My 2 cents on James Brown

Much of the MSM has focused on the African-American community's mourning of "The Godfather of Soul" James Brown. But as I see it, the community that really cared most about James Brown was definitely the Summer Camp Highlights Video Montage Editor community.

Now, every time these Summer Camp Highlights Video Montage editors play "I Feel Good" on the soundtrack over shots of really fat and really scrawny kids playing in the pool and then a fat kid dancing, after having just had shots of athletic kids playing baseball with "Put Me In Coach" on the soundtrack, they will always shed a tear. Let's just hope John Fogerty holds on to dear life, for the Summer camp montage editors' sake.


p.s. This post came to me in a dream. AG and Tom were there, and they laughed, so I figure it's good, right?

More Gerald Ford content

"After he graduated in 1935 from the University of Michigan, he had offers to play professional football for either the Detroit Lions or the Green Bay Packers. Mr. Ford remained fascinated with sports, but he chose the law, a subject that had appealed to him since high school. He enrolled at Yale Law School." From Gerald Ford's obituary in the NYTimes

I haven't talked to Tom today but I imagine he read that paragraph and is now saying, "You go play football, Gerry. You go, enjoy it, it'll be great fun. Law school, schlaw school- this is the NBA- i mean NFL- we're talking about here!" despite the fact that Ford is now dead and in any case wouldn't have been competing with him to get into Yale Law.

p.s. check out the Ford SNL skit posted over at marquis

Apartment Mixer

I figured I moved into a new place, why not have a Mixer! Meet the neighbors, have a few drinks before the New Year. Well, my plans haven't turned out so well. Maybe I'll postpone it until 2007 when I can retool it. See the results of my eVite for yourselves.

The Hanukkah Song (Blog Remix)

Put on your yarmulke, here comes Hanukkah
Its so much fun-ukkah to celebrate Hanukkah,

When you feel like the only kid in town without a Christmas tree,
here’s a list of Bloggers who are Jewish, just like you and meeeeee:

Dan from Delino, lights the menorah,
So does his brother Rich, though he can’t read the Torah

Guess who eats pastrami at Gour-met Heaven,
Actual God, That Girl, and President Richard Levin

Lester’s half Jewish; Kingspawn’s a quarter too,
Put them together--what a fine lookin’ Jew!

We got Er-ic,
And his bro-ther Sa-noj,
And I think Mulatto Jesus,
But no one really knowwwws.

Nostradamus -- wouldn’t be killed in a pogrom.
But guess who would… Delino’s own To-m!
It’s true- he converted!

So many Jews are in the Blogging biz--
Actual Rod isn’t, he writes about Is----rael.

You can eat latkes with Beneficent All-ah,
Or eat a million dollars with Delino blogger Al – ahhhh!

So while Andrew Sullivan is curled up, next to his Christmas tree,
Gather ‘round the menorah with Finnegan and Jer-e-myyyy!

So smoke your join-ukkah, and snort your Rital-anukkah,
If you really, really wanna-kah, have a happy, happy, happy, happy
Hanukkahhhh!

Ice Breaker

So Tom invited me to an art exhibit opening at a sophisticated gallery in the Meatpacking District on Saturday. He neglected to tell me that everyone there would be dressed up in practically black tie attire, with fashion-forward style to boot. So there I was, wearing jeans and sneakers at this fancy party, surrounded by sophisticates from the art world. Fortunately, I thought of a clever way to shoehorn myself into a conversation:

Male Sophisticate: I love this piece, it's so provocative.

Female Sophisticate: I know, I mean it says a lot about women's role in society and the burdens we have to bear.

Male Sophisticate: And look at the colors. That blue is so deep.

Me: Hey guys, so who are you supporting in the 2008 Republican primary? I'm leaning toward Mitt Romney myself.

Seen in the Window at Macy's

When Tom and I walked past the window at Macy's this weekend, we noticed they'd tried a new theme for this year's Christmas season. That's right, they made an Inherit the Wind diorama! According to Tom, who saw the play with his parents while they were in New York for an AIPAC conference, the scene depicted in the diorama is this one- take a look for yourself:

Matthew Harrison Brady: We must not abandon faith! Faith is the most important thing!
Henry Drummond: Then why did God plague us with the capacity to think? Mr. Brady, why do you deny the one thing that sets us above the other animals? What other merit have we? The elephant is larger, the horse stronger and swifter, the butterfly more beautiful, the mosquito more prolific, even the sponge is more durable. Or does a sponge think?
Matthew Harrison Brady: I don't know. I'm a man, not a sponge!
Henry Drummond: Do you think a sponge thinks?
Matthew Harrison Brady: If the Lord wishes a sponge to think, it thinks!
Henry Drummond: Does a man have the same privilege as a sponge?
Matthew Harrison Brady: Of course!
Henry Drummond: [Gesturing towards the defendant, schoolteacher Bertram Cates] Then this man wishes to have the same privilege of a sponge, he wishes to think!

New Haven Coliseum Implosion Pending

From that paragon of journalistic excellence, the New Haven Register. Here is how the Register describes experience of the Staniewiczes, who won the lottery to push the plunger to implode the Coliseum:


The lucky winners, as chance would have it, are siblings Ben and Tori Staniewicz, 9 and 7, respectively, of Guilford. Their father, Jim Staniewicz, 48, of West Haven, drew the winning ticket from among 453 who participated, but decided his kids would get a bigger kick out of doing the deed.


"You never think you’re going to win," Staniewicz said. "I’m that proverbial guy."

Staniewicz, an engineer with the New Haven Parking Authority, fondly recalls the many Nighthawks hockey games and rock concerts at the Coliseum. The most memorable was Bruce Springsteen, Staniewicz said, though Jethro Tull and the Beach Boys weren’t too shabby either.

"We all had good memories there, and it’s sad to say goodbye to ... a building that brought so much fun and enjoyment to so many people," he said. "Now in its final hour, it’s going to be one final performance and we’ve looking forward to being part of that big bang."

Ben went to a Ringling Bros. circus at the Coliseum years ago, but doesn’t remember it. Nonetheless, he’s looking forward to blowing the arena into history books next year.

"It’s gonna be cool," Ben said.

The OTHER War

Can we please stop it this holiday season with the "War on Christmas" bullshit from O'Reilly and his acolytes. In most stores I enter I'm bombarded by "White Christmas" or "Noel, Noel" or some other tripe.

I'd like to talk to my dear blog readers about a real, pressing problem. And that is the WAR ON UDAY HUSSEIN'S HALF-BIRTHDAY, or the WOUHHB. As we all know, Uday Saddam Hussein al-Tikriti was brought into this world on the glorious day of June 18, 1964. And that is why traditionally, we celebrate Uday Hussein's Half-Birthday on December 18 of every year.

For many years, the beginning of the "Uday Hussein's Half-Birthday Season" had been getting pushed back farther and farther into November. Some, myself included, even said the holiday was becoming too crassly commercial- I mean this is about celebrating six months after the birth of the Little Baby Lamb of Iraq, not video iPods. But with Uday's untimely death in 2003, the holiday took on a new significance, and was really making headway in returning to its roots.
Yet in the last year or so, we've seen a disturbing backlash against Uday's half birthday-- the WOUHHB as I call it.

Folks, ya see the time was, a decent, God-fearing American family could walk into a department store and be treated to the sounds of "Uday's Half-Birthday Wonderland," "Have Yourself A Merry Little Uday's Half-Birthday," or even "Here Come Saddam and Qusay."
Families would compete to see whose lawn could feature a better diorama of Uday murdering his father's food taster and personal valet Kemal Hana Gegeo by bludgeoning him to near-death with a cane and then cutting him up with an electric carving knife. The family would crowd around the television to watch the Peanuts Uday Hussein's Half-Birthday Special where Charlie Brown, in honor of Uday, would tell his football teammates that if they didn't win he would cut off their legs and throw them to ravenous dogs.

But now the Secular-Progressives are trying to ruin our glorious holiday traditions with their WOUHHB! I walked into KMart the other day and someone said "Happy Holidays" to me. I mean I really don't know if I can live in a country where someone with traditional values like mine has to feel uncomfortable celebrating this wonderful holiday openly. But there's a way out. We can fight back against the S-Ps. And with that in mind, I happily wish you and yours a MERRY UDAY HUSSEIN'S HALF-BIRTHDAY and to all a good night!

If I Did It, Here's How It Happened

As many of you know, O.J. Simpson is giving an interview to FOX entitled "If I Did It, Here's How It Happened." Keep in mind, dear readers, that this is NOT a confession. O.J. is simply describing a hypothetical scenario in which he theoretically killed his wife.

Inspired by O.J.'s example, I am giving my own interview next month, also entitled "If I Did It, Here's How It Happened." In this interview, I describe a hypothetical scenario in which I theoretically left a large orange stain on page 167 of Tom's copy of Robert Bork's The Tempting of America. Here is an excerpt of the transcript from the interview:

Off-Camera Interviewer: So, Dan. Give me a play-by-play of what happened-- theoretically.

Dan: OK, so here is so how it WOULD HAVE gone down. I WOULD HAVE gone to Gourmet Heaven and bought a Turkey/Avocado/Russian Dressing sandwich with extra Russian Dressing. Then I WOULD HAVE walked back to Tom's dorm room in Pierson. I WOULD HAVE opened the door to an empty common room, since Tom WOULD HAVE been on the computer in his room. I WOULD HAVE looked through Tom's bookshelf and found Robert Bork's The Tempting of America. I WOULD HAVE sat down with the book in a reclining chair. I WOULD HAVE let out a fart that was just quiet enough so Tom couldn't hear it. Tom WOULD HAVE ignored me even if he had heard my sounds because, god, he WOULD HAVE been too wrapped up in some fucking blog or e-mail from Eric or whatever bullshit.
I WOULD HAVE started eating the GHeav sandwich while thumbing through Bork's poignant personal account of his confirmation hearings. A gob of that extra Russian Dressing WOULD HAVE squirted all over my hands. It WOULD HAVE been really gross. I WOULD HAVE looked around for a tissue or napkin, but not found any. So then, I wiped my fingers all over page 167 of Tom's copy of The Tempting of America. Wait-- no! -- I mean I WOULD HAVE wiped my fingers all over page 167 of The Tempting of America... This interview is over!

Let us Mourn and Pray

Friends, as many of you may know, we lost someone very near and dear to our hearts two nights ago. He fought a valiant effort toward the end and almost pulled through, but ultimately he did not make it. It is always difficult to lose someone close to you. Especially someone with such a warm heart, a compassionate soul who did so much to help so many people. But we here at Delino are doing our best to try to cope with the grief and sadness over the demise of The Republican Majority in Congress, or TRMiC, as he always liked to be called.

For those of you in the New York and Miami areas, Dan's and Tom's conservative parents will be sitting shiva in those two cities. In lieu of flowers, please send money to Exxon-Mobil. It is a sad day, but Kacha HaChayim, such is life. If you would like to organize your own shiva, we encourage you to do so- TRMiC would have wanted it that way. For your use, here is the traditional Jewish prayer to be recited at sundown the day after the Republicans lose the Majority in Congress.

BeRiched Finale!

You have no idea what I had to go through to get this footage. But here, finally, is the end of the 4-part saga of BeRiched. Please make sure to watch part 1, part 2, and part 3 first. Then sit back and treat yourself to the gripping conclusion.



Thank you to Tom for putting this together (and Sarah for guest-starring). Also, I could not have done this without the support of Jen (take a bow, sugar beet) and Dan. It was a collaboration of the highest order.

Scoop! Actual Rod in Row Over Troop Comment

In remarks to a group of supporters in Illinois yesterday, Actual Rod said, "You know, education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don't, well, you end up a reactionary neo-con nutjob lunatic orientalist fascist moron piece of shit with no sense of history who knows nothing about the Middle East except that he wants to steal all of their oil and give it to greedy corporations who control the U.S. government."

Almost immediately, President Bush responded with a biting critique of what he characterized as Actual Rod's criticism of American soldiers, calling Rod's comments "insulting and shameful, and an offense to all of our brave men and women who serve this country in its fight against The Enemy."

Hoping to quiet down the furor, Actual Rod went on MSNBC's Imus in the Morning to clarify his comments, saying, "When I said that stuff about reactionary neo-con fascists, I was talking about President Bush. AND the American troops... AND every white American. Peace, I'm off to Azerbajian, suckas."

In Honor of Halloween

This blog will, for the rest of October, be officially referred to as
Not A-BOOOOOOOOO-t Delino Deshields

For good measure, here's a Halloween joke:

Q. Which building does Dracula visit in New York? A. The Vampire State Building.

and a fun pic!

















Happy Halloween, from this lowly BOOOOOlogger and President BOOOOOOOsh!

And with that, Ladies and Gentlemen, I bid you good Friiiiiiiight!

Woodward lands a major Kerry interview

In the Washington Post today, Bob Woodward interviews Sen. John Kerry about his foreign policy prescriptions. For those of you in a hurry, here is the nut graf:

Bob Woodward: So, Senator Kerry. Imagine it's September 12, 2001. You're President of the United States. What do you do from there on out?

Sen. John Kerry (D-MA): CA CA Tora Bora CA CA Al Qaeda CA CA Wahhhh! Doody

A quick scene from my day

[The early minutes of a pizza party at a large Midtown law firm. Only Dan and a Prominent Lawyer are in the room. A Television blares "The Situation Room with Wolf Blitzer"]

Primary Colors

As I'm sure most of you know, Ned Lamont defeated Joe Lieberman in the August 8 primary and will thus be running for U.S. Senator from Connecticut on the Democratic ticket. What you don't know is the inside story of how this political nobody came to defeat a 3-term incumbent. So here goes...

It all started last December, when Ned Lamont, fed up with Joe Lieberman's support for President Bush and the Iraq War, decided to run for the Democratic Senate seat... Blah, blah, blah, blah.

The point is, this all culminated in me arriving at the New Haven train station on the morning of August 8, where Actual Rod (yes, THE Actual Rod) picked me up in his 4-door sedan and we began our Get Out The Vote (GOTV) effort for Ned Lamont's campaign.

Rod took me to a polling place where we met an Indian-American kid named Paras, who was also working for Lamont. I think Paras is Sanskrit for Munz, because this kid was absolutely Munz-esque in his obsession with the minutae of the Democratic Party. Tired of shooting the shit about whether "Steny Hoyer will be demoted to Deputy Whip if the Dems don't take the House this year?", I indicated to Rod that we should get moving on Getting Out the Vote.

Rod agreed, but before we could go, he told me we had to co-ordinate with the other people working on Lamont's GOTV in the area. "Who are the other people?" I asked. "Oh, yeah. They're, they're some local teenagers, I think they said they were like 16. They're sitting under that tree over there," replied Rod hesitantly. I looked over and I saw two boys and a girl, none of whom could have been over the age of 12. One of the boys was wearing soccer cleats. The other had a "Vote Ned Lamont" sticker on his butt. The girl was punching the soccer cleat boy in the arm while the butt sticker boy pulled the girl's hair. Rod, perhaps drawing on the blood of former Iranian Prime Minister Mosaddeq that courses through his veins, valiantly organized that rag-tag group and made them responsible for canvassing half of the neighborhood, while he and I were responsible for the other half. Here is a picture of Rod giving directions to our junior colleagues... if you look quickly, you might think you're seeing "Washington Crossing the Delaware"




















After Rod and I parted ways with our "crack staff" for the time being, we agreed that the girl looked like she was a foreign policy wonk, while the soccer cleat kid likely had more of an interest in taxes. But we had little time for such idle chatter, as there was serious work to be done.

Rod and I had a list of Democratic voters who had indicated interest in Lamont, so we walked around a quiet, picket fence neighborhood near East Rock knocking on people's doors and giving our spiel. This is literally how it went down:

(knock on the door)
(Elderly Woman opens the door)
Dan: Hello Irene, how ya doin' today?

(Elderly woman is befuddled)
Rod: Have ya voted in today's Democratic primary?

Elderly Woman: Not yet, but I'm voting for Lamont.

Dan: Well that's just super. You have yourself a great day there, Irene.
(Exeunt)

Here's a picture of Rod patrolling the nabe:





















Soon enough, we finished all the houses on our list and reunited with our "crack staff." It was around Noon at this point, and Rod and I were getting the materials ready for the second round of houses. But unbeknownst to us, the soccer cleat boy had already called Mom to pick the "crack staff" up. So Mom rolled up in a Dodge Caravan. This led to the following interaction:

Soccer Cleat Boy (can't look Rod in the eyes): Umm, so, uh, my mom's here to pick us up for lunch.

Rod: OK, so what time are you gonna meet back up with us to do more houses?

Soccer Cleat Boy (still looking down): Well, ya know, I've got soccer practice later, and, uh, Tim has a piano lesson, so uh, we were thinking...

Rod: I mean, you make a commitment to something like this and you should stick to it--

Dan: -- Rod, I think the kids have some OJ to drink, and some Oreos to eat.

Rod: Hey, you know what, you're right. (to soccer cleat boy) Ya gotta do whatcha gotta do.

Soccer Cleat Boy (finally looking up at Rod): But, but we might come back in the late afternoon.

Rod (pensively): Who knows, maybe you will. Mayyybeee.

(soccer cleat Boy, the girl, and Butt sticker boy get in the minivan with Mom)
(Mom waves to me and Rod. We wave back)

After grabbing some food, Rod and I knocked on a few more doors. My route was uneventful. But Rod had a lengthy conversation with an elderly black woman about kids throwing garbage on her lawn, a practice which he agreed was an outrage.

Shortly thereafter, Rod and I raced to Lamont HQ in downtown New Haven. When we arrived in the office, I saw a guy I knew from the Trumbull poker table and talked to him for a bit, and he introduced me to a dirty rodent-looking guy named Chris, who I totally ignored. The Lamont people told us what polling place to go to, and we left. Rod then told me that "Chris" was actually Chris Bowers, of the popular liberal blog mydd.com, and I had committed a major faux pas. Rod agreed, however, that given Chris's rodent-like appearance, it was an understandable mistake.

At the polling place, we took over the duty of handing out Lamont brochures from a frail woman who must have been in her 70s. She had only 5 brochures or so in her hand, so we figured that the 100 brochures HQ gave us would go like hotcakes. But after an hour passed and we still had 90 brochures left, we realized what had probably happened. The old lady had said to a voter, "Hello, have you heard about Ned Lamont?" and when the voter expressed some interest, the old lady put 95 brochures in his hands and then farted.

By 4:00, Rod needed to get to his LSAT class and I needed to get home for the nightly Berger family viewing of Lou Dobbs Tonight. Fortunately, our replacement came to take over for us just as we were preparing to leave. The guy who took over for us was, I kid you not, a clone of Kip from Napoleon Dynamite in every way- from his fashion to his mannerisms to his lisping voice. The guy looked like an overgrown 12 year old with his ill-fitting shorts, a Lamont t-shirt with a couple Lamont stickers on it, and Lamont hat with every Lamont button ever made on it. The buttons were actually a point of contention:

Kip Clone: Hey guysss, ssso HQ sssent me to take over for you.

Dan: Cool, well good luck, it's been a little slow
(Dan is about to walk away)

Rod (to Kip Clone): Dude, uh, I've gotta tell you, "The Kiss" button- not cool.

Kip Clone: "The Kisss"?

Rod (pointing to Kip Clone's hat): The button with the picture of Bush kissing Lieberman on it. The campaign thinks it'll, ya know, scare away moderate voters.

Kip Clone (reluctantly taking the button off his hat): Ohh, okay. Yeah. I guesss that makesss senssse.

Rod: Sorry man. Not my decision. That's just the way the campaign went. Peace.
(Rod does not move)
------
Below is a pretty bad picture of Kip Clone that I managed to take by pretending to be making a phone call.

Addendum

Eric's new favorite show (see below) is being produced by Buzznation, the reality TV company run by none other than 2006 WSOP Main Event champion Jamie Gold. In other Gold-related news, I now believe it to be very likely that I actually played poker with Gold at the Borgata last summer. I remember him as an obnoxious guy who looked like an unkempt Stephen Colbert. Dan can back me up on this. I just found it of interest.

new iPod Nanos

They're here! I hope I get one from my parents for Ramadan!

Delino Remembers The Day Everything Changed...

When I read in the news yesterday that President Bush was going to have breakfast at a fire station that was roughly on my way to work this morning I decided that I just HAD to go see The Decider in person.

So I hopped on the train, got off at the closest stop, and walked toward the fire station. Now you need to know, this was really a working-class neighborhood; the blocks surrounding the fire station are full of housing projects, elderly homes, and car body shops. As I got closer, I realized that the entire neighborhood surrounding the fire station was barricaded off, trapping myself and maybe a thousand other people in a small area for about an hour. While Bush was in the fire station, no one was allowed to cross any streets in the neighborhood.

Literally (this is completely true, not a Delino embellishment), as The Decider was having his staged photo-op to show how much he "cares about the common men" who do the dirty work to help the country, I saw underprivileged children who tried to get to school but couldn't because of the blocked streets and instead said "screw this, I'm not going to school today." I saw poor immigrants who couldn't get to their minimum-wage jobs in Chinatown so they got yelled at on the phone by their bosses. I saw two employees for Meals on Wheels, the charity that donates unused food to the homeless, who gave up on today's breakfast for the homeless because they couldn't get there in time. And I saw a home-health aid trying to get to her chronically ill patient who lives off welfare and requires 24-hour supervision, but she couldn't get to her for an hour. THE KICKER, of course, which just made the whole thing for me, was when George and Laura's motorcade finally passed by and they waved and smiled at the crowd, none of whom were cheering, some of whom were booing.

As a post-script, I'd like to describe a few of the people I was standing with as I waited for POTUS to drive by. First of all, there was a group of four women from California who all had video cameras and said to each other "Even if he drives the other way and we don't get to see him, boy we still have a story to tell'em back home. I mean, Jesus H. Christ, we were a block away from the President of the United States!" "A block away from the man!" "He's right there!" "I wonder what he's eating?" "I bet it's bacon, I hear he loves bacon!"
But my favorite gawker was a shlubby-looking man who said to me, "Gosh, can you believe it's been five years already." I awkwardly nodded and slowly walked away. A few minutes later, I saw him go up to another unsuspecting chap and say again, "Gosh, can you believe it's been five years already?" Five minutes after that, he, having forgotten our earlier exchange, again said, "Gosh, can you believe it's been five years already?"

GOD BLESS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!

Forget the UN...

...Rich has a really innovative program which will surely end the armed conflict that is raging in Darfur. It's called "Blog T-shirts for guns." It's pretty simple- the young guerillas give up their guns, and in return they get a "Read'em and weep" t-shirt. Here's a picture of a child on the way to a "blog t-shirts for guns" kiosk outside Nyala. Look, his buddy has already made his shirt into a cool cutoff tee.

Quote of the day

75-year-old Mr. Jakobsen, a real estate agent who is selling Tom on a property:

"Security? Forget about it. We've got a 24-hour doorman. Locks on the interior and exterior doors in the lobby. And there's a keypad... situation going on there too."

Hitting Close to Home

Read what our boy Ariel had to say about the Blacksburg shooting suspect.

Minor but Major Change

The front of the t-shirt now reads "Read 'em and weep..." This makes a lot more sense. A major thank you goes out to a very special friend of mine...

Your Dreams Can Come True!

Instead of going through the hassle of a trip to Kinko's or trying to gather the full information about who wants what shirt in what size, I set up a store on CafePress. I give to you: The Delino and Marquis Shop. I am going to order the Ringer T in Blue/White. I think it looks great. Let me know what you all think. Notice the three different styles for the ladies. Also, I will soon add options for Delino and Marquis mugs and golf shirts.

Looks like Delino has some stiff competition

What will he blog about? I predict his early period will include features like "Separated at Birth", "Science Corner", and "Squash Rankings," before he settles in and finds his own style. This is one to keep an eye out for... http://www.ahmadinejad.ir/

And I owe it all to you 'cause I've had, the bus ride of my life...

I rode the coach bus home from Washington, DC the other weekend. Now we all know that although coach buses have the great benefit of having little TV screens every few rows, they almost invariably end up playing some drivel like Disney's The Kid or Last Action Hero. When I looked over at the bus driver and noticed his schlubbiness, my expectations were hardly raised.

Then, to my delighted surprise, the movie came on and it was...... THE FISHER KING. I'd been meaning to see it for a long time, and it was as great as I expected it would be. So Bus Driver, if you're reading this, as Al the Ethicist would say, "Great fucking call!"

Munz Blog 2: Electric Bugaloo

This is big... bigger than an El Guapo Grande at the double B. It's a story as old as time itself- the blogosphere giveth, the blogosphere taketh away, and then the blogosphere GIVETH BACK! That's right, Munz is back and better than ever with his new blog, "Spirit of Liberty." Although Lester swears to me the real name of the blog is "Spirit of Liberty... and food."

http://www.danielmunz.com/blog/

New Delino T-Shirts

Ok, this time I'm serious. I will order these for everyone. Remember what we discussed. They should cost each person about $15 or so. E-mail me or leave a comment if you want one. Tell me your size. Once I determine who wants one I will e-mail out a color scheme, etc...A ringer tee might be cool, right?

The Princeton Club

Before heading over to the Princeton Club to play squash last night with Dan (because the Yale Club courts are being renovated), I asked my father what he knew of that reputable institution.

"Richard, my boy, I only visited the Princeton Club once about 20 years ago."
"So why haven't you been back?"
"I'm still recovering from my first visit!"

So when I discovered that the Princeton Club's steam room only fit TWO people, I should not have been surprised. And there wasn't even a sauna for us to relax in afterwards! Furthermore, playing squash is a sweaty business, so I was hoping for someone to take my clothes from me when I left the court. Not only did this not happen, but the locker room did not even provide a plastic bag for me to dump them into so my mother could wash them later.

Finally, on the way out, Dan and I tried to walk up to the second floor and find a library so that we could practice a scene from Waiting for Godot (adapted for our purposes to be Waiting for Some Readers: The Story of One Blog and its 100 page Views a Day). All we saw were two empty rooms with chairs piled high upon each other. That is what I call "Amateur Hour."

Housing in NYC

Now that a bunch of my friends from the class of '06 are moving to New York, they're all telling me about their tough housing issues- "who will I live with?" "That guy is so messy but I'm neat" "How can I find something in Manhattan for under $1000?" Now I feel for them as much as the next guy, but I can't help but feel a little hurt that they don't ask me about all of my housing issues.

I mean this Dad guy has way more money than anyone else, so he always wants to order in from fancy restaurants, but sometimes I just want to make an inexpensive salad at home. And this Mom girl - it's kind of weird to have a girl in the apartment with three guys. I'm a nice guy, so I have been putting the toilet seat down and haven't been watching pornos in the living room, but how long can I keep that stuff up? Plus, she really gives me and Rich shit when we drink - what's the deal with that? I was sold by Rich on this whole living arrangement assuming it was gonna be like a frat house. "Old School meets Failure to Launch... Wait, those two movies also meet The Goonies," were Rich's exact words.

And Rich- that's a whole other can of worms. I mean we were good buddies in college, so I figured it would be a good idea to live with him, but this NFL thing has really gone to his head. I get in from a hard day at work, my brain is fried from all the complex equations and shit I’m doing as a paralegal, and what do I hear from Rich? “Guess who I met today, Dan? Former Raiders Quarterback Todd Marinovich. We chatted at lunch.” Great. What happened to the Rich I knew in college? The Rich who wouldn’t leave a Sigma Chi party until he’d ruined the beer pong table with all of his vomit and an international student had kicked him out by screaming the Arabic word for ‘sheep-fucker.’ My point is we’ve all got problems.

Return of the Blog-i

Sorry for the hiatus, I was working on a case that was at trial, as an expert Paralegal. I'm considered one of the best in New York, which is one of the toughest markets in the country- nay, the world. I specialize in complex civil litigation. Sadly, as some of you may know, we lost the case.

I blame myself. If I'd only made that extra binder of exhibits, or maybe if I'd used a few more post-it notes, or even called a limo for the client instead of a black car, we would have won. But I'm going to get over it, the only way I know how... with some therapeutic blogging. More substantive posts forthcoming tonight

What celebrity do you look like?

I hope that this link will work for all of you, because you have to see who I look like. You will never guess my number 1 match. Ever. Try yourself right here.

April 14, 1865 all over again

The Berger re-enactment. Rich plays Booth to Dan's Lincoln:

The Perils of Living at Home

There may be a number of tremendous benefits of living at home (thanks for getting the stains out Mom!), but there is also a dark side that Dan and I found out about on Sunday night. Here is our story (told mostly in the second person for no apparent reason):

Imagine you come home one night to your nice adoring bed, the one that has served you so well for the past 15 years or so (ok, I've had my bed for too long). You climb in there, desperate for a good night's sleep so you can start the week off right on Monday morning. But when you slide underneath your comforter, you immediately notice that something is wrong. The familiar smoothness underneath your body has been replaced a harder and uneven surface. What happened?!

Your mother has ripped the heart and soul out of your bed. She has taken away your egg crate. You complain.

"Mom, how could you do this without even asking me?"
"Honey, it was old, I figured you might not notice or care."
"You called me on a beautiful Saturday afternoon to tell me about someone who ran under a tree and subsequently got hit by lightning. You couldn't call me to discuss something of actual relevance to me?"

And so it was that you slept one restless night, tossing and turning until you woke up in a sweat and considered switching to the couch. Then you thought better of it and simply got out of bed early.

Epilogue:

Work was a bother, but upon arriving home you received the most welcome present of all: a new egg crate! Living with your parents can be a joy again after all.

Let's go Alex!

Follow the action here as Alex competes in his second final table of the 2006 WSOP. This time, he's the big chip leader!

A new twist on an old favorite

Courtesy of a friend of Delino, these are some Zagat reviews that are still waiting to be published (it is especially instructive to compare some of the reviews here to my own reviews in the Marquis restaurant guide):

Sushi Seki
1143 1st Ave
New York 1002

Food: 27
Decor: 18
Service: 25

This uptown sushi haven serves important sea creatures who are sincerely grateful to be devoured. Regulars describe the scallop hand roll as "so normal," and even some of the most conservative gourmandes have farted comfortably and giggled after enjoying Seki's signature toro. Romantics swear that the king crab rolls guarantee a night of slippery love-making, but adventurers beware: skeptics warn that if you end up with jalapeno "bullshit" on your omakase plate, the diarrhea session will be "so severe," you'll feel as if you did the "anal waltz" with "Tyrone Wheatley."

La Houppa
26 E. 64th St. (bet. 5th & Madison Aves.)
Tel: (212) 317-1999

Food: 15
Service: 19
Decor: 17

You cannot be sure if the Maitre D' is "into you" or "wants your family tortured" at this upper east side niche, where you'll find a combination of Italian and Mediterranean cuisine that makes you "ponder your childhood." Though the waitstaff is "lean" and "handsome," and the calamari "goes crunch where it's supposed to," regulars warn that many dishes "go down smooth, but slip out smoother." The outdoor patio can be "life-affirming" in the evening if you order "seven bouteilles" and the temperature is "healthy," but order a twenty dollar pizza out there on a cold afternoon and you will "regret your birth" and spend the rest of the day "masturbating and crying hysterically." The gnocchi is "bold" but the fish specials are "gaunt," though one reviewer confessed that the sesame crusted cod "significantly improved the flavor and texture of [his] semen."

P.J.Clarke's
915 Third Avenue @ 55th Street
212.317.1616

Food: 23
Service: 14
Decor: 14

Not even a "pumpernickel" from "Greenbrier Backcountry" would front when it comes to this midtown speakeasy's grilled hamburgers, which are "so juicy and stupid" it's almost impossible to breathe. When asked how he was enjoying them, one reviewer mumbled "fuck you" as he bit into his eighth. Sure you'll pass "suits" at the bar, "blowing smoke" out of their "rear ends" and "swallowing Budweiser," but sneak to a back table for a "wholesome sehkkle" and you won't care if your acne is affecting your shadow. If you order the half and half you'll need to "change your underpants a few times," but regulars confirm it's "only a small scene." Whether you decide to "shleep shleep" the french fries or "oh no" the home ones, beware the lump crab cake which is actually "lump BM." The soft shell crab special, however, can prove an "appreciated detour" from the "obvious meat," but if you order it the waitress will "know you're gay." As for dessert, you "might as well" order two more cheeseburgers, though if sliding a slice of PJ's chocolate cake "deep" into your tush is wrong, you may not want to be right.

Session 73
1359 1st Ave
Phone: 212-517-4445

Service: 12
Decor: 17
Appeal: 25

"My niggas don't creep they just rip a washleep and, put some Jack away" at this uptown "kiddie korner" where camp friends, old high school cronies, and ex-girlfriends "flow like the alcohol and your last swiss." There will be no reason to sweat the artistic merits of what leaks out of your tush after a night out at "Sheshins," as it will likely "boast colors that Jackson Pollock
overlooked." Enthusiasts protest: "So what? It's comfortable and everyone has a little in them so it's easy to walk away blameless from a beer blast." Even though the scene is reminiscent of "an eighth grade dance party without the adult supervision," one regular comments, "It's both the best and worst play you can make in any given evening." Ultimately, the drinks and the crowd "smooth out your skin," and "bulk up your shoulders," and though it is impossible to know which is louder, the live band or your last shot of Jameson, if you glide towards the sofas with "a stiff drink in one hand and a stiff bitch in the other," you'll "forget you're almost 30."

Yes Tom, I know that we have discussed this idea before, but someone else actually wrote these up.

Maybe...

...the upcoming movie Snakes on a Plane is simply a marketing experiment. As far as I can tell, the studio decided to bring in a big-name star and then come up with the most absurd possible plot and see if the public would eat it up. Well, the buzz for the movie is incredible so far (at least in terms of being talked about, especially on the internet), so it looks like New Line might be onto something. My favorite part of the Wikipedia entry for the movie is the fact that after wrapping principal photography, scenes were re-shot to ensure an R rating.

If the movie is as successful as it appears like it will be, look for other movies like it to come out very soon thereafter (in fact they are probably already in production...maybe Sharks on a muthafuckin' Boat?). I am still not sure, however, if I will be seeing the movie.

Reader Appreciation Day

Today, June 30, is Reader Appreciation Day. We don't have that many readers left at Delino, but thankfully, the readers we do have are loyal. Dan and I recently had the chance to hang out with Sarah and Elizabeth, two of the most dedicated Delino (and Marquis) fans on the planet (I would be remiss to not point out that Laura is equally dedicated, but not in New York right now...also, thank you to the Actual Rod, Jenevieve, Susanna, and Nostradamus for supporting us). In our discussions we came up with the idea of a t-shirt for our readers. This new t-shirt would be a great complement to our limited edition Blog It t-shirts that are currently beloved by all.

The t-shirt:

On the front: Read it and Weep
On the back: Tears of Joy (delinodeshields, marquisgrissom.blogspot.com listed underneath...might be too many letters, we'll work on this)

What do you, our readers, think of this idea? Thanks for everything.

Oh, Lame Saint!

I walked into the elevator this morning and an elderly woman who lives on the floor above me was already inside. As usual, the silence quickly devolved into small talk.

Elderly Woman: So, you're on break from school?

Me: Nope. I graduated last year. I'm going to work, actually.

(silence)

Elderly Woman: Where are you working?

Me: A law firm in midtown.

(silence)
[My Inner Monologue: How are we only on the fourth floor?]

Me: Where are you off to today?

Elderly Woman: Doctor's appointment.
----
At this point, we reached the lobby and I figured I could just do the ol' sprint-ahead move. But they had just wiped the floors, so I couldn't walk quickly. And so, the small talk had to continue as we meandered down the long corridor to the front door:

Elderly Woman: So how do you like your job?

Me: It's OK. Sometimes I get pretty involved in the cases, which is nice.

(silence)
(silence)
[I am starting to sweat as I worry that I won't be able to get rid of this woman in a nice way]
(silence)

Elderly Woman: Are you thinking of going to law school?

Me: We'll see. I want to keep my options open, but it's certainly a possibility.

(silence)
-------
FINALLY, we reached the front door. I figured we'd be going in different directions and that'll be that. But it turned out we were walking in the SAME DIRECTION! This was getting pretty bad now. But, true gentleman that I am, I kept the conversation going:

Me: Actually, I just read an op-ed by a law professor in the Journal who said if you aren't totally serious about law school, then it's probably not--

Elderly Woman: --OK, you have a nice day there.

And with all the energy in her feeble body, the elderly woman walked past me and turned the corner. She pulled the ol' sprint-ahead on me. How fucking lame am I?

I guess I had always assumed that uncomfortable elevator small talk was for the old ladies' benefit. Now I realize it is for no one's benefit. Lesson learned. The hard way.

Ahead of his time

I'm talking about Eric of course. Now that ESPN.com has splashed a story about chessboxing all over its front page, it is going to get all the credit for "discovering" this fine test of brains and brawn. In reality, we here at Delino know better. Our very own Eric told us of this sport months ago. ESPN.com should be giving credit where credit is due!

An Appropriate Picture in the NYTimes

Sorry for the lack of content recently, I assure you this blog is alive and there have been behind-the-scenes things going on, and content is on the way very soon. For now, check out this pic from the New York Times with their caption- notice anything about what is going on in the picture? (Besides the fact that the wife is clearly thinking "YAYO?! Aww you insane!"):












"With his wife at his side, Bridgeport Mayor John M. Fabrizi held a news conference to announce that he abused cocaine while in office."

To my well-wishers

(Does anyone read this anymore? Did anyone ever?)

Some of you may know that I won some money in a poker tournament back in April. Well, the final table of that tournament is being televised for the first time tonight, at 9 PM EST and again at midnight EST on the Travel Channel.

If you miss it and are interested in viewing it, check here in the next few days.

Finally

Something practical for Alex to spend his money on.

True Love

Apologies

With United 93 coming out and all, I'd like to apologize for not posting to commemorate the anniversary of the day everything changed a couple months back.

Also, I'm sorry dear readers, but Rico is no longer a Delino Team Member. Using his newfound internet skills, he has decided to move back to Mexico City and look online for what the chicanos call amor (note: that is a real link. Also, I am 1.6 meters tall and weigh 63kg)

Superstar [no content]

So, for anyone interested (read: Nate Meyvis), I'm supposed to be on "Geraldo At Large," which apparently is Geraldo's show on Fox, tomorrow.

You can use this site to find out when it airs where you are.

The Early Line

Our very own Alex "Yahtzem" Jacob is at 2000-1 to win the WSOP Main Event. So is Stevesbets, also known as Steve Jacobs. Oddly enough the site screwed up and called wrote Alex Jacobs and Steven Jacob. Should we all bet on Al?

He'll always be Al to us

He may have fame and (more) fortune now, but Alex "Yahtzem" Jacob remains a humble and devoted blogger. Or so he said in his interview with Blogs and the Blogging Bloggers who Blog Them magazine for the May 2006 issue. One other excerpt was made available to the public:

Blog magazine: "So what are you going to do with all that money? Buy a car? Buy a night with someone else's wife? Set up a Delino DeShields blog scholarship fund?"
Al: "Actually, I plan on paying Hasbro an undisclosed sum in order to ensure that they make a new Shout About game available for my enjoyment every day for the rest of my life."

The Immigration Question Hits Home

There's been a lot of talk lately about how we need Mexican illegal immigrants in this country because they take the many jobs that Americans simply won't do. These are the lowest, dirtiest, worst-paid, most dangerous jobs in the market, and, according to some, only Mexican immigrants will do them. Well we here at Delino thought that seemed like a pretty ridiculous idea, and dismissed it as a liberal fantasy.

So, when we posted this job on Craigslist, we expected to be flooded with e-mails from American citizens. But day after day went by, and no one was responding. Finally, after nearly a month, an illegal immigrant named Rico offered his services and Rich hammered out a deal with him under the table. Therefore, we are delighted to announce the new, revamped CHESS BABE OF THE MONTH, BY RICO. His first post should be any day now...

NSA Spying Scandal Exclusive

When President Bush's warrantless NSA spying program was revealed in December, it caused a lot of objections and anger from liberals and civil libertarians. They claimed it was not only illegal but UNNECESSARY. As to the former, i'll leave that to the Perry Masons of the blogosphere. But our sources have given Delino an exclusive scoop into the inner workings of the system before the NSA spying program, and after you read it, you will definitely not deem the program unnecessary.

Here is a transcript that shows how the NSA used to obtain possible terrorists' cell phone numbers, pre-spying program, in a typical case:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Alberto Gonzales sits at a bar in a Muslim part of Washington, DC. He has come here a couple times in the last few weeks and has been chatting up the men sitting next to him for a little while tonight. He is drinking an Amstel Light.]

Gonzales [addressing Ahmed, seated to his right]: Man, I had a great time tonight. Let's meet up again this weekend, maybe some soccer, a movie, whatever. (taking out his cell phone) I'll give you a ring, we'll set it up. So what're your digits?

Ahmed: Actually, I'm kind of in a hurry.

Gonzales: Oh that's cool. How 'bout I give you my number, and then you call me and I store your shit. Save some time. I'm 202-365-9054.

Ahmed: Uhh... yeah. I really gotta go. Maybe I'll catch you around here again though.

Gonzales: Seriously, it'll only take a second.

Ahmed: Sorry, I'm just out the door.
[Ahmed exits bar]
[Gonzales turns to Mohammed, on his left]
Gonzales: Hey, Muhammed, my man. So, funny story. I'm on a business trip and I'm taking a bath at the hotel. My wife calls the cell and starts yapping to me about how the kids need to be driven to Little League, or soccer practice, I dunno, some bullshit. So I say, "Oh really honey, that's very important, continue," putting the phone on the side of the tub so I can just relax while she's yammering. But all of a sudden I get a call from my buddy John, the phone vibrates, and BAM! It's in the water. Phone's fucked, SIM card's fucked. Now I need to recompile all the contacts. So what's Ahmed's number again?

Muhammed: I'm not sure.

Gonzales: Really? You guys seemed like friends, so I just figured you'd know it. Hey what about your number, I mean I'd love to hang out this weekend. How's your Saturday looking?

Muhammed: Oh, you know what, I just remembered I've got a thing. Sorry I couldn't help you out. Later.
[Muhammed exits bar]
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


p.s. check out Tom's debut post at The Delino Factor for Kids

A Cautionary Tale

For all us bloggers out there who think we have an infinite amount of time to produce all the brilliant posts that we have been dreaming up. Look what happened to this man.

A Joke?

I will not change a single detail because this actually came to me in a dream:

Two parents are sitting in the living room of their apartment. Their baby boy (a 1-year-old) is sitting at the family computer. The baby starts crying.

Dad (taking baby in arms): Aw, there, there, what's wrong honey?
(Dad looks at computer screen, starts bawling)
Mom: What's wrong guys, did the Pope die (again)? Did Britney and Kevin split up? Is Brangelina's baby ugly?
Baby (choking back tears): No, I just saw that Rich moved Salam to "Might Never Update Again." Why, Mommy, why?

Learn how to keep a girl locked up AND make her poop in a can...

Professor Thomas Hose, pictured here sporting a mustache, will teach YOU how to tie a knot!















Professor Hose had Tanya Kach tied up for the last DECADE!
The knots went on when she was a tender and squirmy 14 year old!
They came off just this year! A record 10 year Hose knot!

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/24/national/24missing.html

Culture Commentary

Blogs are the new cell phones. Everyone you know has one and they ring way too often in class. Discuss.

The Commish

I've been offered the job of NFL commissioner. I'm mulling over whether or not to accept it. It might be too much gladhanding and politicking for me. I sort of prefer anonymous spreadsheets and hitting Alt-Tab a lot on my computer. What do you guys think?

Update

First of all, there is a post imminent on Delino, probably tonight.
Secondly, so as to prevent mass hysteria and make myself immune from any lawsuits resulting from the heart attacks people will have when they hear this, I want to alert you to the fact that Tom and I are starting another blog to discuss some serious political/economic matters- not something reacting to daily MSM bullshit, but more about longer-term stories/trends. It's called Daily Kos. No seriously, it's called THE DELINO FACTOR FOR KIDS.

From the EBay Feedback Archives

Dan's dark side:

WON'T PAY OR EVEN RESPOND TO MY MULTIPLE E-MAILS. THANKS FOR NOTHING.

Seller kookykitsch ( 1221)

Addendum:

Dan ended up receiving the item from "kookykitsch" despite this harsh rebuke. The item in question? A 10+-year-old can of Crystal Clear Pepsi.

The Pepsi Verdict? It was real and it was spectacular!

Where's Andrae?!

I wish you wouldn't embarrass me like that when I'm out with my colleagues.

Text Message Love

And now for something completely different—

Below are text messages I have actually received from a gentleman I sometimes deign to spend somewhat intimate time with. Fair warning: the content of the messages will make you gag. Before you judge me, know that said companion has a very toned, tall, dare I say exquisite physique. Still, I put the question to you Delino readers—
With texts like these, can I ever see this guy again?

"For i was reared in the great city, pent mid cloisters dim, and saw naught lovely but the sky and stars. Coleridge..."
"I'm walking in phoebus apollo's rays, listening to mozart. How wondrous it is to be alive."
"Pardon the sentiment, but you are truly a bright light" (Well, that was actually really nice, I feel kind of bad putting it up here, whatevs though)
"Oh, gems who marvel at the ore..."

I didn't really get that last one either. Shit is crazy. What's a girl to do?

A Trip to the Doctor, Part II

Well, my mother finally took me to the grown-up doctor the other day. The waiting room was decidedly un-fun, so I won't bore you with the details there.

Soon enough, I was ushered into an examining room, where Doctor M. was waiting. Doctor M. asked me where I went to high school and college, and immediately after I was finished telling him, he piped in with, "I went to Fieldston and PENN." I guess some notion popped into Doctor M.'s mind that he would forge a bond with me over our common ground of Ivy League education, because he kept making references to it during the physical examination. "Your shoulder looks alright- you know I dislocated my shoulder playing baseball at PENN." "I might refer you to a gastroenterologist- I know him from PENN." And finally, when I couldn't read a prescription he wrote, "Oh that’s just my PENN handwriting."

At that point, we were almost done with the examination, but Doctor M. still had to ask me a few questions about my lifestyle. He ticked off the diet and sexual questions, and finally he got to the alcohol and drug questions:

Doctor M.: OK, Dan, I'm gonna ask you a few questions about alcohol and drugs. Now remember, I won't tell your parents, I won't even keep a record of it, I just need to know this stuff to help me diagnose you. So how often do you drink alcohol?

Me: Once a week.

Doctor M.: Come on, a young guy like you, that doesn't sound right.

Me: Yeah, four times a week is more like it. Don't tell my mom though, really she has a thing about drunk drivers.

Doctor M.: Dan, I told you this is confidential- strictly between you and me. OK now moving on to drugs. Have you ever smoked marijuana?

Me (sheepish grin)

Doctor M.: Can I assume from your sheepish grin that the answer is yes? Don't worry about it, Dan, even I tried a few doobies back at PENN. Again, I have to emphasize that I will not tell your parents any of this information. It’s just so I can figure out what’s wrong with you.

Me: I'm sorry, you're right. I'll just answer truthfully from now on.

Doctor M.: Good. Now have you ever tried mushrooms?

Me: No.

Doctor M.: LSD?

Me: No.

Doctor M.: PCP?

Me: No.

Doctor M.: Methamphetamine?

Me: No.

Doctor M.: Cocaine?

Me: Uh, yes.

Doctor M.: HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS! You did YAYO? I bet it was amazing! It was amazing, wasn't it?

Me: I don't know, I guess. I only did it a couple times.

Doctor M.: MAN, I heard it makes you feel like you're fucking king of the world!

Me: I mean, yeah it makes you feel good.

Doctor M.: Come on, gimme the lowdown. What if I've got a girl at my place who is DOWN TO FUCK. We do a couple lines, can I still, you know, get it on?

Me: I haven't really tried that. What, what does this have to do with my stomach pains?

Doctor M.: Dan, I need to know everything in order to diagnose you properly. Geez, my wife would kill me if she knew I were talking to you about this- (nagging jewish wife voice) "YAY-o, aww you insane? You're a doctah!" (normal voice) But I mean, godDAMNit, we're talking about fucking king of the world here, right?

Me: Could you just tell me what's wrong with me?

Doctor M.: Yeah, I’ll drink some shots first, then do the stuff, get some symbiotic shit going on up there. What’s a good number of lines to do at one time? TEN! No, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But seriously, four is solid, right?

Me (leaving the room): I’ll see you later. I’m going back to Doctor Mom. There’s really no ailment she can’t cure with orange juice and Back to the Future on VHS.

Doctor M. (yelling back at me): Come back, Dan. A few more questions and I would have had a diagnosis!

Delino makes overtures to the RADICAL LEFT

Quote of the day: (after being interrupted by appluase) "What was I saying?... something about Bush, war crimes, Iraq. I don't remember, whatever." -Cindy Sheehan

Baby murderer sentenced to 30 years in prison… for stealing pizza.

Former child star Lionel Tate, who at the tender age of 12 committed his first murder, struck a plea bargain today. The sentence: 30 years in prison. The crime: armed robbery of 4 large pepperoni pizzas.

On a steamy Wednesday evening in May 2004, a hungry and Play Station weary Mr. Tate ordered 4 pizzas from Papa John’s. Mr. Tate was prepared, but not to pay the $22.87 due. Rather than greet the deliveryman at the door, Mr. Tate sprung out from behind bushes armed with a handgun. The delivery driver dropped the pizzas and ran, but Mr. Tate chased after him hoping to score some extra garlic butter.

Lionel Tate pictured here wearing a Hamburglar costume.

Prosecutors had plenty of evidence tying Mr. Tate to the robbery, including his fingerprints on three of the four pizza boxes. Ellis Rubin, Mr. Tate's lawyer, called the evidence against his client "overwhelming" and said he was satisfied with the plea deal in between nibbles of Pizza Huts new Cheesy Bites™.

“You are in a deep dish of trouble” said Judge Lazarus of the Broward County Circuit Court, comparing today’s ruling with the thin crust sentence of ‘time-out’ and probation Mr. Tate had been serving for murdering a baby in 1999.

Outside the court house delivery drivers rejoiced. “It’s a real victory,” said Ronny Baldo after the hearing. “I just didn’t feel safe delivering pizza with Terrible Tate on the streets.” Mr. Tate's mother, Kathleen Grossett-Tate, blotted oily tears from her face with some paper napkins and said she felt relieved with the plea. "It's very emotional," she said. "I'm very hopeful Dominos will now deliver."

Now you tell me

Accepted Into Yale? - collegeprowler.com - Don't Waste $150,000 Yale Students Share Their Advice

can't make this up

wheel of fortune. the category is "phrase". the board reads:

SAIL O_ _ INTO THE SUNSET

woman: T?
man: M?
man #2: D?

Trip to the Doctor's Office, Part 1

I recently found myself having a slight pain in my abdomen, so I told my mother I wanted to go to the doctor. Naturally, she took me to the pediatrician, as I did not yet have a grown-up doctor (more on this later- honestly, grown-up doctors are scary) . By the way, don't judge me- I know for a fact that the AG still takes Flintstones Chewable Vitamins, and I hear grape is his favorite.

I arrived a bit early with my mother at the pediatrician's office, but not to worry because I got to spend some time in the pediatrician's waiting room. After flipping through copies of Ranger Rick from the early '90s and surreptitiously stealing the cardboard trading cards from the middle of SI for Kids, I built a fort out of cardboard red bricks. But after a few blissful minutes in the fort, I was told to go to the bathroom. I urinated into a cup and then wrote my name on it with a red wax pencil.

I was then ushered into the patient room, where i stripped to my boxers. My mother-fully clothed, of course- was there too. When Dr. Gallagher entered the room, she immediately got to the examination:

Dr. Gallagher: So tell me what's wrong, Danny.

Me: I've got this slight pain in my abdomen, I think it may be intestinal.

Dr. Gallagher (looking at clipboard): Uh, huh. Well, I just took a gander at your pee-pee and it looked pretty clean. Could you bend down a little, Danny?
(Dr. Gallagher runs her hands through my hair)
Dr. Gallagher: And your scalp is 100 percent lice-free.

Me: No, the problem is in my abdomen

Dr. Gallagher: Open your mouth wide.
(Dr. Gallagher sticks a swab down my throat and then looks at it)
Dr. Gallagher: Well, you don't have strep throat either.

Me: No really, it's in my abdomen, like my stomach area.

Dr. Gallagher: Looks like you're healthy as a horse. Here's a Power Rangers Band-Aid and some Robitussin for good measure.

My Mom: Robitussin, Robitussin?! You're trying to turn my son into a drunk driver, you MONSTER! That's it, Daniel, we're going to a grown-up doctor.
TO BE CONTINUED...

Question of the Day

Do Iraqi insurgents put "Support Our Troops" stickers on their cars?




p.s. long post imminent...

A Tasty, but Stressful Lunch

I had a grilled chicken sandwich, chips and guacamole, and a pasta salad with tomato and fresh mozzarella. Sounds good, right?

The stressful part was not the eating, but rather the choosing of portion sizes. I never know how much to get of these things. Most of the time I feel as if I could eat an infinite amount of guacamole and an infinite amount of fresh mozzarella. Does this mean that I should just grab as much as I can of these things and run (Note: They are super cheap in the NFL cafeteria)? The problem is that I don't want to be wasteful...I want to finish all that I take. Also, what is the right chips to guacamole ratio? Can someone help me out here?

TAXPAYER MONEY

computer, etc.

Big News!

It looks like all our hard work out here in the Siberian tundra that is the blogosphere has finally paid off. The New Yorker, that paragon of mainstream taste, noticed all of the attention that Jason Congdon was getting from Delino, Marquis and Immortalized, and decided to write a lengthy profile of this great man for their March 6 issue. As a token of thanks for putting Congdon on their radar screen, The New Yorker has provided us with a sneak preview of the article. Enjoy!

CITIZEN CONG

“Give a man a burrito and you feed him for a day; give a man an El Guapo Grande Burrito and you feed him for two days, maybe three depending on whether there’s guac.”

-Jason Congdon

It is taken as a given among modern writers, from Arthur Miller to Eugene O’Neill, that the American Dream is dead. Edward Albee even wrote a play entitled The American Dream, the sheer absurdity of which mocked the very notion of the American Dream. Yet ironically it is here in New Haven, Connecticut, where Albee’s hopeless play premiered some thirty-five years ago, that we are witnessing the Dream’s renaissance.

On an unseasonably warm Tuesday in November, I saunter into the Bulldog Burrito restaurant. At first glance, I don’t see what all the hype is about. It doesn’t seem different from any of the dozens of Mexican joints I frequent in New York - the limited menu, the bland Mexican music, the array of salsas. But then I take a closer look, and I see the television set turned to an offbeat channel called CNN Headline News. I see the handwritten message on the black board challenging customers to take the El Guapo Grande Burrito Challenge. I see the exposed post-modern kitchen, deconstructing the processes by which each culinary masterpiece is created. As these unique personal touches accumulate in my mind, it dawns on me that the Bulldog boosters are right-- this is not your ordinary Mexican joint. But before I can investigate any further, I am graced with the presence of the visionary who made this entire enterprise possible.

At 33, Jason Congdon is not handsome in the conventional sense, but he has the boyish good looks of a Breakfast at Tiffany’s-era Mickey Rooney. He looks like the kind of upstanding young man your mother would want you to marry. And indeed, Congdon is gracious to a fault when interacting with customers or with friends outside of the restaurant. But when it comes to directing his employees, Congdon conducts himself with the cocksure, almost imperious, mien of a seasoned general. Donning his chosen uniform of a Bulldog Burrito polo and jean shorts, Congdon, like Grant at Vicksburg or Washington at Yorktown, commands his small army of Mexican culinary warriors as they ably take on a throng of hungry college students. The sheer efficiency of the operation leads one to think that the restaurant has been around for decades.

Yet while it is hard to imagine now, this bustling café at the corner of Park Street and Elm Street was a vacant lot a scant two and a half years ago. It was then that former Yale football players Peter Mazza and Than Merrill, along with local restauranteur Charles Hague, opened the doors of Mexicali Grille. Though Merrill and Hague had an equal share in the business, Mazza was the brains of Mexicali. It was his idea to serve Mexican food, it was his idea to locate next to student favorite Ivy Noodle, and he came up with the name. As Mazza put it in his chapter about Mexicali’s genesis in Life in the Fast (-Food) Lane: The Peter Mazza Story, “I wanted a fast, healthy and inexpensive food alternative on Broadway. And I love burritos." But sometimes the best laid plans of mice and men go awry, and by August 2004, Mexicali was not drawing enough business to stay open.

The question of how the failure of Mexicali Grille became the success of Bulldog Burrito is a contentious one. Officials within the Levin administration claim that after the closure of Mexicali Grille, the President ordered senior aide Walter Geerston to replace the restaurant with a very similar business. A vocal minority in Dean Betty Trachtenberg's office even contends that Levin specifically issued orders pertaining to both a new emphasis on guacamole and the addition of a cantina happy hour as a requirement for any replacement. Congdon dismisses such claims as "an insidious lie perpetrated by bureaucratic bumblers unwilling to acknowledge my innovation." Mazza himself maintains that Bulldog’s triumph is not the product of Congdon’s business acumen, but rather the result of shifting dynamics in New Haven’s Mexican food market. In particular, he points to the moment in September 2004 when one of Yale’s more corpulent ex-bloggers gained control of his Bar Mitzvah savings, pumping hundreds of dollars into the market just as Bulldog Burrito appeared. Mazza believes that he too would have thrived in this newly buoyant market and dismisses the accolades showered on Congdon, derisively noting, “The idea to have a fast-food Mexican restaurant at that location was mine—Congdon just moved some chairs around and made the logo uglier.”

When I ask Congdon about Mazza’s claims, he rebuts them by rattling off a wide range of innovations, from the introduction of shredded chicken burritos to the replacement of Coca-Cola with Pepsi in the soda fountain. In Congdon’s mind, Mazza is just one of the many assorted cranks who wish to belatedly take credit for an achievement that is entirely his. Offhandedly quoting John F. Kennedy, the Bulldog owner remarks, “Victory has a hundred fathers; defeat is an orphan.” A moment later, when I inquire about the competition he faces from the nearby Roomba burrito cart, Congdon observes, “Sun Tzu once said, ‘If you know yourself as well as your enemy, you will come out of one hundred battles with one hundred victories.’ Though the translation doesn’t do it justice.” At this point it is apparent to me that Congdon is a veritable one-man Bartlett’s. But before I can ask Congdon to name the biggest factor to which he attributes Bulldog’s success, we are interrupted by an employee. “Meester Jason, the Virtual Boy in the break room is on the fritz,” says the worker frantically. Congdon calmly tells me we will have to continue our conversation at another time and goes to fix the Virtual Boy, despite the fact that the system has severly diminished his depth perception.

Still hungry for answers, I visit the office of Yale Urban Studies Professor Douglas W. Rae. Rae is uniquely qualified to explain Bulldog Burrito’s meteoric rise, having studied New Haven for over twenty-five years and published his findings in 2003’s City: Urbanism and Its End. “I’ve determined that Ivy Noodle’s success owes to its policy of forbidding parties smaller than four from sitting at six-person tables, but I am still in the process of examining the Bulldog data,” says Rae in a typically professorial tone. “From my preliminary analysis,” Rae continues, “it appears that the restaurant started off dismally, then slowly built up a consumer base until January 2005, at which point its patronage increased exponentially. January 2005 was for Bulldog Burrito what Malcolm Gladwell would call the ‘tipping point.’” I inquire as to what Rae thinks precipitated this ‘tipping point.’ He responds, “You see January 2005 marked the acquisition of Bulldog Burrito’s liquor license and hence the opening of the Bulldog Cantina. That the American university student in the twenty-first century would want to consume alcohol in a fast-casual setting rather than in a publick house or dance hall, this, this was Congdon’s crucial insight.” Rae tells me that he will send me the full report when he is finished, and I leave his office. But on the way out, I run into Film Studies Professor Michael Kerbel, who has overheard my conversation with Rae. Kerbel, who is a Bulldog Burrito regular – he orders the El Vaquero without fail – engages me in a frank discussion of the Mazza-Congdon debate, concluding, “To say that Jason Congdon piggybacked on the success of Peter Mazza is like saying that Stanley Kubrick piggybacked on the success of the Lumière brothers.”

I walk back to Bulldog Burrito, and I see a student playfully talking to Congdon as I enter the restaurant. “How’s it hangin’, Cong-dawg?” asks the student. “Can’t complain about this weather, am I wrong?” replies Congdon excitedly, as he gives the student a high-five. At this point, Congdon notices my presence and is visibly embarassed; I’ve caught him off-guard. Eager to get back to more serious matters, Congdon invites me into his office.

Underneath the clippings of “Howard and Nester” cartoons from decades-old Nintendo Powers, Congdon’s desk contains photographs from Chihuaha, Puebla, Baja, and a number of other Mexican states. “Which area of Mexico is your favorite?” I inquire. “Never been,” replies Congdon, “though I once got off at the wrong train stop and ended up in East Norwalk’s el barrio. Nice folks there.” Abruptly changing subjects, Congdon proclaims, “I’m finally ready to answer your question. You see, the secret of my success can be summed up in one word… Guac.” Congdon has an endearing habit of giving his food nicknames – guacamole is “guac,” quesadillas are “quesas,” sour cream is “sour-y.” “Guac,” Congdon continues, “is the only item on the Bulldog menu that turns a profit. Everything else – burritos, quesas, nachos, margaritas, heck even flan – is just a loss leader to bring people into the restaurant to buy guac. I was actually going to call the place ‘Bulldog Guac,’ but a corporate type I spoke to back at Lego talked me out of it. ‘Bulldog Guac,’ that woulda been somethin’, huh?” Suddenly Congdon gets that trademark twinkle in his eye, and he’s lost in his own dreamscape. I half-expect the first verse of “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” to come on from some unknown jukebox. Still in a state of reverie, Congdon slowly takes a yellowed piece of paper from a filing cabinet. “This would have been the logo,” he drawls, showing me a picture of a bulldog with side orders of guacamole for eyes. Congdon suddenly snaps out of his daydream and states rather seriously, “Through one of my Mexican employees, I have an excellent supplier of cheap avocados. The low cost of that input allows me to make huge profits on the guac. It’s Business 101.”

Eager to learn more about Congdon’s unique reliance on guacamole to financially support his entire operation, I talk to Brandon Gibbons, Vice President of Economic Consulting at McKinsey Consultants. After reviewing only a handful of Bulldog Burrito’s financial statements, Gibbons decides he’s seen enough to come to a conclusion. “Mr. Congdon,” determines Gibbons, “is completely delusional. His own records show that guacamole orders represent a mere 1.3% of his total sales. If, as he claims, he is losing money on all other items, then he would be hemorrhaging cash. Yet these documents show steady profits for Bulldog.” Gibbons continues with a highly technical discussion of the New Haven labor market and a burrito-folding method that some trade journals tout as a breakthrough in efficiency. “In any case,” Gibbons concludes, “my real concern is that Mr. Congdon cooks the books so as to refuse to admit even to himself the runaway costs of maintaining a banned video game system for which it is nearly impossible to find replacement parts.”

At this point, I feel I have a firm grasp on all the complexities and nuances of Jason Congdon the business visionary. But what about Jason Congdon the man? I decide that the key to Congdon’s character must be tucked away somewhere in his upbringing, so I visit Congdon’s boyhood home.

Casa Congdon, as it is affectionately known, lies on a sleepy street in the Dunwoody section of East Hartford. The house, with its aluminum siding and brick chimney, is almost a visual shorthand for 20^th century lower-middle-class New England. I stare at its peeling pale green paint – the color of guacamole, of course – until the gaunt figure of Jennifer Congdon swings open the front door. Even on first sight, it is apparent that the Congdon matriarch was extremely attractive as a young lady. But in her desperate attempt to cling to her fading beauty, Mrs. Congdon’s successive plastic surgeries – bankrolled with money provided by her son – have given her face the waxy texture of a children’s doll. Mrs. Congdon, wrapped in a terrycloth robe and puffing away at a Parliament Light, invites me to come inside. “Have a seat in the living room and I’ll be with you in just a minute, sug,” she tells me. Mrs. Congdon proceeds to walk into the dining room and pours an elderly woman – who I later learned is her 97-year-old mother Georgina – a glass of water. The elderly woman then hands Mrs. Congdon a quarter. I only mention this vignette because it sheds some light on quite how deeply the virtue of salesmanship is ingrained in the Congdon DNA.

Mrs. Congdon returns to the living room and hands me a photo album. “When Jason was a child,” Mrs. Congdon begins, “all the other kids in the neighborhood would put up lemonade stands or hold bake sales just to make some pocket money. And boy, Jason didn’t like that. He hated that these kids didn’t care about their food and didn’t have any sense of customer service. So Jason decided he’d set up his own stand. And Jason’s passions, well they lay more in sauces, dips, spreads, that sort of thing.” Mrs. Congdon points to a faded Polaroid photograph. A young Jason Congdon is smiling the kind of shit-eating grin he still gets when he makes a big catering sale to the Yale Herald, as he points to a handwritten cardboard sign that reads, “Jason’s CONGDON-MENTS.” “So what kind of bread did Jason sell to put the condiments on,” I inquire. “Bread?” Mrs. Congdon replies bemusedly, “Oh heaven’s no. Only condiments. Jason was very adamant about that. But boy could he close a sale. And you know, the folks around here, they really took a shine to him. He ended up doing pretty well for himself. And look at what he’s got going for him now. This hi-definition television, the surround sound stereo, that was all bought with burrito money. Sorry, guac money.”

Although he lavishes gifts on his mother, Jason lives modestly in a one-bedroom apartment above Bulldog Burrito. He could undoubtedly afford a spacious house in Hamden or some other tony suburb, but he prefers to wait with the move until he starts a family. In our final interview, Congdon, characteristically self-effacing, remarks, “I don’t need a big-screen TV or anything; that stuff’s really more my mom’s style. Me, I’m happy with this 12 inch black and white guy. It’s great for watching security footage from the double B, and that’s all I’m really interested in right now. Occasionally I flip on Telemundo, you know, just to get a sense of what’s going on with my employees.”

So there you have it—a young man from a working-class background pulls himself up by the bootstraps through a combination of entrepreneurial spirit, hard work, and determination. Though he lived with limited means as a child, in adulthood he provides amply for his beloved mother, himself and his future wife and children. To those who dismiss this as an isolated success, I stress that Jason Congdon isn’t some pointy-headed MBA. No, if you scoured this great land from the San Fernando Valley all the way to the Adirondack Mountains, you’d find that he’s just an ordinary American. He’s an ordinary American who dared to have a dream and went out and achieved that dream. A dream of owning his own business. A dream of providing slightly above average Mexican food to overprivileged college students. An American Dream.

Amazing Entertainment News from the NY Daily News

I'm going to pre-order tickets to this:

A Busey-Zane career massacre?

Who knew Gary Busey and Billy Zane were so hard up for roles?

Even Hollywood liberals may be shocked that the American actors took part in a Turkish film that portrays U.S. troops as savages who slaughter Iraqi civilians.

"Valley of the Wolves: Iraq" shows G.I.s crashing a wedding, where they gun down dozens of innocent guests, shooting the groom in the head and blasting away at a boy in front of his mother.

The soldiers drag the ones who live to Abu Ghraib prison, where a Jewish-American doctor (played by Busey) disembowels them - explaining their organs will be sold to rich people in New York, London and Tel Aviv.

Zane plays a rogue American officer who calls himself a "peacekeeper sent by God."

Zane and Busey aren't known as outspoken critics of White House policy. So why did they take the parts?

A rep for "Titanic" star Zane didn't return our call.

A rep for "Buddy Holly Story" star Busey told us: "It was basically a payday for him."

Anti-American feeling has been brewing in Turkey since a 2003 incident in which U.S. Army troops held Turkish special forces officers captive because the G.I.s thought they were Iraqi insurgents.

Building Security Guards

Would you really trust them in an emergency? Be honest. I know that my answer would usually be no. In most cases they are glorified secretaries in uniform. They do keep a sense of order in general just by their presence, but if a situation got dangerous I would not feel safe putting my life in their hands.

For example: Last week I had to hand-deliver a package across the street to the MLB offices. After talking with a woman at the front desk, I was told to go around the corner to the messenger entrance where someone would come out and escort me upstairs.

When I approached the door that I supposed to be the messenger entrance, I peeked through the little window at the top and what did I see? I saw four women in uniform gyrating, dancing, and laughing hysterically in a small office. Inspirational, no? After I entered and the women were suitably embarrassed, I met one of them around the corner and we entered the elevator together.

Woman: It's not what you think it was. We were doing our impressions of that Nextel commercial.
Me (playing along): That's exactly what I thought it was.
Woman: Don't you just love that commercial, it is so funny!
Me: Yeah!
(awkward silence)
Me: So, what residential college are you in?
(no response)

And these are the people protecting our buildings?

Lester Lives

I know some of you are worried about Lester because he hasn't posted in awhile and he's entangled in the Trial of The Century with Munz and his Dream Team of lawyers. Fear not- Lester is alive and well, though I can't tell you where he is (hint: he's with a certain co-blogger who once shilled for Hertz. I can say no more).
I can, however, pass on a document that Lester has obtained. Lester is going to use this document to PROVE that the Munz scribblings on Immortalized were not "false posts", but rather the pure, unvarnished truth, as written by the man himself. The Munz lawyers tried to suppress this document, claiming it was protected under doctor-patient privilege. That attempt failed, since in this transcript Munz describes his innermost visions not to a certified psychiatrist, but rather to the wispy-haired She-Man at Ivy Noodle. So without further ado, a glimpse into the Mind of Munz

--Transcript begins--

Ivy Noodle She-Man (INSM): You onlah one puhson, you sit at countah!

Munz: I had a dream last night. A prophecy if you will.

INSM: What if nice famiry want sit down, 5 peoples. They no wanna hear about how Mahk Warnah play in Frorida panhandle!

Munz: I was sitting in my room watching television. I tried to turn on CNN. But it wasn't anywhere to be found. I tried to turn on Food Network. It too was nowhere. I panicked. I flipped through TV Guide. Neither channel was listed. It was then that I noticed a new channel I'd never seen before. I flipped to it. And there, on the television, I beheld the most glorious programming known to man. CNN and Food Network had MERGED into one mega-network. No more politics OR food- I now had politics AND food!

INSM: What you want? I have othah customah to deal with.

Munz (eyes closed, in a trance-like state now): I saw Lou Dobbs. He, he was telling me that Walter Mondale ate paella on the night before the '84 Democratic Convention. And there was Emeril, my sweet Emeril, in the Situation Room with Wolf Blitzer. "Bush lied, soldiers died. BAM!" he exclaimed.

INSM: If you keep talking rike this, I no refill your watah.

Munz: And I saw Joe Biden. He told me that La Tolteca has the best taco in North Delaware. Then Rachel, my edible princess Rachel Ray, she was on too. She was in Brookline, hometown of Michael Dukakis- the Massachusetts Miracle. And Rachel was saying "The Daily Kos wing of the party is hurting our appeal in the suburbs. I say keep radical ideas in the kitchen, not in the public forum- radical ideas like chocolate-covered shrimp!"

INSM: Hey, bloggahs have point. Democlatic Pahty need some spine.

Munz: [Unintelligible wail]
[Munz drools uncontrollably and has a seizure]

-End of Transcript-

I feel pretty confident that this evidence will vindicate Lester.