ToM: Midwest Region, first round results

While jogging around the track at McCarren Park yesterday afternoon, I watched a soccer match on the interior turf. The near goalie fielded a slow roller and punted the ball in a high, narrow arc. I followed the trajectory to its apex, and at the absolute peak, when gravity and momentum reconciled for a hovering moment, the sphere perfectly obscured the moon. I didn't know until the bottom fell out, of course, because I've been conditioned not to notice the lunar presence in daylight hours. In that respect, the soccer ball seemed like a sort of agent, assigned to draw my attention upward. By whom or for what reason, I'm unclear. Later that night, around 3am, I woke to find the moon (yellow, now) aligned near the middle of the top window pane. Facing west, the view from my room encompasses a cement rooftop courtyard (off limits), morning smoke rising from some Manhattan stack, the taller, grey, loft apartments immediately opposite, and, between the morning hours of one and five, the arbiter of tides. The latter has become something of a leitmotif, consolation for my wakeful habits. I don't have a point with all this. THE MIDWEST REGION, FIRST ROUND RESULTS: (1) The Rosetta Stone def. (8) Babe the Blue Ox Oh the mangled dead we leave, when burdened beasts expect reprieve! After kicking off the match with a brief declaration of divine right, The Rosetta Stone set the tone early by scaling a large firmament. Babe, who had stared dumbly during the arcane speech, seemed to suspect nothing, and despite ample forewarning that the stone was clearly bent on falling from a great height, the maligned ox still held out hope that some new friendship might be in progress. Owing to that essential goodness, he was staring upward with a dopey grin when the Rosetta Stone made its first dive. The result was a broken nose. Wasting no time, the slab raced up the same edifice and repeated the stunt, this time cracking the animal's mandible. The pattern continued uninterrupted for four hours, at which point referees declared a ten minute intermission. In the second half, it is difficult to know exactly when Babe's lack of movement owed more to severe injury than a longing for companionship, but there is no doubt as to the moment of death. Just after a kidney shot at the eight-hour mark, Babe emitted a loud, low bellow, and roared the name "Paul." He expired soon thereafter. Spectators called the match excessively gory, the type of inhumane slaughter only acceptable to sadists or bullfighting aficionados. Nevertheless, it is worth noting that the majority stayed in their seats, rapt, until the fatal conclusion. (5) Bobbing for Apples def. (4) Derisive Laughter Represented by two sullen teenagers wearing black t-shirts, Derisive Laughter encountered a group of children near a quaint barn, huddled around a barrel full of water filled with macintosh apples. The adolescents adopted cruel grins and approached. However, because they were so engrossed, the children couldn't be bothered to acknowledge their would-be tormentors. Unrecognized, Derisive Laughter soon lost its heart, the catcalls and taunts fading into insecurity. Finally, after a brief discussion, they agreed to "give the game a shot." Soon, they were enthusiastically plying the barrel with mouths agape, grinning like toddlers. Referees, determining that their laughter had gone from "derisive" to "excited," declared Bobbing for Apples the winner. In a sad footnote, the teens both contracted Foot and Mouth disease from the filthy water. (3) Greenery Day in Japan def. (6) The Expression "Whatever, Dude" Overrun by highly-trained, idealistic Japanese eco-fiends, The Expression "Whatever, Dude" was outgunned from the start. Unable to get off their asses and do anything, they sat back and watched idly while thousands of Ginkgo and Bonsai trees were planted in their immediate proximity. In less than thirty minutes, Greenery Day had constructed a dense forest, and oxygen levels reached critical mass. Known for taking, long, languorous breaths, purveyors of "Whatever, Dude" fell at risk for the rare "oxplosion" phenomenon, which occurs when the O2 compound nullifies carbon and hydrogen in the blood stream and converts all bone marrow into ethanol, instantly killing the victim. Although they had some inclination as to the precarious nature of their situation, the loafing, apathetic layabouts stayed true to form and refused to move. Greenery Day called the tactic "historically brave, like a big, fat, disgusting captain going down with his ship of sloth." (7) Toothpaste def. (2) Tiger Woods, Derek Jeter, and Tom Brokaw Despite a strong finish to the regular season, Woods, Jeter, and Brokaw failed to sustain their momentum, succumbing in a hard-fought match after their timeworn strategy proved too repetitious. Things started auspiciously enough, with Brokaw relating the story of Guadalcanal, a World War Two naval battle where the sacrifice and hardship of the Greatest Generation (tm) helped to defeat the Japanese fleet and turn the tide of the Pacific campaign. Jeter, after a polite pause, shook his head in awe and said "that's really something, Tom." Woods agreed, stating "I can't imagine, Tom...those were some real unselfish folks." The crowd applauded, and murmurs were heard about Woods and Jeter, to the effect that they were "real polite, and very well-spoken." However, as the stories continued, toothpaste proved resilient, refusing to go away despite being turned down by both its opponents and spectators. "You'll need me soon," it muttered, and continued canvassing the stadium. Meanwhile, Brokaw's stories grew slightly disjointed, and Woods showed signs of listlessness. Still, they retained the slight edge until dawn of the second day. Jeter, standing to stretch, began tossing a baseball to himself. Brokaw had been in the midst of detailing Rommel's African adventures, when he stopped to ask if Jeter knew that baseball had been invented by General Douglas MacArthur. Knowing this wasn't true, and frustrated by a season of boredom, the New York Yankee invoked Perseus and angrily hurled the baseball into the stands, where it struck an old man in the face, knocking out his front teeth. Always an opportunist, toothpaste loudly proclaimed that if the man had practiced good dental care, his teeth would have stayed intact. As Woods and Jeter grew less tolerant, the atmosphere of the crowd changed, and all sought to take precaution. Toothpaste became universally accepted, earning great acclaim and eclipsing the faltering trio. Finally, Brokaw called Adolf Hitler "the second toughest Mexican I ever knew," and Woods stormed off in a huff. Jeter followed suit, and toothpaste declared victory. Second Round, MIDWEST REGION: (1) The Rosetta Stone vs. (5) Bobbing for Apples (3) Greenery Day in Japan vs. (7) Toothpaste

ToM: South Region, first round results

After 'discovering' these outcomes between the hours of two and four a.m. this morning, I drifted off and was rewarded with a dream about my true love. My friend Kyle and I were on vacation in a town called Tupper Lake. It's a former logging community close to where we grew up, and not the sort of place you'd ever visit unless being dictated by the strange logic of dreams. It was night, and we wandered to a party in a large, brown house with a big lawn. Inside were two girls- sister, I think- and Kyle hit it off with one immediately and left, leaving me alone with the other.

We sat on her couch and talked. She was one of those rare dream characters who don't resemble a person you already know. I don't even think she had familiar features. Unlike real life, there was no uncertainty to the rhythm of our conversation, and when we kissed it seemed like a natural progression instead of something to be excited about. The dream jumped to the morning (without any implication, not that type of dream...) and her mother came down the stairs with cups of coffee and a knowing smile. We smiled back, being in love.

Part two of the dream shifted to Ocean City, Maryland, a place where you really would take a vacation. I was alone in a condo my grandfather owns- three buildings removed from beach front- sitting on the street-side deck. Now there were more friends elsewhere, and by a new logic I had to convince them to come out with me as a precondition for seeing the girl again.

Kyle was in love with the girl he'd met, had other plans, and wouldn't come. Brandon was on a new diet, couldn't drink any alcohol, and so was out. A third party had his own excuse, both elements lost from memory. Outside, the waves reached the base of the Coral Reef (the building's name), alarming because, as I mentioned, it isn't on the beach. The flood kept rising, all the way to the deck, then subsided without leaving a trace of itself.

Part three found me on an Ocean City restaurant patio, facing the true-love-girl across an aluminum picnic table. Her face and body had changed, and the feeling of closeness from the first night had disappeared, replaced by a polite distance. She treated me with what seemed natural friendship, devoid of other feelings, and I had to fake the same. She spoke of her boyfriend, and I tried to seem casual while asking if she'd told him about us. She laughed and said yes, as though what we'd done hadn't been anything.

Her boyfriend, not present, had wanted to know why I didn't have a respectable job ("in a good-sized metropolis," she added, to which I protested, "but I live in New York!") or solid future plans. I had no excuses, and her silence conveyed the absentee's scoff. She expressed admonishment for his strange practicality, but it was the mild kind women reserve for loved ones they don't plan on leaving. There was also the hint that maybe his questions weren't too unreasonable. She'd changed completely, isolating me as much as I'd been accepted in part one.

I woke up to the computer screen, and after my eyes adjusted, the first words I read were: "A stunned audience booed the arrogant victor."


THE SOUTH REGION, FIRST ROUND RESULTS


(8) A Child's Peashooter
def.
(1) David & Goliath

In the surprise of the tournament, top-seeded David & Goliath fell victim to an unlikely upstart. Though many spectators assumed the fearsome duo would simply snap the Child's Peashooter in half, David chose the unorthodox strategy of hurling stones from a long distance. Goliath nervously waited in the background, offering scattered bits of advice. At one point, microphones clearly picked up the following excerpt:

Goliath: I'm not sure this is the best idea.
David: Trust me, I've seen it work before.
Goliath: Please don't face me when you're throwing stones.

Although David was surprisingly accurate, the Child's Peashooter proved too small a target for his stones, which landed in close proximity on all sides. One projectile actually hit the toy, but had very little effect on its wooden structure. Finally, they were forced to approach. The Peashooter, sensing an opportunity, fired its lone hardened vegetable, hitting Goliath on the forehead. "Ow," exclaimed the giant, lifting a hand to his head, "that stung." Hearing his teammate's reaction, David immediately ran over, removed the sword from the Philistine's scabbard, and cut his head off. Afterward, a distraught David attempted to explain. "I saw him get hit in the forehead, and I sort of blacked out...I was just going on memory at that point...you see Goliath get hit, you decapitate him. It's scripture, literally. That was my only thought, but I have no excuse. Just a real mental lapse."

With a newfound respect for the peashooter, David entered into negotiations. Reluctantly, the peashooter agreed to a deal which would allow Israel continued sovereignty in exchange for David conceding the match. At one point, when the talks were reaching an end, a frustrated spectator shouted "Just fucking break the peashooter in half! It's a child's toy." David responded by hurling a stone, which hit the stunned supporter in the testicles. Uproarious laughter followed the stunt, but, according to legal sources, a lawsuit is pending. Afterward, the Child's Peashooter called the victory "bittersweet." "I'm thrilled to advance," it told reporters, "but I was really hoping for control of Israel."



(5) The Concept of English
def.
(4) The Know-Nothing Party, 1855

When informed of its first-round opponent, the Know-Nothing Party expressed some puzzlement. "We support the English," founder Charles Allen was heard to say. "We're basically English Protestants without the accent." Expecting a courteous, civil battle, the Know-Nothings were shocked at a sudden attack of wildly spinning cue balls. Although they managed to deflect some of the white spheres, the expertly calculated Concept of English would simply send them caroming off a nearby object and hurtling back at the defenseless human. The result was a massacre, culminating in the death or crippling of every Know-Nothing proponent. Allegations of foul play circulated in media reports after the match, purportedly arising from photographs of Pope Piux IX slipping an unmarked envelope to a contingency of cue balls. It is unknown whether the Pope's spiritual and financial support will continue in the Concept of English's second-round match against A Child's Peashooter.


(3) My Friend Dustin
def.
(6) The Chicago Bulls, 1996

Although the Bulls ran out to an early 78 point lead, led by superstar Michael Jordan, Dustin's associative attacks eventually demoralized the NBA Champions. The following six-minute stretch, transcribed by courtside stenographers, turned the tide, and is being called by some "the greatest example of relational dismantling since the heyday of Ellen DeGeneres."

Dustin: Michael Jordan... More like Jordan's Crossing...Jordan's Travelling..Hey, Jordan's travelling!

(Referee calls Jordan for a travelling violation)

Dustin: Scottie Pippen...More like Pippin the Musical..Corner of the Sky..Sky Hook!

(Dustin nails a fifty-foot sky hook)

Dustin: Steve Kerr..Kermit the Frog...Jim Henson...Muppets...Fozzie Bear...More like grin and Bear it...Bare it all...Bare-all...AIRBALL!

(Steve Kerr shoots an airball)

Dustin: Horace Grant...More like Forest Chant...Sherwood Forest...Robin Hood...Prince of Thieves...Principal Skinner...Skin and Bones...Skeleton...Red Skelton...Klem Kadiddlehopper...Grasshopper...Bluegrass...Banjo...Redneck...Rent Check...Rent-a-Car...Gas Station...Pump Spot...JUMP SHOT!

(Dustin nails a jumper)

This relentless style continued for the duration of the game, propelling My Friend Dustin to a comfortable thirty-seven point win. The majority of the Bulls succumbed to severe anger and were ejected from the game, to the point that only Dennis Rodman was eligible for the final ten minutes. Greatly amused by Dustin, Rodman was rendered ineffective, shaking his head, laughing, and applauding while Phil Jackson screamed from the sideline.


(7) Vladimir Nabokov
def.
(2) The Word "Diffident"

To raucous cheers, The Word "Diffident" strode out to the Ray Charles song "You Don't Know Me," wearing a purple, hooded cape with multiple upside-down question marks emblazoned in yellow. Over the music, it could be heard howling in the manner of a ghost. The entire spectacle represented a clear attempt to heighten the aura of mystery surrounding its recent success. Nabokov, wearing a monocle, tweed jacket, olive-green corduroy pants, and Italian loafers, quickly defined his opponent as "lacking confidence in one's own ability, timid, or, alternately, restrained in manner."

Diffident paused for a moment, shocked into silence, before asking "I'm pretty screwed, right?" Nabokov nodded, and Diffident removed its hood, shook the author's hand, and fought to hold back tears as it slouched away. A stunned audience booed the arrogant victor, who calmly removed his tweed jacket to reveal a t-shirt. On its front was a picture of My Friend Dustin, with the dates "1983-2007" inscribed below the grinning face.


Second Round, SOUTH REGION:


(8) A Child's Peashooter
vs.
(5) The Concept of English


(3) My Friend Dustin
vs.
(7) Vladimir Nabokov

ToM: East Region, first round results

In the ruminative pre-dawn, accompanied by scant moonlight and a steady mechanized purr, I hunched over keys, furiously transcribing ephemeral visions before they slipped my grasp forever. Like the ardent man in an unexplored meadow, swinging his net in ambitious arcs at resplendent butterfly clouds, I must make do with the happy captures, and cope with the tinges of regret at each fluttering escape.


THE EAST REGION, FIRST ROUND RESULTS


(1) Creighton Blue Jays
def.
(8) Bob Hope, 2005

With a stingy 2-3 zone defense, Creighton stymied Bob Hope's aggressive game plan, reducing the deceased comedian to self-deprecating humor which never posed a real threat to the top-seeded Blue Jays. Though Hope scored significant laughs with quips like "I'm approaching fifty...but I won't tell you from which direction!" and "I don't feel old...I don't feel anything 'til noon. That's when I take my nap!", Creighton point guard Eddie Santangelo's 13-15 shooting performance ensured his team a comfortable victory.

Toward the match's end, Hope seemed severely addled, trotting out incongruous lines such as, "When she started to play, Steinway came down personally and rubbed his name off the piano." Long silence greeted this line, after which Hope seemed to lose heart, and was broken by a brilliantly-timed full court press. As Creighton's lead began to balloon, the old-school funny man was heard to say "I'm dead." Whether this was a prediction of the final result or simply a statement of anatomical fact is unclear. In either case, he was correct.


(4) Meryl Streep
def.
(5) The Song "Unchained Melody"

In this highly anticipated meeting of Artist v. Art, the human element triumphed by virtue of variety and personality. The outcome was in severe doubt early, however, as "Unchained Melody" led with its brilliant Righteous Brothers version. Streep countered by listing her various awards and nominations, a tactic which smacked of arrogance. A smattering of boos greeted her lifeless list, and "Unchained Melody" responded with its Barry Manilow cover. The audience roared, and momentum clearly seemed to be sweeping Streep aside. The actress was able to regain a measure of calm, however, and began to tell interesting stories about old acting partners. The strategy met some initial skepticism, but bore fruit with a light-hearted, point-by-point comparison of Deniro, Hoffman, and Woody Allen.

Meanwhile, "Unchained Melody" became redundant, playing itself ad nauseam with covers that gradually depreciated in quality. On its thirty-fifth go-around (a lugubrious James Blunt rendition), spectators had become visibly angry. Shouts of "time's going by really fucking slowly now," and "I hunger for your death!" rang throughout the stadium. Streep picked the moment to reveal her trump card: an emotional performance of Irina Nikolayevna's "Where is my church, where is my Mother, where, Russia, where, oh Nation of Tundras?" monologue from Chekhov's The Seagull. The virtuoso performance reduced many to tears, and "Unchained Melody" conceded.


(6) The Atlantic Ocean
def.
(3) Heinz Ketchup

In the tournament's first upset, The Atlantic Ocean defied expectations by unseating heavy favorite Heinz Ketchup in record time. Aggressively pursuing a "Mix and Change" offense, the Atlantic met surprisingly small resistance from the powerhouse condiment, which apparently thought that even salt water could not dilute its mass appeal. With a medium-sized tsunami, the Atlantic overturned an entire cargo fleet loaded with Heinz-57, most of which spilled into the water. From there, shifting tides carried the ketchup to a gathering of retirees engaged in recreational scuba diving off the coast of Miami. Mako sharks, confusing the red ingredient for blood, soon arrived on the scene and unleashed severe carnage on the group, maiming and killing the majority.

Forced into early damage control, the Heinz company gathered what remained of the spilled ketchup, re-bottling it in makeshift factories. Yet combined with elderly blood and salt water, the result held little appeal for the average consumer. Further, angry lobbyists from the AARP organized a supremely effective boycott, and lawsuits poured in from irate customers across the nation. The Atlantic Ocean took advantage of public sentiment to announce that it was canceling the 2008 hurricane season and severing its 10-year contract with the El Nino weather phenomenon. The shrewd PR move secured victory. A spokesman for Heinz expressed chagrin, calling the loss "the biggest company disappointment since the FCC banned our 'Hunts is for Cunts' ad campaign from the airwaves."


(2) The USSR Red Army Hockey Team, 1975
def.
(7) The Wheel

In a strategy that would prove disastrous, The Wheel team attempted to disguise themselves as hockey pucks, hoping to confuse the Red Army forwards and neutralize their blue-line speed. Yet due to an unfortunate clerical error, they sent out a contingent of tractor wheels, which are large, ridged, and bear no resemblance to a puck. Reduced to idle rolling, precarious tipping, and slow, circular settling, the wheels were forced to watch the nimble Russians skate past and score goal after goal. In a further paralyzing error, it was assumed that a single tractor wheel placed flat in front of the net would prevent all scoring opportunities. "We didn't realize hockey players could shoot pucks in the air," said a crestfallen wheel after the match. "In hindsight, some cursory research may have helped."

Stand-out Red Army netminder Vladislav Tretiak was credited with a shut-out, allowing zero goals on zero shots. Leonid Brezhnev, General Secretary of the Soviet Union, attended the match, calling the result a "triumph of the people's work ethic over western technology, and a further omen of our eventual and inevitable ascendancy." U.S. President George W. Bush, also on hand, seemed confused at Brezhnev's remarks, but greeted him heartily and expressed gratitude that he wasn't wearing "one of them queer Russky hats."


Second Round, EAST REGION:


(1) Creighton Blue Jays
vs.
(4) Meryl Streep


(2) The USSR Red Army Hockey Team, 1975
vs.
(6) The Atlantic Ocean

I'll think of England this time

Of late, the mewling kittens of self-pity have been stealing forth, begging sympathy rubs for supine bellies. The canines of maturity mostly scattered their kind, but arrived a bit late to the summons and only triumphed after some indulgence. This has been my weekend, the sort that makes Higher Powers snort in disgust. But I've become adept at turning a black collar to the trifling miseries (spared, for now, from visits by the elder sister), and am in no sense waylaid, though it's my shame to confess that to certain logic, the battle wages still. I have not grown up.

There's nothing of real consequence to report, but I'll share this quick anecdote from the new secretary affair. Please reference old entries for background.

Thursday or Wednesday, I can't remember which, I approached to deliver the afternoon mail when I noticed a platter of assorted fruit in neat display on her desk. Voicing my approval, I plucked a strawberry. In the ensuing transcript, I continue my old practice of using the sobriquet "Marissa" for my co-star, which is rather unfortunate because I don't like the name or any of its bearers.


Me: Ooh, can I have a kiwi too?

Marissa: Of course. You can even have a plate.

Me: (growing uncomfortable at the prospect of passing our five-line conversational record, and moving away) No, that's fine. I prefer to eat with my hands. It's a family thing.


As to the origin of that line, I couldn't begin to guess. It's not particularly funny, just odd, and only served to further her impression of my idiocy. I bet if she keeps a blog, she has a running theme of awkward encounters with the strange guy at work.*

*EDITOR'S NOTE: This is a clear case of wishful thinking on the part of the author, symptomatic of self-centered behavior and verging on egomania. In truth, probability suggests that the secretary does not keep a blog, and, even if she did, would not have made one mention of the author, on whom she did not waste a second thought on the day in question, or any occasions previous or subsequent. **

**NOTE FROM BLOGGER (tm) BY GOOGLE: The editor in question is a fabrication of the author, and should be viewed as further support for the solipsistic accusation, and not as new policy on the part of Google, Blogger, or any Google affiliates to revise, amend, or in any way interfere with the production of the still-sovereign blog community.***

***AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you, Google, for standing up for the common interest of the blogging community, and reminding activist editors that their judgments and assumptions have no place in the domain of the powerful, self-governed individual.****

****NOTE FROM BLOGGER (tm) BY GOOGLE: Please note, again, that the author and editor are one and the same person.******

*****EDITOR'S NOTE: Oh, are we?******

******NOTE FROM BLOGGER (tm) BY GOOGLE: Yes.*******

*******AUTHOR'S NOTE: Then how do you explain this!********

********NOTE FROM BLOGGER (tm) BY GOOGLE: The text following the italicized word displayed such unexpected levels of profanity that, for the first time ever, we've actually broken our promise and edited a blog. We can tell you that the author in no way proved his separate identity from the editor, and we can also promise that this is the last time we'll make such a move. As a show of good faith, we include the end of the author's note, which, believe it or not, is considerably more sensical and less offensive than the bulk of the rant.

END OF AUTHOR'S NOTE: ...so you can take your FUCKING NEW YORK QUEER MORALS, along with every GODDAMNED OUNCE OF BUREAUCRATIC GYPSY SHIT, and shove it so FUCKING FAR UP YOUR OWN UNMENTIONABLES that you get it STUCK somewhere between your BASTARDIZED search engine and the WHORE OF A MOTHER who reared you in Silicon WHATEVER-THE-FUCK valley in the middle of DOUCHE-TOWN, USA, population YOU BUNCH OF SHIT HEAD SCUMBAGS.


Nothing else occurs to me at the moment. Tomorrow through Friday, the opening round of the TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS will be waged in this very blog. Begin rubbing your palms together vertically in cartoonish spectacles of excitement.

Lastly, a Quick Poem for a Homeless Man I Saw on the Street This Morning

Overcast and in the nook
aloft, a cardboard sign: I'm Hungry.
The girl enlists your twisted head-
dirty, damp, and tensed with shouts
I can't hear for a Purple Bottle's
tones, but I relate until
the man from Cuba's cardboard sign
speaks to quandaries unresolved
and understood by those like you
or the insane, but not by us-
and not on days like these, so long.

TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS: WEST REGION

(1) Google

After taking over nearly all facets of internet life, the monolothic Google Conglomerate has its sights set on the first TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS championship. Analysts aren't sure what's most terrifying about this search-engine giant; the fact that it defeated all cyber-rivals by enormous margins, or the fact that it did so using only YouTube. In the now-legendary World Wide Web semis, Google dispatched AskJeeves.com in record time with a three minute video of an excited child atonally strumming a toy guitar while shouting the lyrics to "Rock-a-Bye-Baby." Later, in the championship against Yahoo, Google finished the job with footage from a seventeen year old girl's bedroom webcam. And here's the amazing part: she wasn't even home. With most of its arsenal still hidden, future opponents are left wondering how to cope with such theoretical offensive maneuvers as Blogger or Google Earth.


(2) Unreliable Husbands of the Old West

Whether they were drinking away sorely-needed money at the local saloon, having a bad run of luck at poker, or sampling the newest whore in from Cleveland, these irresolute men continually damned their wives and children to lives of anxious poverty. They could be counted upon to pick drunken fights with skillful gunmen, often resulting in premature death and permanent hardship for their surviving loved ones. Even if they managed to survive despite themselves, their wandering ways would leave family members deserted for long stretches. Yet from the first shot of soiled whiskey to their eventual rough submersion in a horse's watering trough, these no-account idlers sure had a rootin' good time. For that, they are a sentimental, yet very vulnerable, 2-seed.


(3) Bread

It is a misguided soul indeed who doubts the utility of bread, this year's three-seed in the West Region. The well-established foundation of all food, Bread defeated upstart contender Eggs to reach the tournament. Packed with various grains, and leavened when necessary, bread is the ubiquitous serve-all which has defined the relationship between humans and food since the dawn of civilization. Its success continued almost unchecked until the 1930s, when it was spurned by Mohandas Gandhi during his first hunger strike. Some historians believe that Bread's anger at this slight led it to collaborate with Hindu radicals in the holy man's eventual assassination. Indeed, Nathuram Godse, the killer, was found to have rye crumbs on his clothing shortly after the fatal shooting. Since that incident, Bread has strengthened its hold on the comestibles industry and lost only four matches, three of them to the video game "Donkey Kong."


(4) Flowery Language

Perfected by female novelists of the 18th and early 19th centuries, Flowery Language retains its influence in the work of precocious, infatuated teens. Spurred by an army of lovesick estrogen, it defeated Laconic, Tough-Guy Hemingway Prose and Rambling, Nonsensical Kerouac Bullshit in the finals of the Shitty Writing division. Flowery Language's confidence is at an all-time high, as shown by the bold declamation of an anonymous supporter: "Like the morning honeydew, sweltering in a miasma of midsummer lilac, christening passerby with invisible aspergillum thrusts, filtering its sugar-sweet aromas upon the ardent forms of auroral lovers, so too shall we ripen and burst, afloat like the graceful waxwain, showering enchantment and stardust from the cloudless azure of our pristine empyrean."


(5) Outer Space, as Conceived by Ignorant, Poor, Elizabethan-era Cockneys

Basically, it's a terrifying two-dimensional dream of sinister creatures with thousands of teeth, black skin, and godless agendas.


(6) Newt Gingrich

After winning Time's Man of the Year in 1995 for his work in propelling the Republican's to congressional power, Gingrich went on to lead the fight against President Bill Clinton's marital indiscretions. Soon thereafter, he asked his cancer-stricken wife for a divorce in order to legitimize an affair with a younger woman. Ethics violations eventually forced him to resign from the House, but after writing a book about what would have happened if the Nazis won World War II, he's poised to run for president in 2008. Political pundits say the strength of his candidacy will depend largely on whether he can defeat Bread in the first round.


(7) Awkward Silence

...


(8) All-Male A Capella Groups

Full of smiling, bobbing, golden-throated crooners, these dapper young octets have captured the hearts of easily-swayed college girls across the nation. Members are known for having soft sides, volunteering for charity, succeeding wildly when visiting a girlfriend's parents on Thanksgiving break, graduating with honors, writing emotional wedding vows, coaching Little League, fidelity, attending church, helping elderly neighbors with yard work, and being convicted on fourteen counts of child molestation at age 47.



THE WEST REGION


(1) Google
vs.
(8) All-Male A Cappela Groups


(4) Flowery Language
vs.
(5) Outer Space, as Conceived by Ignorant, Poor, Elizabethan-era Cockneys


(3) Bread
vs.
(6) Newt Gingrich


(2) Unreliable Husbands of the Old West
vs.
(7) Awkward Silence

TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS: MIDWEST REGION

(1) The Rosetta Stone

A stone slab discovered in Egypt in 1799, the Rosetta Stone is inscribed with a long blustering declaration from an ancient king. Despite the fact that it was translated in 1822, it has virtually no meaning to anyone currently alive. The gist of the text is that Ptolemy V named his entire family tree and then claimed that the Gods gave his family line eternal power. Although history belied this notion, the Rosetta Stone found great success in modern competition, storming through the 2007 regular season and handing The Word Diffident (south region) its only loss along the way. The stone's signature move is falling on its opponent.


(2) Tiger Woods, Derek Jeter, and Tom Brokaw

This unlikely trio were the surprise of the league, shaking off a poor start before asserting themselves as a legitimate force. Brokaw's reverent tales of World War Two heroics, combined with Woods' and Jeter's respectful reactions, supplanted their previous strategy, which entailed Woods hitting golf balls at Jeter, who would attempt to field them while Brokaw danced in the background wearing tinker's garb. The change propelled them to the upper echelons, and they are considered a fearsome tournament match-up. Critics of the team point out that Woods has seemed increasingly bored, and that several of Brokaw's stories contain outrageous details, such as the allegation that Italian leader Benito Mussolini founded the United States Postal Service.


(3) Greenery Day in Japan

The rough equivalent of America's 'Arbor Day,' Greenery Day in Japan celebrates Emperor Hirohito's love of nature. Citizens are urged to spend the day outside, planting trees and engaging in other eco-friendly activities. Unlike the stateside holiday, those who don't take the suggestion are subject to criminal penalty, up to and including three months in prison. Participation is so wide-spread, in fact, that the government is often forced to remove new trees due to an overabundance of oxygen. Additionally, the aftermath in 1998 included a plague of bonsai locusts, which lasted for the better part of three years and was declared Japan's biggest disaster since the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.


(4) Derisive Laughter

The old axiom "laughter is the best medicine" was upheld this season, with the self-proclaimed "expression of cruel and cynical merriment" defeating long-time powerhouses Aspirin, Amputation, and Chemotherapy on the way to capturing the Medical Division Crown. Many traditionalists were upset that Derisive Laughter was included in the Medical Division at all, claiming that a tenuous connection based on an old cliche is not sufficient grounds for inclusion, especially when the participant is an offshoot of the original idea. Regardless, Derisive Laughter put these critics to rest with its patented "Are You Serious?" offense, which included incredulous questions followed by exclamations of disbelief, quickly seguing into loud guffaws at the expense of others. Most of Derisive Laughter's victories resulted from a shattering of the opposition's self-esteem.


(5) Bobbing for Apples

A Halloween tradition for children, bobbing for apples involves ducking one's head into a barrel of water and trying to obtain an apple using only lips, teeth, and sometimes a nose. Because multiple youths engage in the game at once, collisions occur with some frequency, rendering the game dangerous. It is also severely unsanitary. Nevertheless, the foolish whimsy endeared the game to the COMMITTEE OF MADNESS, who couldn't resist giving the delightful spectacle a five-seed.


(6) The Expression "Whatever, Dude"

In common usage since 1984, "whatever, dude" has been the battle cry of insolent teens, disaffected depressives, and adaptable, unopinionated friends. It is capable of summing up a lifestyle in three succinct syllables, and infuriating parties outside the speaker's immediate circle. The Expression "Whatever, Dude" has an impressive list of victims this season, including the Parent-Teacher Association (PTA), Frustrated Therapists, and Friends who Like to Plan Shit Out and Have a Little Fucking Input So They Don't Have to do Everything Themselves. The expression's devil-may-care attitude is expected to clash with the harsh discipline of its first round opponent, Greenery Day in Japan.


(7) Toothpaste

It was another good year for toothpaste, which easily maintained its status as the world's leading teeth-cleaning ingredient. Since 1992, when the "Fluoride in School" movement came to an end, toothpaste has never been truly challenged for oral dominance. It was rumored to be considering an alliance with chewing gum in late December, but this reportedly fell through when the parties failed to reach an agreement regarding the status of Big League Chew. This failure notwithstanding, Toothpoaste earned an automatic bid to the TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS after an easy victory over Mouthwash in the Dental Hygiene final. It will open against Tiger Woods, Derek Jeter, and Tom Brokaw.


(8) Babe the Blue Ox

Paul Bunyan's one-time companion, Babe the Blue Ox has fallen on hard times since the giant lumberjack's death in the spring of 2003. Universally unwanted, he wanders the western hemisphere from Patagonia to the Yukon, seeking friends. The American and Canadian governments have recently discussed plans to euthanize the animal, but to date nothing has been finalized. In a cruel irony, Babe is worshipped in most parts of Africa, but is too large to cross the ocean.


THE MIDWEST REGION


(1) The Rosetta Stone
vs.
(8) Babe the Blue Ox


(4) Derisive Laughter
vs.
(5) Bobbing for Apples


(3) Greenery Day in Japan
vs.
(6) The Expression "Whatever, Dude"


(2) Tiger Woods, Derek Jeter, and Tom Brokaw
vs.
(7) Toothpaste

TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS: SOUTH REGION

(1) David & Goliath

One is a Philistine warrior, a champion of strength. The other is Israel's greatest king. Now, at long last, these biblical heroes are uniting to take on all comers at the TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS. Analysts call the duo "nearly unbeatable," and the committee selected them as the overall number one seed based on an undefeated regular season. The only possible barrier to a championship may come from within; at times, during matches, there appeared to be moments of tension between the teammates. This is rumored to stem from the time that David hit Goliath with a stone, stole his sword, and used it to cut his head off.


(2) The Word "Diffident"

Voted "Most Difficult Word to Define" for thirty-seven straight years, "diffident" continues to stymie top English-speaking linguists. Famous literary critic Harold Bloom, for example, is known to become irate when confronted with the word, either in conversation or on the page. On the rare occasion when a correct definition is discovered, it is almost immediately forgotten. The word is frequently mischaracterizied, often becoming confused with similar terms such as "different," "deferent," "diligent," "decadent," and "daffodil." The word's season-long tactic of bewilderment and obfuscation has put a scare into the rest of the field, as puzzled opponents are generally unable to form an effective strategy and eventually resort to pleas for everyone to "just wait a second," because "they're pretty sure (they) know this."


(3) My Friend Dustin

Dustin has a blog you can read at http://magomra.blogspot.com. We attended high school together in a snow-bound wilderness, and escaped separately to seek gold. Failing, we settled in New York. Dustin's strengths are his simplicity of intellect, wide, berth-creating shoulders, and ability to demoralize opponents with relentless (and meaningless) associative word games. His weaknesses are a fondness for women, reckless hate speech, and tobacco. Critics have called this selection "rank favoritism," opining that Dustin should have been "no higher than a six seed."


(4) The Know-Nothing Party, 1855

Founded by rich Protestants, this American political party was based on a fear of Irish immigrants, who they believed were activist missionaries for the Vatican. The height of their power came in 1855, when they won several important elections, including the mayoral race in Chicago, where Levi Boone barred immigrants from all city jobs. Although this was quickly reversed by Lincoln, and the Know-Nothings faded into obsolescence within three years, their hatred and fear of Catholics and the Irish proved prophetic, as these groups did indeed take over the country for the Pope. [Citation Needed]


(5) The Concept of 'English'

Used principally in billiards, 'English' refers to the spin you put on the cue ball in order to deflect it in odd directions after it impacts the object ball. Its advent changed the course of the game, and all current champions are masters of the technique. Because of its long-lasting influence, oddsmakers actually favor The Concept of English against higher seeded first-round opponent The Know-Nothing Party.


(6) The Chicago Bulls, 1996

Led by superstar Michael Jordan, all-NBA defender Scottie Pippen, and Zen Buddhist coach Phil Jackson, the Bulls stormed to their 4th NBA title in the decade, easily defeating the Seattle Supersonics in the championship game. The team's cohesion, skill, and consistency in Jordan's first full season back from his baseball experiment make them a tenacious underdog, and a fashionable upset pick against My Friend Dustin.


(7) Vladimir Nabokov

Renowned writer and butterfly-catcher, Nabokov is best remembered for penning the novel "Lolita," a romantic treatise regarding a pervert. Hailing from Russia, Nabokov wrote proficiently in three languages, eventually settling on English when political circumstances forced his family out of the Motherland. Coupled with his well-respected literary criticism, Nabokov's writing prowess gives him a fighting chance against "Diffident," although most consider the word too nebulous for even Nabokov's discerning mind.


(8) A Child's Peashooter

Mostly ineffectual after a disappointing season, A Child's Peashooter was able to defeat the movie "Forget Paris" in a surprise upset. This was enough to earn the final spot in the TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS. When news of its first-round opponent reached David & Goliath, the Israeli King laughed and predicted a resounding victory. Goliath, on the other hand, seemed nervous.



The South Region


(1) David & Goliath
vs.
(8) A Child's Peashooter


(4) The Know-Nothing Party, 1855
vs.
(5) The Concept of 'English'


(3) My Friend Dustin
vs.
(6) The Chicago Bulls, 1996


(2) The Word "Diffident"
vs.
(7) Vladimir Nabokov

TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS: EAST REGION

Two Sundays ago, a committee of pseudo-intellectual sportsmen convened to handpick sixty-five basketball teams for the annual NCAA tournament. As is tradition, these teams play-off in a single-elimination format over a period of one month until only one team remains lossless. That squad is declared champion.

The mathematical simplicity holds great potential for a logical, even beautiful, competition, but without fail, the "Selection Committee" ruins everything. They are predictable and boring in their choices, and the ensuing match-ups disgrace the entire country.

Even so, I was often seduced by popular sentiment in younger days, and participated in bracket 'pools' with various other aficionados. I found the process laughably easy, and regularly picked entire tournaments to perfection. After seven consecutive years of flawless prediction, during which my winnings surpassed the five thousand dollar mark, I became bored of the entire process and quit forever. That was the spring of my nineteenth year.

But now, five years hence, the creative possibilities coursing through the dormant part of my medula responsible for all things athletic have spurred me to action. What if the committee demonstrated an iota of originality in their choices? What if they asked for my input, realizing how mundane the tournament has become? What if I was in charge of the committee? What would happen?

First and foremost, I would fire the other members. I've never believed in the 'collective mind,' as it were, or the old adage that two heads are better than one. Maybe the cliche is true for those of more limited capacity, but in my case, inferior intellects only cloud the perfect path, which I'm quite able to discover on my own.

Second, I would reduce the field by half. Thirty-two competitors is more than enough for any reasonable tournament. Further additions only dilute the talent pool, and give hope to those who should never have been allowed to compete in the first place.

Finally, I would be ready to pick. This is where the blog entry departs from the hypothetical, and I reveal the first ever TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS. CBS has copyrighted the phrase "March Madness," so this alternate title is a necessity. It is also, I think, appropriate, conveying a new sense of chaos and strife not present in the current format.

I will be revealing the tournament field in regions of 8, after which time the action will begin. Since the TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS currently lacks funding and cannot feasibly be staged in common reality, results will be determined and related in blurbs after severe and irreproachable research by the COMMITTEE OF MADNESS, which consists of me.

Also, let me anticipate nascent ambitions and be quite clear on the following: I will not be accepting applications for the Selection Committee or the COMMITTEE OF MADNESS. This may change in the future, and although nothing is guaranteed, donations made in my name will positively affect potential considerations.

Now, without further ado, THE EAST REGION OF THE TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS!


(1) The Creighton Blue Jays

Earning the #1 seed for the inaugural tournament, this Omaha school is a strong favorite thanks to centralized location, which makes it an ideal capital in the case of nuclear attacks on the major American cities. In addition, several prophets, ranging from Nostradamus to John Titor the Time Traveler, have predicted that the future leader of America- the one to deliver us from foreign and domestic enemies- will be a farmer-general from the Nebraska heartland.


(2) The USSR Red Army Hockey Team, 1975

On the verge of winning thirteen straight Soviet championships, the Russian squad, led by stand-out goalie Vladislav Tretiak, travelled abroad to play several exhibition games against North America's best NHL teams. After defeating the New York Rangers by a score of 7-3, the Red Army played the Montreal Canadiens, the world's best team, to a 3-3 draw. It was called the greatest game of all time, and the Canadiens went on to win that year's Stanley Cup, while the Soviets took the European Cup. Returning after thirty years, the Red Army is expected to make some noise in the TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS.


(3) Heinz Ketchup

There is simply no better product on the market than the ketchup manufactured by the H.J. Heinz Company. Its taste is incomparable, and has dominated the consumer landscape since the late nineteenth century. Though its stock has dropped slightly since John Kerry's loss in the 2004 election, many experts still believe it has an excellent chance to make the final four.


(4) Meryl Streep

Over the course of her long and illustrious career, Streep has been nominated for fourteen academy awards, a record. She also holds the record for most Golden Globe victories, and is a renowned stage actress. Her versatility will be key in a possible second round upset of the Creighton Blue Jays.


(5) The Song "Unchained Melody"

Penned by Alex North (melody) and Hy Zaret (lyrics), this song rose to prominence after being recorded by Bobby Hatfield of the Righteous Brothers. Over 500 cover versions have been released, and the song has risen to the top of the UK charts alone on four separate occasions. A gorgeous commentary on the passage of time and the hopeful-yet-melancholic aspects of romance, "Unchained Melody" is nonetheless expected to struggle in its first-round match-up against Meryl Streep, due to the actress' excellent soprano vocals.


(6) The Atlantic Ocean

This massive body of water, covering nearly 1/5th of the world's surface, has played second fiddle to its larger contemporary, the Pacific, since the break-up of the Pangean supercontinent. If continental shift continues, however, the Atlantic stands to become the world's largest in approximately three hundred thousand years. A representative of the Atlantic, speaking on the condition of anonymity, said that the ocean has a few tricks up its sleeve for first round opponent (and heavy favorite) Heinz Ketchup.


(7) The Wheel

One of mankind's greatest inventions, the wheel has facilitated movement since its advent in ancient times. Although it is absolutely essential to modern life, many consider the wheel poorly suited to tournament play, where it is forced to function independently, without any kind of body, frame, or other machinery.


(8) Bob Hope, 2005

Following his death in July of 2003, many considered the famous entertainer's 2005 persona a longshot to reach the first ever TOURNAMENT OF MADNESS. Nonethless, relentless but good-natured ribbing propelled the patriotic comedian to a dramatic regular season victory over the fictional character Dennis the Menace. His post-mortem jocularity, to everyone's surprise, merited an eight-seed. He will need to maintain this momentum against the Creighton Blue Jays, whose excellent guard play may prove difficult for the aging Hope to defend.


THE EAST REGION


(1) Creighton Blue Jays
vs.
(8) Bob Hope, 2005


(4) Meryl Streep
vs.
(5) The Song "Unchained Melody"


(3) Heinz Ketchup
vs.
(6) The Atlantic Ocean


(2) The USSR Red Army Hockey Team, 1975
vs.
(7) The Wheel

Some More Notes

1) The New Secretary at Work

By "new," I mean to say that she's been employed for roughly three months. Unlike the majority of the office, she is young and, it's fair to say, attractive. Unfortunately, I've been completely incapable of starting any kind of communication with her. Though I wouldn't call myself a man naturally disposed to flirtatious proficiency, I'm usually able to establish a jokey rapport with other human females of personality. It is tempting to accuse the new girl of dullardry, but I'm afraid this isn't the case. She seems quite open and nice, and has even laughed at witticisms I've made within aural range. But when it comes to interpersonal banter, I freeze.

I've come up with a number of gambits to break the ice, but have had trouble in the implementation. I don't even need an excuse to speak with her; she works for the floor's other boss, and I deliver mail on this boss' behalf twice daily. Roughly three weeks ago, I decided our silence had gone on long enough, and invented an extreme conversational starter. Here's how the idea went in my head (I use a sobriquet for the girl):

Me, delivering mail: What's up, Melissa.

Her: Hey.

Me: So, you've been here like, what, two months?

Her: About, yeah.

Me, mock-serious, but wearing a smile so my intentions are clear: And we barely even know each other! So here's the deal. Every time I bring mail over, you have tell me something fascinating about yourself. You don't have to think of one now, but this afternoon...be ready. I'm expecting huge things

Her: Haha, okay! You're fun and interesting!

When the time came, I redoubled my resolve and started down the hallway to her desk. Halfway there, I realized this was probably the corniest shit I could ever have thought up. I promptly delivered the mail, nodded curtly, and straight-armed it back to my desk.

Yesterday I came up with a less outrageous idea. I'd earlier asked her to have the boss sign a paper permitting some bureaucratic inanity, and while at lunch, she'd sent an e-mail saying the task was complete, and that she would deliver it herself, but she didn't know where my desk was located. This, of course, was either a lie or an oversight. I sit at the entrance, and in order to come onto the floor, you must pass my desk. I see everything. She's walked by on countless occasions, even waving at times, and must have forgotten in the moment.

What a perfect chance, I thought. I'd simply pick up the sheet, and say "Come on, Melissa, you really don't know where my desk is?" Then I'd chuckle and good-naturedly rib her for overlooking the obvious. She'd laugh and perhaps smack her forehead, and off we'd go. Again, I set off in full commitment, thinking the plan fool-proof. Then, halfway down, the doubts flooded. What if she thought I was upset about having to pick up the form myself, and was chastising her? Even my smile might appear strained, a thin disguise for the prissy anger brewing beneath. Indeed, the tension of initiating conversation would stiffen my grin anyway. She might become resentful, or think of me as lazy and coarse, the sort of man who would rather type angry rants on a themed internet message board than engage in meaningful human interaction.

I promptly picked up the form, gave a curt thank you, and retreated to the familiar confines of my desk.


2) A Child on the Subway

There was a small toddler in a stroller on the subway to work today. She had big brown eyes and stared at me in what seemed like prolonged amazement. I did a one-eye wink at her, then tried to elicit smile by doing a variety of exaggerated facial expressions, like the guy in that one Godard movie (Breathless, I think). Her eyes grew wider, and then I remembered being a little kid, and how out of proportion and terrifying and exciting adults seemed. I even have some snapshot recollections from when I was very young. One in particular stands out- I'm in the front seat of a car, going somewhere with my new stepfather. I'm probably about three years old, and my stepfather is new to me. He comes in the driver's side, sits down, and turns. Up to this point I'm just extrapolating details, because all I remember is the memory picture that came next. He faced me, darkened by a perpetual five o'clock shadow and a pair of sunglasses, and obscured further by a downturned, woolen poorboy cap. A pipe sagged form his lips, unlit. He smiled, and for some reason, probably being alone with a new person who looked so intimidating, I cried in fear and wouldn't be placated. I think he eventually had to get my mother. The image has stuck with me forever, despite the fact that, typical bumps aside, we've mostly gotten on well.

The little girl just seemed curious, though, not terrified, so I let her be and turned my focus to certain people, encompassing maybe 30% of subway traffic, who express with tiny sighs, darting glances, and gritted teeth that life is one long series of small burdens. I shouldn't judge them, not knowing their circumstances, but juxtaposing an intent child with their kind is perhaps instructive. There are pitfalls we should avoid.


3) A Sign I Posted

Last week, some woolgathering soul left a scarf in the reception area. A more heedful sort, finding the accessory, brought it to my attention. Today, after no claims, I decided to be proactive and compose a sign. I placed it by the front door, in clear view of the floor's lone exit. For your perusal:

!!!!

IF YOU LOST A SCARF,
PLEASE SEE SHANE*


IT IS BLACK AND SPORTS FRILLS AT EITHER END



*ask about the scarf

4) A Song I Composed

I was improvising lyrics to the verses of "Father and Son," by Cat Stevens, and was particularly happy with the results. Please note this is not bragging. I improvise lyrics to various tunes continually- perhaps as much as 6 hours aggregate on a typical weekday. Rarely is the result worthy of second mention, and it usually devolves into arrhythmic vulgarity. I am an altogether poor freestylist, having grown up in the country where the practice is widely scorned. This time, though, the last verse made me laugh out loud. Again, for your perusal, and a disclaimer: if you don't know the tune, it will be even lamer.

Here I am,
four feet high
waiting for my confirmation
all these souls
down the aisle
Holy water

oh the nails
on His hands
just like needles they have threaded
through the dark
through the night
bringing floods across the land

If I had
such a thread
and a thimble I could sew, Lord
I could stitch,
I could weave
just like Bea Arthur

She was brave
she was cold
when she aged she built a castle
and that old
frowning gal
could sling a needle like a God

The best part is, it's true. Bea Aruther could out-sew pretty much anyone on the planet, and woe to the man who doubts it

The end of this blog entry was all about how funny I am. I apologize for the complete lack of subtlety. From here out, my self-aggrandizement won't be so overt. But remember- in the pursuit of imaginative capers, lonely souls in offices have only themselves. We enlist time and circumstance to evolve and distort a single personality, and so if I credit myself, I am in some sense crediting a different being altogether.

Now, like JD Salinger, I must drink my own urine for vitality.

My new Macbook is GARBAGE

I received the monstrosity yesterday morning from FedEx (I incorrectly identified the carrier yesterday as UPS - my error), and commenced to set it up in my apartment after work.

Before long, it became clear that the operating system, if I can even call it that, would not run downloaded .exe files. Instead, it insisted on the cognomen "application," a term so vague I could not begin to decipher its possible meanings. I soon discovered that it would be completely impossible to download AIM 4.3 (the indisputable kingpin of the instant message world) from oldversion.com. Instead, I was asked to settle for some nonsense called iChat, which apparently features videoconferencing to the exclusion of sensible layout. Two angry calls to Apple technicians yielded a surplus of ignorance, and I began to positively fume.

The packaged had not been disassembled for thirty minutes when I grew so frustrated that I vowed to dispose of the infernal machine. I had nearly commenced dousing the damned thing with olive oil (the viscosity of which would destroy it completely) when an idea alit in my infuriated brain. Why not use the opportunity for public edification?

So thinking, I borrowed my roommate's writing desk (my own armoire, used for similar purposes, contained a full wardrobe, and was, perforce, difficult to lug) and made for the street. I placed the macbook atop the escritoire, and proceeded to harangue Macintosh, Apple, and all subsidiaries of said company, in my harshest timbre. The volume, I should note, was not insignificant; at a certain renowned Renaissance fair, which I attended at the behest of a former girlfriend whose name I shall not mention, I was told by several knowledgeable antiquarians that my pipes would be more than well-suited for the occupation of medieval town crier.

This continued for perhaps fifteen to twenty minutes. Drawing on association, I began to critique thsoe patrons listening to iPods, and admittedly became too physical in one instance, which led to predictable threats and blustering on the part of the transgressed. A swarthy dose of rodomontade on my part sent her scurrying off, however, and further altercations were forestalled.

Missteps aside, I succeeded in accurately depicting the inefficacy of my new computer. I offered passerby the chance to witness firsthand its instant messaging shortcomings, but precious few showed interest. Such is the apathy of our generation, I'm told.

In any case, I determined to continue the whole night long, should the need arise, if it meant dealing a serious blow to the company's image. If I may be permitted a brief wordplay, I vowed that they would no longer reign as the Apple of the public eye. In order to prepare, I retired to my apartment for a quick snack of apricots and lemon juice, a combination sure to provide sustenance for an intense evening.

Yet upon my return to the sidewalk, both the Macbook and my roommate's writing desk had disappeared. Vigorous questioning of nearby pedestrians yielded no leads, and in short time I quit the search, stymied by hopelessness and a growing inclination to finish The Cossacks, one of Tolstoy's more incendiary novellas.

To the thief, who will undoubtedly be reading this blog with a gloating smirk, I say the following: save your grins until you've more closely examined the capabilities of your loot, for if you are any kind of discriminating instant messenger, severe disappointment is in store. Such are the pitfalls of your chosen profession, and I dare say all future felicities will belong to me.

Due to a certain bulky inheritance received from a great uncle with whom I developed a childhood bond (we would often sit in his den of a morning with two copies of the local paper, taking turns mocking the columnists), the loss does not greatly burden me from a fiscal standpoint. In fact, I've already ordered another Macbook. If one vandal thinks he can stop what may well turn into a powerful grassroots movement, he is sorely mistaken. The demonstration will resume on Friday, if Apple's shipping date is to be believed. Thus far I've been duly impressed with that aspect of the company's functioning.

As a final addendum to the narrative, it looks as though I'll be forced to replace my roommate's erstwhile furniture. At first I pled ignorance to the Case of the Missing Desk, but I'd earlier made the mistake of drawing up plans for my forthcoming protest, detailing in clear terms (and one sketch) the escritoire's role. When he discovered the blueprint, which I'd neglected to burn, I was caught red-handed, and am now forced to pay what I consider an astronomical rate for an item whose utility could be easily duplicated with milk crates and a sturdy piece of plywood.

Some notes

1. Bill Simmons, quit being a knave and post the "mammoth" (your words) March Madness blog post. It's 1:47pm, and, as far as I'm concerned, anything posted after 3 is in the twilight of the work day and has passed its use as a distraction. Further, I refuse to spend post-work hours perusing an espn sports blog. If nothing happens soon, I'll be forced to postpone my analysis until the 'morrow, and perhaps delay my e-mail feedback until Wednesday. These are the stakes, "Bill." The ball, as they say, is in your court.


2. I was treated to a most ambivalent experience at the grocery store's delicatessen yesterday afternoon. My order was tasteful and simple, comprising only turkey, ham, and swiss cheese. I even confined myself to one measurement and brand (a half pound of each, all Boar's Head). The gentleman behind the counter was a new face, at least as far as my visits have been concerned. Previously, I've been served by a gregarious man with a waterfront home who bragged about the possible selling value at every opportunity. Though I've always fancied myself curious as to the bucks and trends of the real estate market, the fascination of this particular tale wore off quickly, and the lingering residual was a marked torpidity in regards to the slicing of goods. Confronted with his visage, I often slumped into either depression or anger, depending on external factors. The other option, altogether preferable, was a man of laconic disposition and grim expression. He worked quickly and well, perhaps spurred on by a meanness of character which sought only solitude. To this I can relate.

The new fellow, sporting the center-part, bowl coiffure favored by the Hispanic 20-something set, displayed a timid aura, seemingly afraid of mistakes. I instantly despised him, and barked my repeated order in stacatto bursts, conveying, I hope, a sense of urgency. He first began to slice the turkey in abominably thick wedges, an error I chose to ignore in the interest of expedience. His first hopeful placement on the scale revealed a weight of .23 pounds, not even halfway to the desired measure, and his deserved shame registered in a blush. For my part, I snorted in derision.

Nevertheless, he proved to be a game employee, making up in persistence what he lacked in carnivoral flair. When it came time for the cheese, he managed a weight of .58, closer by far than his previous efforts. The lad's arms shot up in a gesture of triumph, and I couldn't help but be slightly affected at his timely resurgence. "Well done," I thought to myself, and applauded in a purely mental manner.

In order not to falsely boost his confidence, however, I immediately chastised him for exceeding the proper weight limit. Feigning anger, I forced him to discard the cheese and begin anew while I stared him down to the point of abashment. It is important that new workers, however favored by chance moments, understand that the road to mastery is long and painful. I think this lesson was well-learned.


3. My Macbook arrived at work this morning. I ordered the machine Thursday, and am happy with the turn-around shipping period. What I'm even happier about is the intelligence of the delivery. Apple products, you see, are manufactured (or at least assembled) in China. Ask any ignoramus, and he might tell you the fastest way to ship to New York is through Europe, or perhaps westerly via Hawaii.

That man is a fool.

Luckily, Apple understands that jets may save hours using the decreased latitudinal circumference at our planet's poles. By heading north, then, in an arced pattern, overall flight time is reduced, and products arrive as much as 24 hours in advance. You can imagine my delight when the UPS tracking website revealed that the midpoint between Shanghai and New York was Anchorage, Alaska. Brilliant.

Thus are tomorrow's dreams made today's pleasures.


4. If I seem to be in a rage today, it is because I spent most of Sunday afternoon excoriating my friend Roberta for her inane artistic taste. My scorn took the form of a letter, which I intended to hand-deliver when finished. Yet unable to focus on practical matters amid the maelstrom of my dismay, I mistakenly closed the Word file instead of printing, ignoring the program's exhortations to save the file. Four hours of work were lost, and the whole ordeal threw me into quite a mood.

Our disagreement began when she insisted that "Letters from Iwo Jima" was the year's best film. I recoiled, labelled it correctly as more hackneyed trash from Eastwood and Haggis, and set her straight with a suggestion of the year's hidden gems she might see. Despite my olive branch, she insisted on her position, and words began to be hurled hither and yon. It reached a fever pitch when she suggested Wes Anderson was a "modern snake-oil salesman, vending his potions of false melancholy in the manner of an unseemly filmic carpetbagger."

At this point I stormed about in silence before demanding an apology. She refused, demonstrating an unforgiveable lack of compunction. I demanded that she leave, and after the door shut, I immediately set to my letter.

I've settled somewhat, but Roberta, if you're reading, I still wish to convey my fury. I am on the verge of swearing you off both as friend and lover, and you would be wise to take steps with an eye to avoiding this eventuality.

Good day to all.

Trouble with girls :'(

Just kidding! I'm happy and not sweating anything. No trouble at all, Deborah, and frankly, you and Tommie are probably better off with each other. You know what they say: birds of a feather stink together.

That's not the phrase, is it? You get the point. You both stink, so you should pair up instead of infecting me.

Come to think of it, you really aren't like birds at all. I'm the one who's flying away to higher and better places. You guys are more like a pair of emus.

Yes, I understand that an emu is a bird, but it's a flightless bird, so you get the metaphor.

Okay, fine, I used the word "like," so the comparison was technically a simile.

And yes, Deborah, you were the one who initiated the break-up, so if anyone is flying away, I guess it's you. But what I'm saying is, your departure has unfettered me, like Prometheus, and as you scurry away, you'll find that, uh-oh, you can't fly after all, because you're an emu!

Yeah, Tommie, I know Prometheus wasn't a bird. It was the fetter thing, and- right, he was actually attacked by birds while tied, which admittedly clouds my message, but what I'm saying is, humans already have fire, I'm tied up, but because Deborah flew off, my liver is safe, soon I'm untied, and things start to get good.

Fine, I did say before that Deborah was a flightless bird, and Prometheus had his liver attacked by an eagle, not an emu. No, I'm not saying that Deborah is an eagle. If anything, I'm the eagle.

Tommie, you are absolutely not Prometheus. I'm Prometheus, and the eagle, Debbie is the emu, and maybe you're Zeus or something, but without the power, sort of like an emu Zeus, with the same anger and cruelty but none of the strength.

Thank you for bringing that up, Deborah, because yes, in fact I do attack my own liver. Since you left, I've been drinking quite a bit. So thank you, thank you for proving my point.

I love you. Come back to me. Deborah, I mean it, I'm nothing without you. Please, just-

Tommie, SERIOUSLY, just give us a second here.

Yeah, I know, I know, you're the new guy. You can back off now, don't...

I'm not calling you that. Deborah, say something, he's being very aggressive, can we-

Okay, okay...Prometheus. There. I called you Prometheus. Don't...just put your fists down, man, we can talk this out.

Deborah, aren't you...you like this, don't you? You're turned on by this.

Great. Excellent. Run off, emus. You know what they say. "Those who think together, flock together."

Bastard idiots.



I bought a Macbook Pro yesterday at an astoundingly high price. The total purchase was 3 times more than I've ever paid for a single item in my life. I'm not the sort of man who holds his tongue about the value of things, as money is a monster we all must confront, so I'll come right out and say that the total damage, after tax, fell just short of $2,400. It was very nerve-wracking to hit the purchase button, and I've been plagued by guilt ever since. A gentleman's mind goes on flights of paranoid fancy after such an expense, and I'm now convinced Apple will deliver the product in a rubber children's pool, swamped in fetid Chinese swamp water, with a note reminding me that I didn't purchase the required insurance for such an eventuality.

I used 'Chinese' in the preceding paragraph not because I associate that nation with unclean resources, but because the UPS tracking number revealed that the computer is shipping from Shanghai. I'm comforted that steadfast workers of indeterminate age or gender, molded by years of oppression, yet hurried by nascent, unchecked capitalism, constructed the machine on which I'll be perusing various websites reflecting the generational whimsy which will, in time, condemn my own countrymen to tertiary status.

A note on an earlier topic. I have met many, in my time, who choose to remain mum on the topic of their own personal finance. This is something I can respect, having been reared by men and women of reserved temperament, and it is fairly crass to raise such matters sans inspiration. Nobody likes the following fellow:

Fellow: I got an offer from Chase last week, and I basically told them to fuck themselves. I'm like, listen, I'm making six figures, and you want me to bust my ass for 80? For fucking 80??!

Yet there seem to be many who bring up fiscal pitfalls or successes, only to retreat, with the implication that the questioner is treading on rude ground, when pressed for specifics. For example:

Friend: Man, I finally found a place.
Me: Oh, congrats! Whereabouts?
Friend: I'm on the upper west side, just east of first ave.
Me: That's great.
Friend: Yeah, I got an amazing deal. It's normally a pretty expensive neighborhood.
Me: Nice, how much are you paying?

*Long silence while the theoretical friend takes on the expression you might expect from one whose mother has just been accused of harlotry*

Friend: Oh, uh...I like to keep that stuff pretty quiet, man.


My problem with this exchange is that if you didn't want to delve into the specifics of your rent, why mention it so obtrusively in the first place? Did you expect me not to ask? You're a bit like the conservative Jewish girl in college who, on instant messenger, used every opportunity to type the word "God" so she could show off her religious impetus to hyphenate the 'o.' "G-d."

Again, if it's your belief that writing the full name of God on paper or computer or wherever leads to the disastrous and irrevocable sin of eventually erasing or deleting His name, fine. I may have some logical or semantical qualms, but I impose my beliefs solely on family and close friends. But isn't it a wiser course of action to take steps to avoid using the word at all? Wouldn't a simple 'omg' suffice, or, less obnoxiously, a 'wow'?

G-d, I hate when people initiate situations for the sole purpose of highlighting curious philosophical limitations.


Now it is time to deliver the mail, a task for which I'm well compensated. Here at my office job, I make almost two hundred thousand dollars per year. Most of that goes to the dog track, which is why I still live in humble surroundings, but I'm also thinking of building a library with a unique theme. E-mail me with ideas, preferably centering around the movie "Crimson Tide."