the self destruct sequence in Dr. Deadline's flying hourglass fortress, burying the Diabolic Doc under several tons of white diamond sand.

The final issue of The Knight Owl, "Blade of Democracy," (February 1970) was a disturbingly pro-war piece in which Owsley foils a plot by a group of Vietcong agents (disguised as a popular "Peacenik" band) to drug the President and brainwash him into withdrawing troops from Vietnam. Of note: The issue ends without fanfare, with the caption: "Next Issue - Diabolical Doc D Returns from Death!!!" Clearly, the cancellation of the issue was a surprise to many involved.

In the 1990s, Cranston's son Ernie and his widow, Beverly, launched an updated "grim and gritty" version of The Knight Owl in an attempt to cash in on the Mylar-bag, chromium cover collector's boom (this time starring John Owlsley's nephew, Mark, a recovering junkie who inherited the title after the former was assassinated by a terrorist group led by a recidivist Gypsy King). The overly crosshatched and needlessly violent issues blended in with the times without making much of a splash (and indeed alienated any longtime fans that might have read it for nostalgia value by replacing the "Screeching Sword" with a spike-knuckled, two-bladed katana and giving the "New Knight Owl" a cybernetic arm with a force field in place of his shield. Dr. Deadline returned as an AIDS-ravaged serial rapist that Mark Owlsley eventually beheads with a gear from Big Ben. This revamp lasted 7 issues before folding ignominiously.

On the bright side, a trade paperback collecting the first 7 issues of the original run was released at this time. Although its garish re-colorization was not in the spirit of the original run, it served as an introduction to an often overlooked chapter of the Silver Age for a whole new generation of readers.



  1. Born Norman Wojtkowski-Royall, it is rumored this enigmatic man took his nom-de-publisher from the old Shadow pulps.
  2. Of those, The Knight Owl is the only title to last more than a few months, as The Top-Notch Three and The Mechanical Man-Wolf folded after 4 issues. Jericho Jewel ran for only two issues and ended with an unresolved cliffhanger that was legendarily completed by Grant Morrison in the secret "Lost" issue of Doom Patrol. This issue, which takes place at an unspecified time in DP continuity, remains unpublished at Morrison's request. He claims that though the script was "satisfactory" and the art (by comics legend Gil Kane) was "phenomenal," the comics world "needed Jericho Jewel's story to end in a "quantum fashion," with Jewel "both Alive and Dead, with his wooden starship adrift in the spaces between our thoughts." More cynical observers claim that since the rights to Jericho Jewel are still held by Cranston's increasingly senile and overprotective widow, Morrison may never have even written a script. The fact that no paperwork can be located at DC that even attests to the existence of this issue, combined with the death of Gil Kane in 2000 makes this a tantalizing, but unproven theory.
  3. Almost certainly a pseudonym, but no record of his real name. "Winston Wycliffe" was the name of the so-called "Sage Minstrel" who answered the incoming letters from readers; he is assumed to be the writer of the series.
  4. None of the artists at Cranston have ever been identified. While at least 3 different styles have been identified, Cranston refused to allow artist credit, and if any of his staff ever managed to sneak in a hidden signature, it has never been isolated.
  5. "Diabolical" precedes the name "Dr. Deadline” 89 of the 156 times the character is mentioned by name in the initial run.
  6. Of course, in his first appearance, he mainly just ties the Knight Owl to a giant candle and shouts expository dialogue.
  7. Oddly enough, a character name invented a full generation before "l337"

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Zen and the Art of Procrastination

Or, Is Anyone Still Even Writing This, Much Less Reading It?

Holy hell, my poor Slog is on life support. I’ve just been too drained of purpose and direction and energy to update of late, I guess. Damn this ADHD, for getting me to make promises I can’t keep!

Here is the running tally of things I have utterly failed to blog about:
  • My facial hair Odyssey
  • My exciting trip to the Bristol Renaissance Faire® in Wisconsin and the extension of my streak of personal intoxication
  • The utterly ridiculous nutpunch end to the baseball season
  • My career and education goals update
  • My attempt to replace baseball with hockey in order to ensure the winter months are just as depressing for me as the MLB Postseason
  • My return to Appetite Theatre, this time sans beard
  • My near complete conversion from apathetic Taoist Atheist to apathetic Rinzai Zen Atheist with Taoist leanings
  • My conviction that, though not undoable, Sarah Palin isn’t altogether that hot
  • The new ongoing series: Comics Ideas That Never Were
  • Will Wolter ever buy the Clash Shea Stadium live CD, or is it too much of a cash-in?
  • The Dark Underbelly of the Eighties, Part 1, Section C (Subsection ii) – will it be out before Chinese Democracy?
I suppose I should work on making that list more manageable, in an attempt to get caught up and provide anyone who still bothers to check what passes for a blog in my neck of the woods. So, I will provide a status report/brief entry:

My Facial Hair Odyssey
On the way. Honest.

My Exciting Trip To the Bristol Renaissance Faire® In Wisconsin
…and the extension of my streak of personal intoxication
Also pending.

The Utterly Ridiculous Nutpunch End To the Baseball Season
I am still far too pissed and sad to formulate anything worthwhile from the experience. Again, this isn’t a baseball blog for a reason.

My Career and Education Goals Update
I am still trying to make this possible, but I am very seriously considering going back to school for an MFA in Biomedical Visualization.

Screw you…I’m not joking.

I’ll need a several undergraduate courses to catch up, as well as a decent GRE score, and probably some serious help with letters of recommendations and some form of financial assistance (if I can even get that – given my previous woes with student loans). But this actually seems like a very cool, and very fulfilling, career path for me, if I can actually jump through the hoops.

My Attempt to Replace Baseball With Hockey In Order To Ensure the Winter Months Are Just as Depressing For Me As the MLB Postseason
My adopted “home” team is now 0-3 – but I haven’t actually watched a game yet. Still, Chicago sports is nothing, if not consistent. Go Blackhawks! I think!

My Return to Appetite Theatre, This Time sans Beard
You can find the info here. I am in the first show of the evening. I will be playing the part of "Peanuts."

My Near Complete Conversion from Apathetic Taoist Atheist To Apathetic Rinzai Zen Atheist With Taoist Leanings
I also can kinda gloss over the Zen/Taoism stuff, as I am far too mystified and new to the processes and ideas to be an apt explicator – and I’m already driving Ali crazy enough. Anyway, my buddy Gene is a hell of a lot better at talking about the processes and he’s pretty much on the same path as I am right now. The most I can say is that it actually appears to be completely compatible with my Atheism and my love of the Tao, while giving me a sensible (or at least sensibly nonsensical) process to a state of understanding and living in the world that might just be what I need to keep from wanting to murder Ryan Dempster.

My Conviction That, Though Not Undoable, Sarah Palin Isn’t Altogether That Hot
Though not undoable, Sarah Palin isn’t altogether that hot.

The New Ongoing Series: Comics Ideas That Never Were
Soon, my dear Reader (can I call you Reader? ‘Cause I already did). Soon.

Will Wolter Ever Buy the Clash Shea Stadium Live CD, or Is It Too Much Of a Cash-In?
The answer to both parts of the question is: probably.

The Dark Underbelly of the Eighties, Part 1, Section C (Subsection ii) – Will It Be Out Before Chinese Democracy?
The answer to this question is: probably not.

So, my new to-do list is as follows:
  • My facial hair Odyssey
  • My exciting trip to the Bristol Renaissance Faire® in Wisconsin and the extension of my streak of personal intoxication
  • The utterly ridiculous nutpunch end to the baseball season
  • My career and education goals update
  • My attempt to replace baseball with hockey in order to ensure the winter months are just as depressing for me as the MLB Postseason
  • My return to Appetite Theatre, this time sans beard
  • My near complete conversion from apathetic Taoist Atheist to apathetic Rinzai Zen Atheist with Taoist leanings
  • My conviction that, though not undoable, Sarah Palin isn’t altogether that hot
  • The new ongoing series: Comics Ideas That Never Were
  • Will Wolter ever buy the Clash Shea Stadium live CD, or is it too much of a cash-in?
  • The Dark Underbelly of the Eighties, Part 1, Section C (Subsection ii) – will it be out before Chinese Democracy?

I hope that was helpful. See you in 3 months when I realize that I have not updated The Slog since this entry, and do this all over again!1



  1. This is the longest Slog entry I’ve ever done without a footnote.2
  2. Shit.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Another link dump after a long hiatus...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7599824.stm

Oh. Your. God.

Somebody up there likes me.

Unless this is as disappointing as the last one.

Monday, September 1, 2008

Just Can't Bear This Den of Grizzlies

Of all the things I have ever done on the internet that were baffling to the brain, Bleed Grizzly Pink may be the brain-bafflingest. A fictional Chicago team that sold out completely to corporate interest and non-fans, the Grizzlies were based on a reader comment made at the inexplicably popular Bleed Cubbie Blue. At one point BGP had like 9 writers, each of which pretty much made up whatever the hell they wanted to. And that is all you get from me. Here's an archived piece:

By "J.M."

I'm back, bitches.

[Editor's Note: "J.M." is the pseudonym of a former Major Sportswriter for the Boise Sun-Times, who has left his paper because "There is no future in sports journalism." Hopefully his hard-hitting "take no prisoners" approach will appeal to those BGP readers who like their sports reportage to be PROVOCATIVE and NOT A LITTLE EDGY.]

Selfish hotdogging clowns.

There. I said it.


The 2008 Grizzlies are the worst baseball team in my life. And I'm including my little league team, or rather the little league team I would have played on if I hadn't spent the first 12 years of my life living in a plastic bubble.


"But Mr. M," I'm sure you're saying as spit out chunks of cinnamon bagel (you whitebread hicks), "this team has won more games than even the fabled '05 Big Pink Train team!" - a team I've always secretly admired for making that twat Guillen look like a fool, or so I was told by my assistant Koko who used to watch the games and AP sports wire for me.


But that's neither here not there. And please, call me J.


Yes, this team is winning. But the fact remains that they lost two games in a row for the first time this year. And that makes them utter failures at the game of baseball, and ultimately at life.


Manager Jim "Skip" Essian is presiding over the the biggest sports collapse in history. Bigger than the Titanic and the Hindenburg together, assuming those are in some way related to sports (this chintzy blog I'm lowering myself to write for couldn't afford to bring Koko over from Boise for me). All of those idiots clamoring to get him hired will soon be demanding Grizzly management to send him to the curb.


A lot of you apologists are going to say (after sputtering out your Starbucks Fair Trade coffee - you yuppie swine), "Look, J, this season is 162 games long, and every team has a slump here and there."


You are wrong. And I think we should go back to a more formal greeting until you prove yourselves to be less stupid.


I place the blame squarely where it belongs: everyone but me.


But allow me to prove my point in the only way a REAL journalist can.


I'm going to make a list


  • Grizzly ownership - This "win at all costs" mentality, by which the Grizzlies have used extensive scouting and high end statistical analysis to assemble teams of elite players that are all physically gifted and emotionally stable is just not working out. This team has no heart, no gumption, and no panache. And teams like that may win 99 times out of 100, but a loss is still a loss and unacceptable at any time. Anyone who doesn't see that is as dumb as everyone at my stupidheaded old job. Those jerks.
  • Grizzly Pitching - Starting picher Pancho Zapata has given up at least 10 hits this year, and Lily Roosevelt hasn't been the same since he was acquitted of those manslaughter charges in Canada - honestly, I think he's a better killer than a starter. The less said about Rick Wardon, the better (because I'm not really sure who he is).
  • Grizzly Hitting - How the hell could Ramis Rodriguez and Derrick Li not break every record singlehandedly this year? And Li, ending that double playless streak this year is a perfect sign that you should get your ass back to Cuba or China or wherever you're from, comrade. Also, I've noticed that no one is really bunting this year. Three-run home runs don't win ball games. Timely bunting does.
  • Grizzly Fielding - I heard someone on the Grizzlies made an error last month. That's inexcusable, and probably worse than anything Hitler ever did.
  • Grizzly Journalists - None of you have returned my calls. I am a respected commentator and pundit. Why won't you give me a job?
  • You, the Grizzly Fans - You wretched scum are the worst of all. By continuing to love the team and enjoy watching the game of baseball, you only encourage this culture of failure. Go to hell, all of you.


I know my words were harsh and maybe Pulitzer-worthy, but it's just something you all need to hear. And so do the Grizzlies. And I'm the one who can say that to them.


You better watch out, Stay Free Maxipad Field. I'm not afraid to sit in the bar in the press box eating hors d'oeuvres and savage you for not meeting my standards of excellence.


There's a new player in town. Me. And I am too good for you all.