So as the week wound down, we found ourselves each getting a tad run down due to a combination of less-than-necessary sleep, a change in the weather, lots of work, and the notion that Tuesday, the day Kaia is scheduled to leave, is rapidly approaching. So last night, instead of us doing what made sense -- home, a quiet dinner in and then early to bed -- we decided instead, of course, to go out.
The good news it was worth it. We'd been talking about visiting Les Halles for at least three months; the back story is, if I haven't already covered it, a chef who happens to host a show called "A Cook's Tour" on the Food Network by the name of Anthony Bourdain impressed the hell out of me. He's sort of a Lou Reed/Mark Knopfler meets Emeril Lagasse type, without all the loudness. Picture wit, New York-centric sarcasm, and the pretzel logic of Steely Dan, and voila -- there's Mr. Bourdain. The aforementioned "A Cook's Tour" is both a show, in which Mr. Bourdain visits a variety of places all over the world in search of the "ideal" meal, and a book which I enjoyed immensely. Bourdain is incredibly laid back, but intensely competent and passionate about what he does, and what he does, incidentally, is cook incredible, classic French food. Les Halles is a bistro-type restaurant, which means it's relaxed, casual and noisy, but the food -- which is prepared and/or overseen by Executive Chef Anthony Bourdain -- is incredible.
We decided to finally stop by after not making it during Kaia's last three visits. It's not that we were hesitant; it's just that we consistently visited Balthazar, another incredible bistro restaurant further downtown, and by the time we'd ingested escargot, duck confit, turbot and the ubiquituous french onion soup there, it seemed redundant to do the same at Les Halles within a week's time. So last night was a long time coming; while it wasn't incredible, it was pretty damn close.
The restaurant is known, apparently, for its beef -- those are two cows noisily kissing in the homepage graphic -- so while we started with onion soup for Kaia and escargot for me, she chose perfectly-prepared roast chicken, replete with frites and salad, and I opted for a rib-eye with frites salad as well. Nothing fancy, nothing tricky -- just a great dinner, albeit a bit too much thereof. The ribeye was awesome, but that chicken dish -- suffice to say I don't think I've ever had better chicken -- ever.
I apologize if it seems like I'm extolling the virtues of our food last night. The truth is the restaurant could stand a bit of polish -- it was loud, even though we had a window table which was noticeably quieter than those in the middle of the restaurant -- and it took about 40 minutes for us to be seated. But on the other hand, dinner was really wonderful. The only thing missing was Mr. Bourdain, who had flown out of New York that morning, presumably for a new Food Network assignment. Had he been in residence, I would have asked him to sign a copy of one of his books. But it's not about signatures, meeting a celebrity chef, being among the pretty people, or being in the "right" place, that made it worth a visit. It was just incredibly tasty eats.
Our plans for tonight, he wrote with an anticlimactic flourish, are going out with a small group of friends for sushi. A friend of ours, like Kaia, is visiting from Cali until Sunday or Monday and we wanted to get everyone together for a small, relaxed, laid-back sushi-fest. And after last night's calorie-heavy fare -- even omitting dessert -- it will be nice to have some sensible food and some low-key fun with good people. That's really what these weekends are all about where we get a bunch of friends together for food, drinks and laughs. Eventually, she and I will have a large kitchen and enough room to host a dozen people without thinking twice, and we'll wind up having people come by (or us to them). But in the meantime, knocking back some sushi and a few rounds of warm sake isn't a bad way to wind down a week, a night, or an out-of-town stay.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Brief Announcement
Pardon the interruption: this goes out to our anonymous friend JennyCraig, who so graciously visits us anonymously from her one-plus-one in the middle of nowhere. This is for her.
Dear Jenny M:To the regular (and non-irregular) readers of the HoB, thank you for your patience.
Get a life. Unwed, medicated, pathetic mothers, especially in the inane, mastubatory futility that is Rochester, should find hobbies that don't involve sharp objects, bottles of pills, alcohol or fawning over a child in lieu of a real life.
Move on, JennyCraig.
-The Management -
Dell To The Rescue
So it's taken me another three days to recover from the weekend. I'm facing major computer issues, work deadlines (that aren't directly mine but neither here nor there) and the fall-out from an exhausting (but exhilerating) weekend. So cut me some fargin' slack.
The past three days, work-wise, have been all about running around to each of the five boroughs -- Manhattan, Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens and Staten Island -- to file papers with each borough's respective division of the County Clerk. What that means, in plain english, is that we have to file papers on behalf of each property our clients own in the actual boroughs where each property is located. So let's say Client X has a building in the Bronx, another in Queens and two in Manhattan, that means we need to file the respective sets thereof in the Bronx, Queens and in Manhattan. And once everything is filed, served and stamped, copies need to go to the County Clerk in the Supreme Court at 60 Centre.
No biggie -- it's doable. It's crazy, hectic, pressure-packed and tense, but it's doable. So we work extra hours, work harder than normal, and expect to focus on few things other than the deadline -- but we get it done. No different from years past, except now we're streamlined and only making two or three trips to each borough. Last year at this time, my father was in the hospital and we had to do this on our own, so the notion that I'd complain about this or anything else is sort of absurd. It's amazing what almost losing someone I care about so much can do for my outlook, not only the future but vis-a-vis the past as well.
On top of that, I've been dealing with the fallout from the party -- most of it good. There were, all told, about 60 people there from our group, and everyone seemed to have a good time -- although the truth is, if I hit a party and it was god-awful, I'd omit that part of my review from my report back to the host. "Yeah, thanks for inviting me to your shitty party, Boogie, it really sucked and I'll have nightmares for a week." There's only one person that spent more than ten seconds telling me why it wasn't good, and to be honest, I didn't know he was invited, wouldn't have minded if he wasn't invited, and don't plan on seeing him until he approaches me during the next party we throw to complain more about that future party, whenever it is. He's actually not a bad guy, and that's his personality -- and frankly, if people complaining was going to affect me in any way, I would have stopped doing these kinds o' shindigs a long time ago.
So as they in the vernacular: Joke 'em if they can't take a fuck.
I alluded to my PC shitting the bed a week ago; so if you missed it -- my PC shit the bed a week ago. I replaced it with a brand-spanking-new Dell Dimension. I'd give out the specs, but I've not yet crossed over to the land of the Complete Geek. Suffice to say that it's got a 19" flat panel and it's quick. I actually investigated repairing the Dell that went south, but it would have cost me about $700 to do everything I would have had to do to make sure it was truly back in working order. The motherboard (or the power supply) was bad, so it kept eating hard drives like Mama Cass ate ham sammiches. And we all know she died choking on a ham sammich; well, my PC died choking on a Western Digital hard drive. Pooooop.
Anyway, the new machine arrived and it's in good working order. I also considered buying a refurb from Dell. I'm not exactly sure of the link, but if you jet on over to dell.com and look for their outlet, you'll find inventory that is not quite "new." It's not as chintzy as it sounds; most of their "refurb" machines result when a company orders 200 desktops and finds out (after opening all the boxes) that they actually only needed 175. So 25 go back. Most of their refurbs are never even powered on by the customer, and there's nothing necessarily wrong with them. So I wanted to consider getting one.
Except once I did some pricing, I would have saved about $300 by buying an older model with the same basic configuration, and for $300, it just didn't make much sense. Plus I would have had to go and buy Office, a new monitor (or keep the 10-year-old 19" monstrosity I had been using) and a bunch of other stuff. So I finally took the plunge and got the thing ordered.
The boxes are at my place, waiting for my inspection and enjoyment, so I am pleased. Except that knowledge is tempered with the knowledge that now, too, my iPod shit the bed as well. So I've got a fully-functioning PC in boxes and a dead iPod in my hand. The iPod is a leftover of my relationship with my ex, so I am looking forward to tossing it, but the problem is that the new iPod -- the Video iPod -- is not in stores until next week. That means I somehow have to handle taking subways, excavating and exploring the city and going to the gym sans tunes. I've got a small mp3 player that works, so I'll probably use it in the meantime, but not having the iPod handy is a real pain in the ass. The nice thing is that once they arrive in stores, a friend of mine is going to hook me up and give me some sort of discount thereon. But like Tom Petty says, the waiting is the hardest part.
Oh, and last, but certainly not least, I am loving having my other half in NYC. We're both working very hard, but every time I walk through the door and see her for the first time, the smile returns to my face. She's been here a week and it feels like she got in last night...and each morning we wake up together is a good morning. I didn't doubt it, but I still get jazzed thinking about how much I enjoy spending time with her, or even just having her there around me. It's really something, finding someone you want in your life forever. And when it's the right person, and there are no little voices telling you to rethink your decision, and there are no friends or family members tapping you on the shoulder questioning your choice, it's nice. But most importantly, it's nice when the two of us have time together without phones, tv, music, or anything else but eachother.
More news on all fronts...soon.
The past three days, work-wise, have been all about running around to each of the five boroughs -- Manhattan, Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens and Staten Island -- to file papers with each borough's respective division of the County Clerk. What that means, in plain english, is that we have to file papers on behalf of each property our clients own in the actual boroughs where each property is located. So let's say Client X has a building in the Bronx, another in Queens and two in Manhattan, that means we need to file the respective sets thereof in the Bronx, Queens and in Manhattan. And once everything is filed, served and stamped, copies need to go to the County Clerk in the Supreme Court at 60 Centre.
No biggie -- it's doable. It's crazy, hectic, pressure-packed and tense, but it's doable. So we work extra hours, work harder than normal, and expect to focus on few things other than the deadline -- but we get it done. No different from years past, except now we're streamlined and only making two or three trips to each borough. Last year at this time, my father was in the hospital and we had to do this on our own, so the notion that I'd complain about this or anything else is sort of absurd. It's amazing what almost losing someone I care about so much can do for my outlook, not only the future but vis-a-vis the past as well.
On top of that, I've been dealing with the fallout from the party -- most of it good. There were, all told, about 60 people there from our group, and everyone seemed to have a good time -- although the truth is, if I hit a party and it was god-awful, I'd omit that part of my review from my report back to the host. "Yeah, thanks for inviting me to your shitty party, Boogie, it really sucked and I'll have nightmares for a week." There's only one person that spent more than ten seconds telling me why it wasn't good, and to be honest, I didn't know he was invited, wouldn't have minded if he wasn't invited, and don't plan on seeing him until he approaches me during the next party we throw to complain more about that future party, whenever it is. He's actually not a bad guy, and that's his personality -- and frankly, if people complaining was going to affect me in any way, I would have stopped doing these kinds o' shindigs a long time ago.
So as they in the vernacular: Joke 'em if they can't take a fuck.
I alluded to my PC shitting the bed a week ago; so if you missed it -- my PC shit the bed a week ago. I replaced it with a brand-spanking-new Dell Dimension. I'd give out the specs, but I've not yet crossed over to the land of the Complete Geek. Suffice to say that it's got a 19" flat panel and it's quick. I actually investigated repairing the Dell that went south, but it would have cost me about $700 to do everything I would have had to do to make sure it was truly back in working order. The motherboard (or the power supply) was bad, so it kept eating hard drives like Mama Cass ate ham sammiches. And we all know she died choking on a ham sammich; well, my PC died choking on a Western Digital hard drive. Pooooop.
Anyway, the new machine arrived and it's in good working order. I also considered buying a refurb from Dell. I'm not exactly sure of the link, but if you jet on over to dell.com and look for their outlet, you'll find inventory that is not quite "new." It's not as chintzy as it sounds; most of their "refurb" machines result when a company orders 200 desktops and finds out (after opening all the boxes) that they actually only needed 175. So 25 go back. Most of their refurbs are never even powered on by the customer, and there's nothing necessarily wrong with them. So I wanted to consider getting one.
Except once I did some pricing, I would have saved about $300 by buying an older model with the same basic configuration, and for $300, it just didn't make much sense. Plus I would have had to go and buy Office, a new monitor (or keep the 10-year-old 19" monstrosity I had been using) and a bunch of other stuff. So I finally took the plunge and got the thing ordered.
The boxes are at my place, waiting for my inspection and enjoyment, so I am pleased. Except that knowledge is tempered with the knowledge that now, too, my iPod shit the bed as well. So I've got a fully-functioning PC in boxes and a dead iPod in my hand. The iPod is a leftover of my relationship with my ex, so I am looking forward to tossing it, but the problem is that the new iPod -- the Video iPod -- is not in stores until next week. That means I somehow have to handle taking subways, excavating and exploring the city and going to the gym sans tunes. I've got a small mp3 player that works, so I'll probably use it in the meantime, but not having the iPod handy is a real pain in the ass. The nice thing is that once they arrive in stores, a friend of mine is going to hook me up and give me some sort of discount thereon. But like Tom Petty says, the waiting is the hardest part.
Oh, and last, but certainly not least, I am loving having my other half in NYC. We're both working very hard, but every time I walk through the door and see her for the first time, the smile returns to my face. She's been here a week and it feels like she got in last night...and each morning we wake up together is a good morning. I didn't doubt it, but I still get jazzed thinking about how much I enjoy spending time with her, or even just having her there around me. It's really something, finding someone you want in your life forever. And when it's the right person, and there are no little voices telling you to rethink your decision, and there are no friends or family members tapping you on the shoulder questioning your choice, it's nice. But most importantly, it's nice when the two of us have time together without phones, tv, music, or anything else but eachother.
More news on all fronts...soon.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Knock 'Em Back and Keep 'Em Coming
Sometimes I wonder how many times I can do this before I really screw up.
This past Saturday night, a good friend and I hosted a party of a bunch of our friends we'd mutually found through an Internet chat room. And as I alluded in my last mention of the proposed party, it didn't shock me that there was opposition to how we did it, who we invited, who we didn't invite, and what we were doing.
And I'm glad.
I've found that if you please everyone -- not merely aim to please everyone, but actually make everyone happy -- then you're doing something wrong. If someone complains, then it means that you're doing something that is your own.
And it also reminds me why some of the whiners are in a chatroom in the first place.
In the meantime, we took a shitload of pictures and a good chunk of them can be found at the HoB Photosite (see the link at the top left); we held the soiree at a bar on the Upper East Side of Manhattan called The Saloon. The party was called for 9, but most people started walking through the door after 9:30. By 10:30, the room was jumping and loud, and by 11, the owners of the bar opened the doors to the public so by midnight, the place was full -- think fraternity party full -- and everyone had a blast. Sunday we had brunch with a couple of friends (an NYC resident and a non-NYC resident) and had a kick-back kinda day. I still feel hung over, but it was worth it. The best part is that all the whiners, complainers, finger-pointers and nay-sayers will move onto something else to whine about, complain about, point a finger at, and nay-say. Until our next one...
Take a peek if you are so inclined...if you're too lazy to actually mouse up to the top of the list of links, the pics are at The HoB Photosite...enjoy!
-B-
This past Saturday night, a good friend and I hosted a party of a bunch of our friends we'd mutually found through an Internet chat room. And as I alluded in my last mention of the proposed party, it didn't shock me that there was opposition to how we did it, who we invited, who we didn't invite, and what we were doing.
And I'm glad.
I've found that if you please everyone -- not merely aim to please everyone, but actually make everyone happy -- then you're doing something wrong. If someone complains, then it means that you're doing something that is your own.
And it also reminds me why some of the whiners are in a chatroom in the first place.
In the meantime, we took a shitload of pictures and a good chunk of them can be found at the HoB Photosite (see the link at the top left); we held the soiree at a bar on the Upper East Side of Manhattan called The Saloon. The party was called for 9, but most people started walking through the door after 9:30. By 10:30, the room was jumping and loud, and by 11, the owners of the bar opened the doors to the public so by midnight, the place was full -- think fraternity party full -- and everyone had a blast. Sunday we had brunch with a couple of friends (an NYC resident and a non-NYC resident) and had a kick-back kinda day. I still feel hung over, but it was worth it. The best part is that all the whiners, complainers, finger-pointers and nay-sayers will move onto something else to whine about, complain about, point a finger at, and nay-say. Until our next one...
Take a peek if you are so inclined...if you're too lazy to actually mouse up to the top of the list of links, the pics are at The HoB Photosite...enjoy!
-B-
Saturday, October 15, 2005
A Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On
For those of you expecting some latter-day ode to Jerry Lee Lewis in these pages, forget it...this isn't an indictment of inter-family under-age love, nor is it a dismissal of Mr. Lewis's rollicking, vivacious mastery of the piano; it's just that in these pages, right this minute, he's not quite very relevant. So if that's what you came here hoping to find, go back to Google or whence yez came.
In the meantime, in this thing I call my life, there's always lots to discuss and not very much time in which to do so. Not only did the Yankees flame out -- more or less as expected -- this past week, my PC also pretty much crapped out as well, so I've been relegated to prepping blog-stuff on my LifeDrive and a wireless keyboard. It works better than one might think, but it similarly is even more complicated to formulate an idea (let alone witty, memorable prose) with a keyboard that is designed to be folded up and pocketed for easy portability. So the ideas have been coming fast and furious, but the output has not. So if you, along with the aforementioned Jerry Lee Lewis fans, are here seeking something Pulitzer-worthy, click again.
Actually, the title of this post has more to do with the fact that Kaia got into town earrrrrly Thursday morning...originally she had planned on being here in the afternoon on Wednesday, but deadlines and incredibly awful weather across the country (but mostly located in the Northeast) pushed her flight back about twelve hours, leaving her with a red-eye, and me with an early-morning visitor. Even if it was only 6:30AM when we first saw one another, it was -- as per usual -- great. So neither rain nor sleepiness nor time zone could impede the fact that we are never happier than we are when we're with one another. And by the time she and I made it to my family's house in New Jersey, we were both experiencing that "this is right" sensation that dominates our time together. Soon we'll make arrangements to make it full-time; but in the meantime, it's where we're at.
Otherwise, the main topics du jour are our upcoming office deadline, which always seem to blot out everything else we're doing therein, the conclusion to the Jewish New Year and the requisite holidays, and the upcoming SinFest a friend and I are throwing on Manhattan's East Side tonight. First, once this weekend is in the books, I'll be back to getting our deadline handled ASAP, so this is a sort-of last rites. As for the holidays, Kaia came in and she and I napped away the early part of Thursday and then spent the late morning getting ready and hit a synagogue on the Upper West Side until about 3:30PM; by then, we came back to my place, got some stuff together, then got her checked into her hotel and unpacked and then, as the rain continued to pour down, we headed on out to Jersey. We got there a bit late -- I think it was after 8 by the time we finally rolled into my family's driveway -- but better late than never. So we enjoyed a variety of goodies for the breaking of the fast -- egg, tuna, chicken and whitefish salad, bagels and lox, veggies, marinated garlic mushrooms, a blintz kugel (take all of the good things life has to offer and cook it up in a casserole dish and -- voila), et al. So as much as we didn't eat the 24 hours prior, we made up for in the 90 minutes at break-fast. We got back into the rain-soaked City after 11, then made our way from my apartment back to the hotel, and by the time we finally landed in bed, we were ready to sleep for a month. However, since Friday's a work day, it didn't quite work out that way.
I got up early with my cellphone's blaringly annoying rendition of the Mission Impossible theme echoing across the living room into our bedroom, and she continued to catch up on sleep. So by the time I got cleaned up and out the door, she was still recovering the lost (red-eye) sleep. By noon EST, she woke up and got her work done from the room while I addressed a variety of work-related stuff. I took some of it with me (a spreadsheet I'd been working on, conveniently in the Excel folder on my LifeDrive) and did some other review and workstuff while in the office. Around three-thirty, I headed over to the bar where the party is being held and got them our not-quite-final guest list; there's always add-ons, and this party's certainly no different, so we're assuming we'll wind up with about 75 or so people. Considering the weather, which has soaked the City to its core since Monday, finally let up this morning, I'm expecting a fun bunch of people. And since we opted to keep the guest list limited, there won't be any bullshit or aggravation once the doors open and the alcohol begins to pour. A friend of mine, when I was advising her of the particulars of tonight's soiree, asked me if my co-host and I had gotten a lot of shit as a result of our keeping the guest list limited and private. I advised her we had. She laughed knowingly and told us that it was hard to put together a party of people and not invite everyone. And I told her that we had a theory in handling the people that were unhappy we'd chosen to employ a guest-list instead of just an open-door policy to the party. "Fuck 'em."
It worked for Joe Pesci in "Goodfellas," until, of course, he got shot in the back of his head so his mother couldn't have an open casket at the funeral. It's a Sicilian thing...
Anyway, so the hours are melting away and we've got a full day ahead -- as per usual, we'll likely hit Soho, do a wee bit o' shopping, mebbe get lunch at Bar 89 or another of our usual haunts, and then we'll go back to the hotel, get cleaned up, get dressed and hit the Casa De Boogie and then the bar. One way or the other it ought to be a lot of fun.
I'll try checking in later, or at least take some pretty good notes and photos. In either case, if I'm not back in 72 hours, call Missing Persons and see if I've turned up anywhere.
Thanks.
In the meantime, in this thing I call my life, there's always lots to discuss and not very much time in which to do so. Not only did the Yankees flame out -- more or less as expected -- this past week, my PC also pretty much crapped out as well, so I've been relegated to prepping blog-stuff on my LifeDrive and a wireless keyboard. It works better than one might think, but it similarly is even more complicated to formulate an idea (let alone witty, memorable prose) with a keyboard that is designed to be folded up and pocketed for easy portability. So the ideas have been coming fast and furious, but the output has not. So if you, along with the aforementioned Jerry Lee Lewis fans, are here seeking something Pulitzer-worthy, click again.
Actually, the title of this post has more to do with the fact that Kaia got into town earrrrrly Thursday morning...originally she had planned on being here in the afternoon on Wednesday, but deadlines and incredibly awful weather across the country (but mostly located in the Northeast) pushed her flight back about twelve hours, leaving her with a red-eye, and me with an early-morning visitor. Even if it was only 6:30AM when we first saw one another, it was -- as per usual -- great. So neither rain nor sleepiness nor time zone could impede the fact that we are never happier than we are when we're with one another. And by the time she and I made it to my family's house in New Jersey, we were both experiencing that "this is right" sensation that dominates our time together. Soon we'll make arrangements to make it full-time; but in the meantime, it's where we're at.
Otherwise, the main topics du jour are our upcoming office deadline, which always seem to blot out everything else we're doing therein, the conclusion to the Jewish New Year and the requisite holidays, and the upcoming SinFest a friend and I are throwing on Manhattan's East Side tonight. First, once this weekend is in the books, I'll be back to getting our deadline handled ASAP, so this is a sort-of last rites. As for the holidays, Kaia came in and she and I napped away the early part of Thursday and then spent the late morning getting ready and hit a synagogue on the Upper West Side until about 3:30PM; by then, we came back to my place, got some stuff together, then got her checked into her hotel and unpacked and then, as the rain continued to pour down, we headed on out to Jersey. We got there a bit late -- I think it was after 8 by the time we finally rolled into my family's driveway -- but better late than never. So we enjoyed a variety of goodies for the breaking of the fast -- egg, tuna, chicken and whitefish salad, bagels and lox, veggies, marinated garlic mushrooms, a blintz kugel (take all of the good things life has to offer and cook it up in a casserole dish and -- voila), et al. So as much as we didn't eat the 24 hours prior, we made up for in the 90 minutes at break-fast. We got back into the rain-soaked City after 11, then made our way from my apartment back to the hotel, and by the time we finally landed in bed, we were ready to sleep for a month. However, since Friday's a work day, it didn't quite work out that way.
I got up early with my cellphone's blaringly annoying rendition of the Mission Impossible theme echoing across the living room into our bedroom, and she continued to catch up on sleep. So by the time I got cleaned up and out the door, she was still recovering the lost (red-eye) sleep. By noon EST, she woke up and got her work done from the room while I addressed a variety of work-related stuff. I took some of it with me (a spreadsheet I'd been working on, conveniently in the Excel folder on my LifeDrive) and did some other review and workstuff while in the office. Around three-thirty, I headed over to the bar where the party is being held and got them our not-quite-final guest list; there's always add-ons, and this party's certainly no different, so we're assuming we'll wind up with about 75 or so people. Considering the weather, which has soaked the City to its core since Monday, finally let up this morning, I'm expecting a fun bunch of people. And since we opted to keep the guest list limited, there won't be any bullshit or aggravation once the doors open and the alcohol begins to pour. A friend of mine, when I was advising her of the particulars of tonight's soiree, asked me if my co-host and I had gotten a lot of shit as a result of our keeping the guest list limited and private. I advised her we had. She laughed knowingly and told us that it was hard to put together a party of people and not invite everyone. And I told her that we had a theory in handling the people that were unhappy we'd chosen to employ a guest-list instead of just an open-door policy to the party. "Fuck 'em."
It worked for Joe Pesci in "Goodfellas," until, of course, he got shot in the back of his head so his mother couldn't have an open casket at the funeral. It's a Sicilian thing...
Anyway, so the hours are melting away and we've got a full day ahead -- as per usual, we'll likely hit Soho, do a wee bit o' shopping, mebbe get lunch at Bar 89 or another of our usual haunts, and then we'll go back to the hotel, get cleaned up, get dressed and hit the Casa De Boogie and then the bar. One way or the other it ought to be a lot of fun.
I'll try checking in later, or at least take some pretty good notes and photos. In either case, if I'm not back in 72 hours, call Missing Persons and see if I've turned up anywhere.
Thanks.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Pinstripes: There Is A Difference
Less than 12 hours after a Yankees loss in Game 5 to the Anaheim/Los Angeles/Disney Angels, I can positively, unequivocally and without hesitation say one thing:
Shit.
The 2005 baseball season, at least for me, has been a long road. I love the game of baseball and I'm a die-hard Yankee fan. If there isn't anything more watchable on TV on a weekend I will watch a game not involving the Yankees, but I watch with a detached, peripheral-vision viewing. When people ask me who I'll root for to win the World Series this year, I'll tell them "the Yankees." Period. So the fact the Yankees were eliminated last night by the Angels (or, rather, by themselves) pretty much lets you in on how much baseball I'll be watching from today until Spring Training.
There was -- as there always seems to be -- many sub-plots and backstories in the 2005 Yankee season. First of all, while the Yankees have made it to the playoffs each year since Joe Torre's debut as Yankee manager in 1996, they haven't won a World Series since 2000. While reaching the playoffs is an achievement for most teams, it is taken for granted in the Bronx; for the Yankees, anything short of a World Series victory is a failure. Some people reading that last statement might infer the Yankees exude a measure of arrogance; what it is, in actuality, is confidence.
Secondly, the impending changes coming this off-season are going to be painted with large brush-strokes. The club's long-time center fielder, Bernie Williams, is at the end of a long free-agent contract and it is clear he is finished with the Yankees. He's not yet 40, but he's slowed down considerably as a result of injuries and mental exhaustion; he's won 4 World Series with the Yankees and has accomplished a lot on the field, so while he might be able to sign a small, incentive-laden contract with a young team looking for some cheap veteran leadership, Bernie is a gentleman and will likely end his career rather than hang onto fading hopes and a dwindling payday. He's just that kind of guy.
Another story is Randy Johnson. During the off-season, the Yankees gave up some prospects for a 42-year-old Randy Johnson, who has, for more than a decade, been one of the most dominating pitchers in baseball. Johnson, a lefty, has a sweeping slider that histocially has been near-impossible to hit. However, while there are occasions when history repeats itself, history did not repeat itself this year, and Johnson, the once-feared power-pitcher of the 90's, is not only not feared, but now hitters look forward to facing him.
Last night, the Angels scored two runs on a triple into right field by Adam Kennedy which, in the ordinary course, should have been caught. The reason why it was not and wound up a triple was because the Yankee right fielder -- Gary Sheffield -- and last night's Yankee center fielder, Bubba Crosby -- collided going for the ball. It was a fluke situation, but between the crowd noise (the game was played in California) and the exact landing spot of Kennedy's fly ball, the two outfielders collided and the ball dropped, allowing two runs to score. The final deficit after the last pitch was -- similarly -- two runs.
The game was not decided on one deep drive to right field. The game was decided by the Yankees by-the-numbers. Here are some staggering numbers to consider:
$203 Million: The amount of money paid to Yankee players this season;
$46.5 million: The amount paid to pitchers who weren't even on the postseason roster (Kevin Brown, Carl Pavano, Jaret Wright, Steve Karsay, Mike Stanton, Paul Quantrill, Felix Rodriguez);
$8 million: The amount paid to Hideki Matsui this season;
8: The number of runners Matsui left on base during the five-game series against Anaheim.
And finally:
$25 Million: Amount of money paid to Alex "MVP" Rodriguez.
0: The number of runs he knocked in during the five-game series against Anaheim.
0: The number of votes I would cast for Alex Rodriguez being the American League MVP.
The truth is the Yankees are lucky they made it as far as they did, and despite the fact they lost I think they played an impressive second half and I am disappointed they didn't go farther into the postseason. But I also understand that this team needs a lot of work, and I am hoping that King George fires Brian Cashman, the GM who, clearly, knows nothing about baseball; some new scouts to reinvigorate (more accurately, resurrect) the Yankee's minor-league system; some decent, non-accomplished, young, talented players; and some players who are hungry and not multi-millionaires.
Aside from A-Rod, most of these Yankees -- at least offensively -- didn't let me down. The aforementioned Hideki Matsui -- aka Godzilla -- has been a reliable, clutch hitter throughout his tenure in the Bronx, not just this season. Derek Jeter, whose name has notably been absent herein thus far, has always been and will always be a clutch, reliable, respected, beloved Yankee. Jeter, incidentally, is the epitome of class, performance, humility, ability and all that is right in the game of baseball.
Finally, at this point last year, my family and I were watching the Yankees' playoff hopes disappear against the Red Sox with the decidedly painful distraction of my father being in Lenox Hill's ICU. This year, I had no such distraction: perhaps the only glimmer of light at the end of this sad, prematurely-shortened tunnel, is that my other half is coming to NYC in 24 hours, so I know that, very soon, she'll be taking my mind off baseball -- and I mean that in a very, very good way :)
They say "Better luck next year" when a team is bounced from the playoffs. But as a rabid Yankee fan, I'm starting to get tired of that expression. I think I'll start using a new one: "We'd better be better next year, or else."
Or else what? We'll sic King George on you.
Shit.
The 2005 baseball season, at least for me, has been a long road. I love the game of baseball and I'm a die-hard Yankee fan. If there isn't anything more watchable on TV on a weekend I will watch a game not involving the Yankees, but I watch with a detached, peripheral-vision viewing. When people ask me who I'll root for to win the World Series this year, I'll tell them "the Yankees." Period. So the fact the Yankees were eliminated last night by the Angels (or, rather, by themselves) pretty much lets you in on how much baseball I'll be watching from today until Spring Training.
There was -- as there always seems to be -- many sub-plots and backstories in the 2005 Yankee season. First of all, while the Yankees have made it to the playoffs each year since Joe Torre's debut as Yankee manager in 1996, they haven't won a World Series since 2000. While reaching the playoffs is an achievement for most teams, it is taken for granted in the Bronx; for the Yankees, anything short of a World Series victory is a failure. Some people reading that last statement might infer the Yankees exude a measure of arrogance; what it is, in actuality, is confidence.
Secondly, the impending changes coming this off-season are going to be painted with large brush-strokes. The club's long-time center fielder, Bernie Williams, is at the end of a long free-agent contract and it is clear he is finished with the Yankees. He's not yet 40, but he's slowed down considerably as a result of injuries and mental exhaustion; he's won 4 World Series with the Yankees and has accomplished a lot on the field, so while he might be able to sign a small, incentive-laden contract with a young team looking for some cheap veteran leadership, Bernie is a gentleman and will likely end his career rather than hang onto fading hopes and a dwindling payday. He's just that kind of guy.
Another story is Randy Johnson. During the off-season, the Yankees gave up some prospects for a 42-year-old Randy Johnson, who has, for more than a decade, been one of the most dominating pitchers in baseball. Johnson, a lefty, has a sweeping slider that histocially has been near-impossible to hit. However, while there are occasions when history repeats itself, history did not repeat itself this year, and Johnson, the once-feared power-pitcher of the 90's, is not only not feared, but now hitters look forward to facing him.
Last night, the Angels scored two runs on a triple into right field by Adam Kennedy which, in the ordinary course, should have been caught. The reason why it was not and wound up a triple was because the Yankee right fielder -- Gary Sheffield -- and last night's Yankee center fielder, Bubba Crosby -- collided going for the ball. It was a fluke situation, but between the crowd noise (the game was played in California) and the exact landing spot of Kennedy's fly ball, the two outfielders collided and the ball dropped, allowing two runs to score. The final deficit after the last pitch was -- similarly -- two runs.
The game was not decided on one deep drive to right field. The game was decided by the Yankees by-the-numbers. Here are some staggering numbers to consider:
$203 Million: The amount of money paid to Yankee players this season;
$46.5 million: The amount paid to pitchers who weren't even on the postseason roster (Kevin Brown, Carl Pavano, Jaret Wright, Steve Karsay, Mike Stanton, Paul Quantrill, Felix Rodriguez);
$8 million: The amount paid to Hideki Matsui this season;
8: The number of runners Matsui left on base during the five-game series against Anaheim.
And finally:
$25 Million: Amount of money paid to Alex "MVP" Rodriguez.
0: The number of runs he knocked in during the five-game series against Anaheim.
0: The number of votes I would cast for Alex Rodriguez being the American League MVP.
---
The truth is the Yankees are lucky they made it as far as they did, and despite the fact they lost I think they played an impressive second half and I am disappointed they didn't go farther into the postseason. But I also understand that this team needs a lot of work, and I am hoping that King George fires Brian Cashman, the GM who, clearly, knows nothing about baseball; some new scouts to reinvigorate (more accurately, resurrect) the Yankee's minor-league system; some decent, non-accomplished, young, talented players; and some players who are hungry and not multi-millionaires.
Aside from A-Rod, most of these Yankees -- at least offensively -- didn't let me down. The aforementioned Hideki Matsui -- aka Godzilla -- has been a reliable, clutch hitter throughout his tenure in the Bronx, not just this season. Derek Jeter, whose name has notably been absent herein thus far, has always been and will always be a clutch, reliable, respected, beloved Yankee. Jeter, incidentally, is the epitome of class, performance, humility, ability and all that is right in the game of baseball.
Finally, at this point last year, my family and I were watching the Yankees' playoff hopes disappear against the Red Sox with the decidedly painful distraction of my father being in Lenox Hill's ICU. This year, I had no such distraction: perhaps the only glimmer of light at the end of this sad, prematurely-shortened tunnel, is that my other half is coming to NYC in 24 hours, so I know that, very soon, she'll be taking my mind off baseball -- and I mean that in a very, very good way :)
They say "Better luck next year" when a team is bounced from the playoffs. But as a rabid Yankee fan, I'm starting to get tired of that expression. I think I'll start using a new one: "We'd better be better next year, or else."
Or else what? We'll sic King George on you.
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