The Ballad of Tom and Rita

EVERYBODY WANTS TO BE COOL!

Look, I can’t deny the fact that everybody, no matter race, color, or creed, wants to be cool. After all, being cool is your speedpass to the front of the line in elementary school, your authorization to wear sunglasses whenever you want, and your ticket to have savvy opinions about the indie-rock scene or some influential piece of literature you’ve read and no one else has. It affects you fashion, your lingo, and quite possibly, your favorite song on the West Side Story soundtrack.

EVERYBODY WANTS TO BE HAPPY!

And why the hell not? In a straw poll recently taken among typical human beings, being Happy absolutely smoked being Sad in a rout score of 99-1. (That 1 counter-opinion? You can’t blame him. His indie-rock preferences on account of being cool forced him to vote that way.) Heck, as Americans, we have been tasked by Thomas Jefferson to pursue happiness, or lest we be relegated to the oppressive colonial rule of the Royal Crown. Do you want that on your performance review? “Demotion of system of government on account of ‘not wanting to be happy’?” Yeah, me neither. Be happy. Everybody’s doing it.

EVERYBODY WANTS TO PUT A SMILE ON THAT FACE!

I assume that such a declarative statement is probably just an addendum to the previous CAPS LOCK statement I made above. After all, smiling is an extension of happiness, simple. The problem I have with what I just typed is that I wrote “that” face. It’s like I have a specific face in mind that is in need of a smile. Who does this face belong to? Do they live near me? Could I pick it out of a line-up? It’s not Mel Gibson’s, is it?

REAL FRUIT! FRESH TASTE!

Wait a minute. I think I know what’s going on here. Today’s post isn’t a dissertation on optimism and the importance of happiness and glee. It has nothing to do with the perception of cool and obscure references to musicals. What’s going on here is the same thing that has been going on in my head for 6 days and counting. And damn it all if it’s going to trick me again.

THE ICE IS RITA’S!

That’s right, the radio jingle for Rita’s Water Ice has been with me, day and night, in full internal monologue volume, since last Wednesday. Why? I have no idea. There aren’t Rita’s commercials on the radio stations around here, and I believe the closest franchises are in Manassas, Haymarket, and Rhode Island Ave in NW. And yet, the catchy water ice promo with the calypso rhythms have haunted me for days.

BE COOL EAT A RITA’S! BE COOL EAT A RITA’S!

Getting a song stuck in one’s head is not an uncommon occurrence. Oftentimes, a song will be so catchy that it will force relevant information and data (where are my car keys) out of the brain so that it may set up its killer sound system and hit the repeat button. Now I have a default song that I use to clear an unwanted cranial DJ out – my way of resetting the system. It’s Tom’s Diner, by Suzanne Vega. Yes, I hate this song with a fiery passion as well, but at least it can trump whatever’s worn out its welcome and then go on its way.

BE COOL EAT A RITA’S! BE COOL EAT A RITA’S!

It appears that Rita kicked Tom in the groin and he ran home.

Alas, it continues.

Yep. Going to Hell For This One.

The Prodigal Roommate stumbled across a website that for any fan of film, is really pure gold. The site, Christian Analysis of American Culture, managed by an extremely sensitive sect of Christianity, aims to make things more complicated by bringing numbers and mathematics into something whose annual awards is based entirely on subjectivity: the movies. As we’ve stated before, if math needs to be part of the cinema, there better be pantsless ducks involved.

The goal of the website is indeed noble – to review movies for moral content (or lack thereof), and to ensure that our greatest art medium can exist under the watchful eye of God. Of course God likes movies. If God didn’t like movies, he would have pressed the “Smite” button on His iPhone and aimed it at Hollywood decades ago. (Considering that would have spared us from the Rob Schneider Complete Works, maybe that wouldn’t have been too bad.) Yeah, He probably gets annoyed when sub-par actors are tapped to play Him (Alanis Morrisette) over better choices (Morgan Freeman), but wouldn’t you? I’d go off the handle to find out someone like John Corbett was playing me.

But the good people at the CAAC may have gone a little too far. Simply put, any movie can be rated on a God scale from 0 to 100. A reviewer sits down an watches the movie, and makes a little x in his notebook anytime something that would make St.Peter frown at you happens. And then some. Yeah, we know that violence, profanity, and sexual situations warrant checkmarks – even the MPAA agrees here – but they’ve made sure that ANYTHING from such categories are covered. This includes:

Violence: Buzz Lightyear’s reckless use of firearms in “Toy Story”
Profanity: The name-calling directed at Charlie Brown in “A Charlie Brown Christmas” (Blockhead?)
Sexuality: The two infernal instances when Mr. Incredible gets smacked on the butt by his wife in “The Incredibles.”

(Note: Speaking of The Incredibles, an outraged reader wrote to make sure that the Pixar flick got its proper rating of below a 68 because of the baby whose special power of shape-shifting is not harmless, but rather a demonic portrayal of Satan. Umm, right.)

You see? No movie is safe from the influence of Satan!!! Not Doug’s 1st Movie (the peace sign is a Satanic symbol.) Not March of the Penguins (freezing in Antarctica? Blaspehmy!) Not even Basic – okay this Travolta film scored a 2 out of 100. It probably did a lot of things wrong – including, and I quote “had bars.” Even Baby Geniuses, most hated of all movies, gets a 59 for “a toddler throwing an iron at an adult” and “husband and wife together in bed in sleepclothes.”

Eh, nobody’s perfect.

Actually, it appears that someone IS in fact perfect. Her name? Why, it’s Mary Poppins!

Mary Poppins, the 1964 Disney classic is the only mainstream flick to receive 100 out of 100. The review was even conducted by CAAC President, Thomas Carder. According to the God Squad, there is nothing in this movie that would constitute WISDOM – or Wanton Violence, Impudence, Sex, Drugs/Alcohol, Offense to God, and Murder. (Yes, these are actual categories.) Now, I like to think that there’s something wrong here. How does Mary Poppins evade the scorn that earned Muppets from Space only a 95??

(In case you were wondering, -5 for Miss Piggy’s revealing mini skirt. Um, what scantily-clad, er, felt you have?)

Using the CAAC method of critical lunacy, lets knock Ms. Poppins down the ladder a bit, shall we? (Hello, WISDOM METHOD!)

W – W is for Wanton Violence, apparently. Why wanton? Because VISDOM sounds stupid. You know very early on in the film when a strong gust of wind blows all the job applicants for nanny down the street, clearing the path for the one with impeccable credentials? If the wind wasn’t violent enough, consider the fact that down the street was the Old Westington Fork and Harpoon Shoppe. Ouch. -1

I – Ah, Impudence/Hate. Why do the children need a nanny anyway? Oh, THAT’s right – because Mrs. Banks wants to save the world through the suffrage of women! Mr. Banks hates this, and demands we stop the suffraging of women. It’s cruel, you know. -1

S – the S is for Sex/Homosexuality. One WOULD think that we’d be safe from all accounts of non-married love in such a sweet story, but THINK AGAIN! As Wikipedia and IMDB have pointed out to me, “At one point in the song, Mary opens the window and performs a brief duet with a robin. It is two male robins building the nest outside the window, which is unlikely.” Gay robins? Not on the watch of CAAC! -3

D – the D is for Drugs/Alcohol. A Spoonful of Sugar? Yeah, maybe the first time, and even the second. But remember, sugar can be just as addictive as either drugs or alcohol. Sure, one moment you’re taking a little of the white stuff off the top in order to do your chores quicker, the next you’re freebasing Frosted Flakes behind the toy chest while the chimney sweep keeps an eye out for the fuzz. -8

O – O is for Offense to God. There is little debate that the most famous word from the film is “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." Did you know that if you say it backwards, it sounds like “Minions of Lucifer, bow before Zod?” Yeah, that’s just what I heard. -6

M – Um, murder and suicide? Ok, well there’s, um, wasn’t there a depressed penguin or something? No? Ok, no points off.

You see, Mary Poppins is just like the rest of us, immoral as they come. She gets an 81, which makes her no better than Cheaper by the Dozen, Dudley Do-Right, Runaway Bride, and Star Trek: Insurrection?

17 Syllables of Hell

It’s not hard to call out a sham when I see one. Take the Kansas City Royals, for instance. That franchise is a sham. They didn’t spend 55 million dollars on mediocre pitcher Gil Meche because they actually want to climb out of the AL Central basement. They spent 55 million dollars on Gil Meche because the public will see them making the effort to improve talent by spending money. That’s a sham.

Defined, a sham is a fraud or a hoax. Britney Spears’ marriage? SHAM! The importance of the Golden Globes? SHAM! YouTube’s Lonelygirl15? SHAM! The decorative outward covering of a pillow? SHAM!

But you see, none of the above shams are news to you. I’m not exactly the first on their respective scenes to debunk any myths surrounding them. But that wasn’t the goal of this post. Rather the re-tread and re-hash, we have a much more covert sham that has gone undetected for years and years, and while many hold it up as beautiful display of art and talent, all it really can be is an imposter. Well, I’ve got a real problem with its perceived reverence, and I think it’s time to pull the curtain back and analyze this sham for what it really is. English or Japanese, singular or plural, it doesn’t matter to me.

That’s right. The biggest sham in literature?

HAIKU.

Yeah, haiku. It’s the form of poetry that your 6th grade teacher taught you that has never, ever had an actual impact on your life. Now we here at YAB respect poetry and we respect poets. We think sonnets are a beautiful way to convey images and feelings through words. We feel that flowery odes to urns, Grecian or otherwise, can be lovely. As parodists, we are even more impressed with poetic forms that are forced to rhyme and don’t use gap rhymes like “a bunch of trees.” Poetry is nothing that J. Evans Pritchard could ever define using a stupid mathematical calculation.

(Wow, there were a lot of obscure references in that ‘graph.)

But a haiku? No. A haiku does not belong in the same class as other poetic devices. It’s a set poetic format in which artistry must be forcefully stuffed into in order to produce its desired effect. (And by desired effect, we mean sub-par imagery.) For those lucky enough to be blanking on what exactly a haiku is, it’s a three-line poem, in which the syllables follow a 3-5-3 or 5-7-5 pattern. Each line must be an independent thought, and after reading one, you must feel like you deserve the last 8 seconds of your life back.

It’s really not hard
To stumble on a haiku
Accidentally.

Oh My God! I’m a poet, because that last sentence followed the format! In America, I could write “Poet” as my occupation on my tax returns! (except for the fact that poets, who lack income, don’t actually have taxes to file. Gah.) When this art form started in Japan, it was more about the choice of the words and the wit that came with it. Take this classic from the inventor of haiku, Matsuo Basho:

Hatsu shigure saru mo komino wo hoshige nari -- which translates to:

the first cold shower;
even the monkey seems to want
a little coat of straw.

You see? That’s, uh, brilliant. It follows Condon’s Cardinal Rule of Art. “If forced to use a sham artform (haiku, mime, reality programming), throw in a monkey for good measure.”

Parker Egypt Can't Lose

Back in college, I had a reputation of being a creative parker. For three of the four years I was in Williamsburg, my mode of transportation was the old Volvo tank that sat about twenty. With or without jukebox money.

When the car was in motion and I (read: not Mattias) was behind the wheel, everything was cool. The only expense being incurred was the cost of the fuel the Volvo burned, and back in the good ole’ days, I think we paid $1.30 a gallon. But when the car was not in motion, that’s when it could get expensive.

You see, it’s not that William and Mary was at a loss for open space where a stationary vehicle could call its home. It was just that most of that open space was either 1) freshly cut, well-manicured fields of grass that were used less for parking and more for say, soccer; and 2) nowhere near anything of real importance of interest. Yes, I could have parked and walked whenever I needed my car at William and Mary Hall (now Kaplan Arena at WM Hall.) But, as you may remember, my memories of the Hall aren’t exactly the sunniest.

Very often, I would press my luck and parking in spots reserved for “Faculty and Staff of the College.” My justification was simple: while I may not have the official Fac/Staff parking decal, I do hold to paid positions at the College and therefore could be considered “Staff.” While it may not have gotten me out of paying that $15 at any time, it at least made me memorable with the good folks at Parking Services. All in all though, my excuse got me nowhere.

Maybe I just needed a better excuse.

One of the fringe benefits of being an ambassador to the United Nations, for any country, is the idea of “diplomatic immunity.” While residing within the borders of the nation in which you serve your state from afar, the rule goes so that you are free from the law unless your home nation waives that right. So what does this mean? Of course.

Diplomats suck at parking.

According to New York City, UN diplomats have racked up a bill of approximately 18 million dollars since the HQ has resided in the Big Apple. Can you imagine the size that glove compartment would have to be to hide the sheer paperwork involved? 18 MILLION DOLLARS. Dude! You’re in New York City! There’s way better ways to spend that kind of cash! That’s over 5,500 front row season tickets at Yankee Stadium! 900,000 trips to the top of the Empire State Building. And thanks to McDonalds’ latest marketing scheme, 108 million Chicken McNuggets!

Oh, that’s right. There not spending the money elsewhere. They’re not spending it at all.

The article lists Egypt and Kuwait as the biggest offenders, but not much past that. However, thanks to some crack research, we found a list chronicling the parking criminals up to 2002. (see page 20) After these two, the next 17 of 18 are from Africa (including some diplomat named Chad who is Number 3 all by himself!) So it appears Africa doesn’t care so much about parking safety. Mr. Eko, why have you forsaken us?

In other news, the bottom of the list – those who are law-abiding as ever? 21 nations that have managed to never park illegally. The group ranges from Canada to England to Azerbaijan to Oman. Now are we really to believe that these diplomats are so ethical that they would not think of parking illegally. No way!

Our guess? Somehow, they convinced NYC to park in Fac/Staff.

Getting Wikilled

I like to think that I have some worldly knowledge. After all, I’ve been through 22 years of formal schooling, plus 2 or 3 years of extensive pre-schooling preceding that. (I was awesome in pre-school, by the way. As long as you don’t ask me to finger paint. That’s the art of Cretans right there.) I don’t try to blow people away with the things that I know, but I’m fairly confident that if you pick me for your Trivial Pursuit team, I’m not going to let you down.

(Assuming the Sports and Leisure questions are more the former and less the latter. Who the hell cares about Leisure anyway? Domino enthusiasts? Lawn dart aficionados?)

Since I rarely have the forum to prove my trivial abilities (triviabilities), I figured we’d use today’s post to prove that, for lack of a better term, “I know stuff.” And how are we going to go about doing this? Easy. With the magical wisdom that is Wikipedia.

You see, if I asked you people to toss out topics for me to identify, there’d be a bit of bias there. For the most part, those who frequent YAB are friends and acquaintances. And there’s a good chance you got to that post by having things in common with me. Interests, hobbies, whatever. Anyways, your brain probably pulls from the same cache of data that mine does, so there’s a good chance that whatever you ask, I know by default. Because of this, I must level the playing field and show you what I know. I’ll just hit the Random Article button on Wikipedia and see what comes up. I bet you I’ll know something about 7 out of 10. That’s a passing grade, and proof that I can be an asset to your Quizzo team.

And – BOOM! The article is “Harold Ramis.” Ha! 1 for 1. Aside from being a star and writer of one of my Top 5 All-Time Comedies (Ghost Busters), Ramis also wrote Animal House anddirected Groundhog Day. The man can write the funny. Ok, not a bad way to start. This is going to be easy. Next!

“Jul med Hep Stars” Umm…says here it’s a “1967 Christmas album from the Swedish pop group Hep Stars. Can’t say this one’s on my iPod. It’s nice to see they cover the classics like White Christmas and Jingle Bells, but I hear that the hidden gem on that album was “Johanssons Boogie-woogie vals.” Like, for shoord! Next!

“Nixa, Missouri.” If there were ever a Trivial Pursuit question involving Nixa, MO, it says here that it would be that Matt Damon’s real Bourne Identity is that his real name in David Webb and he was born here. Hell, even I don’t remember that. 1 for 3. Moving on…next!

“OfficeMax.” Heck yeah, I know OfficeMax. As my company’s preferred office supply vendor, I’ve got a catalog right here on my desk. On the cover is a guy pushing a hand cart overflowing with various paper and desk products. And yet, there’s a trail of paper clips left on the floor in his wake. I know it’s supposed to represent their mammoth selection and quantity, but I wonder. Why would you hire a guy who doesn’t even notice when he drops paper clips on the floor? 2 for 4, baby! Next!

“Zydeco.” Wow. It’s hot in here. The heat from this hot streak is too much! Yes, zydeco is a Creole-based music that calls New Orleans its home. If you need an audio clue, it was the music that Fox insisted on using EVERY time the Eagles game went to commercial Saturday. Yes, we get it, you’re in New Orleans. But couldn’t at least play the Green-Day-U2 joint once? I love that song. Let’s see, we’re 3 for 5. I just have to go 4 for 5 to make that mark. And next!

“Alethea Kontis”? Who?
“Caloosahatchee culture”? What?
“Fort White Public School Historic District”? Where?
“Battle of Seattle (1856)” When? Oh, right, 1856. Ok then. Why? (other than the fact it rhymes)

And finally, we have everybody’s favorite Faculty of Industrial Engineering & Management, The William Davidson Faculty of Industrial Engineering & Management at the Technion. It’s in Israel. Of course.

Ok, so maybe this was a bad idea.

Pick me anyway, I’ll ace the hockey questions.

Plants Before Children

There’s an old saying that provides a litmus test for those thinking about bringing a child into this world. It’s logic is simple, sound, and while in completely different kingdoms of organisms, it’s true. Yes, for those who want to raise a baby and aren’t sure if they can handle the responsibility, start things off more simply.

Start with a plant.

Now Katie and I actually have never co-owned a plant in either of our two apartments, but regardless, we’re not rushing out to the local greenhouse for a test fit, T-minus four weeks to baby. So as a married couple, we can’t really speak towards that aforementioned adage that has been passed on from generation to generation, from apprehensive grandparent-to-be to apprehensive grandparent-to-be. Yep, we’re just not a test case for this.

On the other hand…

There was a time where I did put this saying to the test, and from the experiment that was conducted in the fall of 1999, the conclusions were unanimous, absolute, and conclusive. Based on our findings,

Four college guys in an apartment are not capable of raising a baby.

We know this not because Steve Gutenberg wasn’t a roommate. We know this because we, the Fantastic Four of Governor’s Square, couldn’t even manage to raise a plant. And it was certainly not out of a lack of trying. Sophomore year, we brought a little fauna into the world, and he was beautiful. Leafy and green, we were four proud fathers of our little guy.

He was named Endor.

Yes, as proud parents, we’re not necessarily recommending naming your child using the Star Wars Book of Names, but it worked. You see, Endor was a forest moon that was chosen by Imperial Empire to hide their shield generators for the Second Death Star. By using the green foliage to hide massive amounts of technology, the planet Endor served its purpose. And as for our Endor? What did he hide?

Surround-sound speaker wire.

Yep, it may not the best reason to bring new life into your home, but that’s pretty much the reason we’d have to impart to our little guy if he ever asked. Fortunately for him, he never asked. Fortunately for us, our plant didn’t talk at all. That would be a bit strange. Nordberg might have evicted Endor.

So where did we go wrong?

It’s not hard to remember to feed a plant that sits on the floor near a high-traffic walkway between the living room and the office. We did that alright, and most times, we even remembered that water works way better than Mountain Dew. After all, watering Endor would make him grow taller, and well, further obscure the view of the audio wires. However, his location in a largely windowless room didn’t give him the sunlight he so sorely needed. That’s why we would remember to put him out on the balcony every now and then.

Remembering to bring him back in, however, was a little harder.

RIP Endor
(1999-1999)

Always Bet on Black?

I thought we made it clear long, long ago that I’m not a big fan of e-mailed advertisements. Unless you’re offering a discount on something I was already going to buy (read: EA Sports), I’m probably not going to frequent your website just because you thought it would be fun to reach out and say hello. Yeah, everyone likes getting e-mail, and we think it is real fancy when you’re able to work our actual name into your sales pitch, but ultimately, you’re just wasting our time and our server space.

Believe it or not, one does have control over what e-ads (we assume the hyphen is in place of the letter “g”) appear in his/her inbox. If you choose to closely guard your address by not entering it anywhere on the Internet, you’re probably pretty safe. However, keep in mind by staying under the radar like that probably won’t get you to the level of popularity you need to be Homecoming Queen, either. You’ll have to achieve that post the old fashion way – by begging and whining to MTV to be an episode of “Made.” What was I talking about? Ooh, shiny.

I tend to only use my main e-mail address on websites from which I’d like some sort of documentation or receipt. I figure it’s a way better plan than them mailing me an actual receipt, which I’ll inexplicably stuff into my wallet and keep there until Katie insists I clean out the raging sea of paper that it has become. After all, when the baby’s here, we don’t want her crawling into my wallet, only to go missing for long periods of time.

(Let’s wait until she’s 16 for her to go missing with access to my credit cards, shall we?)

Anyways, one of the e-mails I receive about once a week comes from a website called Tastings Journal. I can’t exactly remember why, either. In general, it’s a website that offers you meal offers at insanely-outrageous restaurants for only slightly-outrageous prices. I really have no idea how they have it, unless OpenTable.com is being generous with their proprietary data. I can’t tell you what the e-mails say; I delete them much too quickly to comprehend the words they contain. Anyways, I decided that I have had enough of the Tastings Journal, and unsubscribed this morning. Their response?

This is the last email you will receive from us. We have added you to our "blacklist", which means that our newsletter system will refuse to send you any other email, without manual intervention by our administrator.

I’ve been blacklisted?

How about “unsubscribed” or even “begrudgingly ignored???” No, no, I’ve been blacklisted. My e-mail address has been added to a long list of people who do not like to eat gourmet cuisine for less-than-gourmet prices. And if there were ever a new fancy restaurant to open nearby, they would be warned NOT to contact me for my business. My money’s no good there, and Tastings Journal wants to make sure it stays that way.

What did I do to deserve this?

That’s right, I opted out of further mailings. I didn’t sell secrets to the Soviet Union. I haven’t written a pinko screenplay as propaganda. Geez, people. I’m all for America! I have spoken out against the evils of the Cold War! I watch the Colbert Report. What more do you want?

(Other than rooting for America’s team, that is.)

Just Like "24"

8 minutes ago.

8 minutes ago, the peaceful buzz that is a busy office was altered by something that would on all other occasions blend harmoniously into the sweet sound that is commerce. Everyone who’s anyone has a desk telephone in this joint, and no one finds it strange when the phone chooses to ring every once in a while. Rings are usually limited to one or two – three at the most – before it drives the person in close proximity so batty that they have no other choice but to pick the damn thing up and converse.

9 minutes.

It’s been 9 minutes now that something just has not seemed right. Have you ever been standing in a public place such as a subway platform or outside a supermarket when one of the dying breed of pay phones inexplicably starts to ring? As you’ve seen in the movies, fugitives and poor people often use this outlet as a way to receive phone calls without, you know, actually having utility bills. But when neither demographic is around, and it’s you and the ringing phone and no one else, what have you done? To my recollection, I’ve only picked up a ringing pay phone that wasn’t meant for me. I was on GW’s campus between classes a few semesters ago, and the person on the other end demanded to speak with Josh. When I asked the guy to describe Josh, he told me, “He wears pants and shoes. Aw, never mind.” (Based on my attire, I guess I could have been Josh.)

11 minutes and counting.

It’s 11 minutes and counting, and it’s pretty staggering that no one has taken any action. Somewhere in this office, there’s a phone ringing. It’s not in the next office, but I can hear it and I can be annoyed by it. I’m pretty certain that this is some sort of telecommunications malfunction. At least I hope it is. Otherwise, it appears that the caller is the most persistent caller in the history of the world. Wow, he must have something pretty important to tell – wait, what? – the guy who occupied the abandoned vacant cube by the printer?

12 long, long minutes.

12 minutes in to this nightmare, I’m going to go check this out myself. Hang on.

14, yes, 14 minutes.

Yeah, I went over there. Yeah, it’s still ringing. I tried to turn the volume down on the phone, but to no avail. It wails on, and no one seems to care. Why did I not take any actual corrective action? Because NO ELSE HAS MOVED A MUSCLE. And I’m not going to playing the role of “over-sensitive cubevillian.” Not today anyway.

22 minutes!

I take that back. I sure as hell am.

Ahhhhhhhh. Much better.

Against the Spread

This morning I watched another employee struggle mightily to prepare his on-the-go breakfast. His intent was simple enough; his plan consisted of going to the cafeteria, buying a bagel, affixing his spread of choice to said bagel, paying, and eating. End of transaction.

As I waited patiently behind him (close enough to make sure he knew I was there but not close enough to be categorized as “looming,”), I watched as he became unhinged when it came time to select his bagel topping of choice. And then when he realized that the marmalade he was putting on his bagel was actually honey, he looked at me, with complete regret, and said, “You know, I thought this was marmalade.” Not being a marmalade connoisseur and having no capacity to reverse his tragic error, I did the only thing I could think of –

I shrugged. And then I composed this list so that you don’t make the same mistake.

Top 10 Bagel Toppers (delivered Letterman fashion)

10. HONEY – Even though I spent much of my formidable childhood watching a bear with no pants and no self-confidence get his head stuck in a pot of this stuff, I’ve never quite figured out the allure of honey. From the way it looks in the Winnie the Pooh cartoons, it looks like it should taste way better than it does. You know what? Honey should taste like butterscotch. That’s what it looks like in the cartoon. I would eat butterscotch on a bagel – that would be great. It would eliminate honey as a condiment, and it could even usurp the name “honey.” That way, grown men don’t have to utter ridiculous sounding words like butterscotch. Ok, I’m done now.

9. MARMALADE – Look, I think this stuff, on a bagel or not, is even grosser that honey. But you should have seen the dejection in that guy’s eyes this morning. So I’m going to give marmalade the 9 slot in hopes that this guy who I’ve never seen before in my life and don’t even know the name of is a loyal reader of YAB and this will brighten his day. (I kid you not; he looked like someone just kicked his puppy.)

8. JELLY – Yeah, it’s got to be a bit of a disappointment to see jelly / jam / preserves / whatever fall so far down this list. But I just think about all those times I’ve been to diners and have seen that little jelly holder in the middle of the table go completely untouched when people are trying to improve their bagel. And don’t tell me that the service at the diner fills it back up every time new customers come in. Diner service isn’t that helpful. Or health code regulated.

7. BUTTER – Yeah, another top seed falls early here. It’s not that we think butter is an inferior condiment by any means. It’s just that bagels are not Butter’s wheelhouse. Toast and English Muffins – this is where Butter just schools the rest of them. But when the amount of volume of bread in the breakfast item increases, Butter just doesn’t keep up. There are melting issues, and there are no nooks, nor are there crannies to inspire Butter to bring it’s a-Game.

6. LOX – You want to look grown-up in a fancy breakfast business meeting? Ask for lox for your bagel. Nothing like cold fish in the morning make a healthy breakfast. Is that fish your impressed boss smells? Nay. It’s respect.

5. VEGGIE SPREAD – Widely considered to be part of the cream cheese family, we feel that the veggie spread gets the due it so rightly deserves here at Number 5. You feel like your doing your body good by opting for an item that has the same caloric intake as regular cream cheese, but since there are miniscule specks of generic vegetables known as “green” and “red” in there, it’s like being on a diet. Ah, the mind games of breakfast – much like how McGriddles are good for you because it combines all the foods your were planning to order and reduces the quantity of food you eat, right? (Ed. Note – McGriddles are the worst culinary invention since Gogurt.)

4. NUTELLA – During my freshman year of college, roommate David Reif kept a jar of this stuff in his closet. A combination of chocolate, hazelnut, and Italian swarthiness, it appears that someone in Europe manages to convince their parents it was cool to have chocolate for breakfast. I didn’t really understand until I had it myself for many a meal on my European trip. But I still don’t understand why Dave kept it in his closet with a 7-month old hockey puck of a bagel, his brother Peter, and a 6 pack of crappy warm beer he found on the way home from the delis one night.

3. PEANUT BUTTER – Peanut butter is essentially the Peyton Manning of bagel toppings. In so many lists and rankings, one can expect PB to show up near the top, being flawless in craving-satisfaction as well as textural enjoyment. But somehow, peanut butter never makes anyone’s Desert Island List of Must-Have Foods. Why is this? I’ll tell you why. It’s out of protest. Personally, I enjoy reduced-fat peanut butter, for bagels and otherwise. I like it a lot – enough to make it Number 3. And yet, the Man only sells reduced-fat peanut butter in the tiny jars in your local supermarket. What the? This is why you’re never in the title game, Peyton Butter.

2. CREAM CHEESE – Except for the darkhorse candidate about to follow, this is the choice that destroys all the rest. Cream cheese is a light, tasty, enjoyable spread that will not melt, run, or do whatever the heck jelly does to get on your pants. Plus, I’ve got a bit of a hometown bias. From Kraft’s website: The name "Philadelphia Brand cream cheese" was adopted by Reynolds for the product because at that time, top-quality food products often originated in or were associated with the city, and were often referred to as being "Philadelphia quality." Heck yeah!

1. PIZZA – I’d like to quote the following poem in order to justify our top slot.

Pizza in the morning.
Pizza in the evening.
Pizza at suppertime.
When pizza’s on a bagel,
You can eat pizza.
Anytime.

Being Polish in the Potato Runner

I wonder if you can use EZ-Pass in Sao Paulo.

Hi there. My name is Chris Condon, and I’m the one who brings the funny around these parts. I mention this not to remind those of you who frequently visit, but to introduce myself to the mammoth influx of readers from Brazil I expect to flood the YABbosphere any second now. Waiting…

…waiting…

You see, the good people of Brazil have recently been denied access to the viral video champsite You Tube because of a recent video of one of their supermodels appearing on the site. In response to such an “outrage,” one of Brazil’s two main telecom providers have demanded to have the site blocked from Brazilian eyes, and therefore, it has been done. Not only can the good people of this country not see Daniela Cicarelli (no relation to Dino), they cannot see the millions of other videos that You Tube has to offer. So they’ve got some free time on their hands, so we figured we’d put out the welcome mat.

I, for one, welcome our Ronaldinho overlords.

But while they may gain some Condon by reading YAB, they’ll lose some Condon by not getting access to Oscar Sunday, now surpassing the 20,000 view milestone. And we can’t deny hard-working Brazilians obscure Harper Lee references and Duck Hunt footage just because some telecom company is trying to shut us down.

Now you might remember back in September ’05 when we translated our vignette of Grimm’s Dinner Party into French as an homage – or to mock the French. By using freetranslation.com, we took our words, made them French, and then returned them to English, only to find that something happened along the way. We blame Zidanne.

Well we know that Oscar Sunday was in English, and the Brazilians – they speak the Portuguese. So as a favor to them, here’s the actual transcript of Lyric Intensive hardcore flow – translated to Portuguese and back into English. Enjoy.

Sunday of oscar, wakes up-itself beside my Chris of boy
Slants about real soft and gives him. .. To hammerfist double!!
We better we receive to move. The party of oscar this night.
Should go sees Brokeback be five for five.
We caused saints cattlemen but not as book-reason and Gyllenhaal
We kick he straightly like Eastwood in Unforgiven,
Is playin in Manassas. Better running as Forrest.
I love these prizes as Kapowski loves Morris.

Dillon of Matt, Ludacris, Calf of Sandra, Fraser of Brendan!
The Shock of clinch and my keys.
Polish in the Runner of Potato.
We should receive the big film Success bun soon
Dude, his already afternoon is as ten past noon.
They do done not stay delayed rates, (we be able to come back later)
Is able to Him even sees the road? It can call me Aviator
As we gonna receives there? The Road of Toll of Dulles, sucka!
I Go him, you stayed exact change?
The PASSAGE OF EZ, F OF MOTHER*CKER!!

So welcome to (WHERE!) to the Oscar Broken
Brings some sustenance (WHERE!) to the Oscar Broken
Chris and Luda (WHERE!) in the Oscar Broken
Potato and Buddha (WHERE!) in the Oscar Broken

The Friday, we haul a mistake of drug in Lands of Potomac
That weak theater stayed as guards of security
We snuck in the back and 40s brought with us
Liquor of Malt and Munich equals Crazy Delicious
Road good night and Good Luck in the 'last fax night
Did think him that was patient?
The Nah, was in black and white.
I freaked up the usher, somewhat wrong with the projector.
And the chick said, "Whoa, who am I, the inspector of film?"

Punched him in the grill? The Slappin' ain’t of bitches
Throwin' popcorn in his face, stole the flashlight of the chick.
If you cannot derive that as, you better is robbin' a.
It can call us Lee of Harper, of the environment we are killin' tordos-dos-remédios.
It liked Overcoat? The Nah, I do not like of white persons.
This is the CHURCH and this is the TOWER.
The exposition about begin, jump outside and receive the tickets.
The Watchin' everybody them nominated, then our choices are the more sick.

We are rules of gonna! (WHERE!) in the Oscar Broken
You stayed polite! (WHERE!) in the Oscar Broken
You count on with OP-3? Yes knows me!
Receive to OP-3! Everybody five nominated!

Bond? Mattias Bond?

Hey, look! ACTUAL reader mail!

“Oh great YAB master, since this new year ends in Double-O Seven, does that mean I now I have licence to kill?”
- Mattias Caro

It’s really an outstanding question, and with Casino Royale still in theaters, I’m slightly astounded that United Artists have yet to work this into some second-run promos. I’d suggest Mattias give up his pursuit of law to work for Sony Pictures, but before he does I’ll warn him. Despite an incredible 2006 and Spider-man 3 coming this summer, the next month of Sony flicks requires some serious Yard-Stomping. And I just can’t picture Matty on an urban step team. Huh.

Let’s move to the actual question. If Mattias is correct in his assumption, this will mark only the second time since the birth of Christ that society actually has been given the licence to kill (and yes, that’s the British, or Worse, spelling). No one refers to the 7 A.D. as 007 A.D., which is why a young Jesus never considered turning water into martini. That leaves our only precedent on the topic to be 1007, A.D. According to Wikipedia, King Aethelred the Unready of England did not spend 1007 killing, but instead paid the Danes 36,000 pounds of silver for two years of following peace.

That’s nearly 49 pounds of silver a day. Yeah, Aethelred got hosed.

So despite the greatest efforts of Ian Fleming, it does not appear that the coincidence that this year ends in 007 has any ability to distribute or renew licences to kill. And even if it were, you couldn’t actually get any good killing in until at least July. Since our country only really has one outlet for licence administration, you would have to apply for said licence at the DMV.

Take a number.

While we’re sorry to disappoint, we don’t like to leave our readers empty-handed. Now, by our count, we’ve only actually watched 6 of the 22 James Bond movies, but we certainly hate when people to us like we’ve seen ‘em all. In order to combat looking stupid in a cinematic cocktail party discussion, and also to avoid spending 32 hours of our life watching the rest of the Bonds just so we can be “in the know,” we’ve developed a cheatsheet. At any party, in my shirt pocket there’s a Fun Fact for each of the 22 flicks that we can wow the world with. As a thank you for your loyal readership, we transcribe our notecard now:

1. “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” – George Lazenby’s only turn as James Bond.
2. “For Your Eyes Only" - The final film to be solely produced by United Artists.
3. “Dr. No” – the most fun Charade clue to put in the hat of all time. There’s nothing better than watching the other team make their players realize the second word is “No” without helpless thinking they’re on the wrong track.
4. “Goldfinger” – The best James Bond theme was easily the one by Moby. In it is a line of dialogue – “Do you expect me to talk? No! Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!” - This comes from Goldfinger. And Moby’s a vegan.
5. “Live and Let Die” – Axl Rose wrote the screenplay.
6. “Licence to Kill” – Lowest-grossing Bond film.
7. “Thunderball” – Highest-grossing Bond film
8. “Octopussy” – Grossest-named Bond film.
9. “Tomorrow Never Dies” – Since I work for a scientific firm, I can tell you this. Most nuclear scientists don’t look like Denise Richards. (by most, we mean all)
10. “Diamonds are Forever” – The Bond girl was named Plenty O’Toole. Must have been Irish.
11. “The Spy Who Loved Me” – This is Ian Fleming’s spoof film in which he satirizes the classic spy film, “Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me.”
12. “The Living Daylights” – Theme song was performed by a-Ha. And the entire film was sketched in black and white, much like a comic book.
13. “From Russia with Love” – In Russia, you don’t shake martini. In Russia, Martini shakes you.
14. “You Only Live Twice” – budget for production was approximately 36,000 pounds of silver.
15. “Casino Royale” – Daniel Craig makes Grimm’s teeth sweat.
16. “Die Another Day” – The secret weapon is the movie? Named “Icarus.” Mattias, it appears you missed your chance to apply for that licence.
17. “The Man with the Golden Gun” – Considering that Saruman from LOTR played the baddie, we’re surprised Roger Moore actually survived the shooting schedule.
18. “Tomorrow Never Dies” – Conversely, Yesterday Always Lives.
19. “A View to a Kill” – Roger Moore’s swansong. Just for fun, Q invented a gatling gun that looks like a swan.
20. “Moonraker” – Yeah, we have no idea how he got into outer space either.
21. “Goldeneye” – Nothing beats Rockets in the Temple. NOTHING.

Meter Mail, Volume 1

A common feature of many well-read blogs is the reader mailbag. This features the editor, most likely out of original ideas and grasping for a new way to further incorporate his readership into a heightened level of interactivity, taking questions and answering them in an informative and helpful manner. Bill Simmons at ESPN is by far the best at said practice, and normally I’d link you to one of his columns doing just that, but he still hasn’t answered any of MY e-mails, including the following:

Bill,
What the hell happens if Tiki Barber retires and ends up on 20/20 waiting for Kornheiser to die so he can take his place along Tirico and Theisman? Does he fade into obscurity since no one watches 20/20? Or does he trying really hard to score interviews with Bush, the Pope, Brangelina, and Jesus only to have the managing editor take him out and have Brandon Jacobs conduct them?
Chris, VA

However, YAB isn’t as well-read as Simmons, and none of you people e-mail me questions (with the exception of Caro – I’m going to get to that soon, btw), so one would think it would be pretty hard to use the Reader Mail as a recurring feature for the blog. And since making up questions seems a little narcissistic (which I can’t believe I spelled right on the first try), we have to go to another source – the Site Meter.

If you ever scrolled down to the bottom of YAB, you’d see that since December-something 2004, there’s been a little monkey that’s been keep count of how many people visit YAB. And as we’ve mentioned in The Adventure of Links, it also reveals how some wayward surfers have searched for and ended up with something on our site. As of late, it seems that searches have often been typed in the form of a question, so even though at the time we weren’t much help, a column should help now in our new segment, Meter Mail.

(all questions are actual wrong turns to our website)

“Can someone please explain the movie Danika to me?”
- Columbia, South Carolina

Well, Columbia, I can’t say I’ve seen this 2006 movie starring Marissa Tomei, so there’s probably not a whole lot I can say. But I do know that her husband it the guy Russell Crowe pummels in Cinderella Man, and since Mr. Crowe and I are best buds, here’s a few bonus thoughts concerning Danika. First off, Marissa Tomei’s best performance is no doubt the one for which she won an Oscar, in My Cousing Vinny. But after that? Hands down – her cameo as Marissa Tomei on Seinfeld. Secondly, you probably noticed we’ve linked twice to IMDB in this very response. Does anyone remember what we did prior to IMDB, or a time when there wasn’t an IMDB? I remember sophomore year casting my Shawnee friends as the Kevin Smith universe, and I couldn’t remember Joey Lauren Adams’ character in Chasing Amy. I was forced to call the role “JLA” on the list. Was IMDB not around in 1999? Moving on…

“What was the oop d oop trick play from Varsity Blues movie?”
- Thousand Oaks, California

Wow! That’s a lot of oaks! Anyways, I can actually answer this question, rather than just reference the play in last year’s post on the NFL Coaching Carousel. The oop-tee-oop, a masterful passing play introduced by VanderBeek, featured 5 receivers – one split out on the left side, while the other four lined up right side, in the shape of a 2 x 2 box. The play is designed to isolate the solo receiver, one on one, against a corner, while the complete chaos of four received running slants and outs on the right demand the rest of the secondary’s attention. I have a question in return, T-Oaks. Does this movie make James Caan “Mr. Tweeder.”?

“Explain when you dive for a coin at the bottom of a pool, it's not where you think it is.”
- Minneapolis, Minnesota

Apparently, there aren’t banks in Minnesota.

Things that Make You Go Boom

Well congratulations, Nancy Pelosi. Much to Colbert’s despair, you’ve managed to be elected the first female Speaker of the House. This entitles you wield power, wield influence, wield majority opinions, and most importantly, wield a big honkin’ hammer.

I give thee: GAVEL!

Yes, aside from the whole two steps from the Presidency, there’s not that much to get excited about when it comes to the Speakership other than your new tool. You don’t actually speak that often, what with the rotating moderation for debates and all. And there’s more procedural and administrative tasks that one realizes they’ve signed up for. But you do get underlings – and damn, if they weren’t some seriously cool underlings at that. There’s the Clerk, who isn’t even supposed to be here today. There’s the Sergeant-at-Arms, who we envision being a cross between this guy and this guy. Also, there’s the CAO (not Awesome, but Administrative – dagger.), and the Chaplain. At any time, Pelosi my dismiss any of these people, save the chaplain. Only God can dismiss a chaplain, and our guess is if that happens, they’ll never work in this town (or any town) again. Damn the icy scythe of Death.

But let’s get back to the reason Nancy Pelosi wanted this job. Her new gavel.

Right now, she’s in one of four professions that allow her to literally strike her desk as hard as she can with an implement of distinguished force without “Human Resources” bringing you a “jacket” so that you can go “on a vacation” and never come back. The others?

• Judge: The man behind the bench works in an office where at least one the other people in the room very well be a criminal. Yeah, I’d carry a hammer for protection, too.
• Auctioneer: He uses his gavel to ruin people’s lives. Everyone is in good spirits prior to the final big bang, but once he lays the gavel down, he’s not only sold you this nice yacht, he’s thrown in the bonus prize of “buyer’s remorse.” Good luck explaining that purchase to your wife, Mr. Richpants.
• And the third? The less-celebrated but equally powerful “youth sports association commissioner.” Pay attention to him, or he’ll make sure your kid ends up playing little league for the team sponsored by Rita’s Beauty Salon or some crap like that.

Now it’s a good thing that previous Gavelbangers like Gingrich and Hastert don’t get to keep their special toy at the end of their run, since judging from the fledgling gavel industry, there’s not many cool replacements for the House of Representatives to purchase (with your tax dollars.) (Fun note by the way, Rep. Sam Rayburn served as Speaker of the House for a record 17 different years. Now, he plays football.)

Regardless, Madam Speaker, if you would like it, YAB wouldn’t mind going into the petty cash and purchasing you this way cool crystal gavel and base.

(WE promise that Christina Toms will erase the name from the sample and put yours on it, okay? Sound good, Toms?)

Tubers from Heaven

If one chose to travel from my hometown to the New Jersey Township of Freehold by car, you could expect to be on the road for slightly under 50 miles, slightly over an hour, heading slightly NNE, and pass approximately 9 Wawas. You would also get to spend some quality time on the New Jersey Turnpike, while migrating from the nice, forest-loving South Jersey into the ambiguous, non-quite-sure-what-to-define-it-as Central Jersey. This is how you would do it, if you decided to travel by car.

However, if you choose to travel by moon rock, the route is a little more direct. All you have to do is get in your moon rock, descend from the sky by the powers of gravity, reach a terminal velocity, and with all the collision insurance you can buy, crash through the roof of a house in Freehold and lodge thyself into a wall.

(It’s a more direct route, but there’s way fewer Wawas via this method.)

Yes, much to the surprise of the Freehold Township branch of NASA (read: old crazy guy with a telescope), some sort of metal-based rock came crashing to earth Tuesday night. Authorities are calling it golf-ball sized, which by viewing this photo of the thing, we have two questions. First, has anyone thought to rent the 1996 Rian Johnson flick, “Evil Demon Golfball from Hell!!!”, as to make sure that this wasn’t a present from Satan that came from below? (And also to be the first to ever rent said flick?) Secondly, look at this picture of the rock. Now think of how big a golf ball is.

What kind of jumbo golf do the good people of Freehold play? What do they use for golf tees? Umbrella stands?

Moving past the littlest of details, we’re really glad that Detective R. Gelber was so quick to offer his ruler for the official measurement. How do we know it was old Gelby? He has a freakin’ label on his ruler. I can understand laying claim to something more valuable, like a stapler, by putting one’s personal sticker on it, but a ruler? Is Freehold a crime bastion for measurement tool theft?

Anyways, after the Feds ruled out that it did not come from an airplane (thank God, by the way – I’d be rethinking air travel if plane parts look like that.), it was left to the police force of Freehold to determine its origins. You know, investigate chemical compounds, weigh, feel, observe, calculate, matter studies – stuff that could be helpful.

OR! We could just put it in this tube? Yeah, that’ll solve the mighty mystery.

(Apropos of nothing, an anagram for Freehold Township is Tenfold Horsewhip. Warrants mentioning.)

You wonder why completely ridiculous things happen to good people sometimes. There’s no way anyone could have predicted ye old ball of space foil would crash through their roof, forcing them to make the weirdest call to their insurance provider ever. But these people should consider themselves lucky. After all, remember that woman who was struck by the lamppost that fell courtesy of the Cat in the Hat during the Macy’s parade? Yeah, her. She’s also the resident of the apartment that Cory Lidle’s plane crashed into on the Upper East Side. Just wow.

What’s YAB’s take on this “moon rock” from outer space? Simple.

God didn’t like his baked potato.

Accentuate the Positive

Having grown up in South Jersey, I really can’t say I have an accent that has followed me up and down the coast. There are some local buzzwords that have some homegrown variation to them, I suppose, (water, crayons, hoagie), but for the most part, it’s Americanized as you can get. (And I’m pretty sure that only non-NJians refer to it as “Joysey.”) Now some words come out strangely Canadian (out, about, Simon Gagne), but like I said, no one’s going to know where I came from because of my diction and speech.

As a non-accented American, I stand envious of many people that do have the fortunate burden of bringing an accent with them. Boston, Fargo, Brooklyn – all of them come off as pretty cool. And even more so, there are foreign accents that totally rock, and it is the opinion of Monrovia Top 5 that “Scottish” would be the king of said rock. I’m kind of partial to English, personally – perhaps because there are so many variations. There’s Liverpool and Cockney, The Queen’s English, and my personal favorite – Russell Crowe Mumbling. From Gladiator to Master and Commander to Beautiful Mind, the Aussie always sounds like he’s doing his best Beatles impression under his breath. (See this week’s tagline for an example.)

In fact, there’s one line in the Catholic Mass that the Crowe voice is perfect for. “I am not worthy to receive You, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” Try it, and I guarantee not only will you get God laugh to Himself, as a bonus, your spouse will shake his/her head in disapproval.

But as a non-accented American, I have no other opportunity to try out other inflections in the real world. Most people I talk to on a daily basis already know what I sound like, and will call me out that my Jamaican accent, well, is less than authentic. If you would like to use accents in your daily life, you are left with two types of people: people who have never met you, and people you’ll only see briefly and they won’t remember you. I believe it was the great Tyler Durden who called them “single-serving friends.”

Where does one find single-serving friends on which to test out thy most remarkable accents? Most often, they will be located in various arenas of commerce. Mall employees, drive-thru attendants, retail cashiers – all of these people fit the bill. Not only do they not know you well enough to call out your best Irish brogue, they probably don’t care either. I once had an entire conversation about different-colored Saran wraps in the Williamsburg Target with my best Irish accent. (Of course, you must pick a store with many shifts to attempt such a feat – bank tellers will likely see you again, and you’ll be forced to go foreign-national every damn time you need some cash.

So that’s the latter group of the abovementioned duo. The former? People who have never met you. As far as I know, I only have one recurring relationship that requires me to use an accent each time – (my Canadian one, if you must know) – and that’s one of the vendors who calls my office every now and then. Remember when I talked about area codes? Yeah. This is a construction company’s A/R office located in Kansas City. And a long time ago, when they first bugged me, I think I may have said the word “out” with a tad too much “u.” She then asked if I was from Canada? And for reasons unknown, I responded “Manitoba.” Saw in the five phone calls over the last two years from her, I’ve been Canadian. Weird, huh?

The reason we write on accents today is of the utmost importance. After all, I have a meeting next month in which I will meet someone new that I will work very closely with for a long, long, long, LONG, long, long time. From an accent standpoint, this would be the Ultimate Challenge. Take an accent and run with it for the rest of your life. Of course, I’m trying to convince Katie to go along with it, as her cooperation would be crucial. So people, what do you say?

Should our baby girl go through life thinking her parents are British?

A Long Game, Polly

One of the nice features of Microsoft Outlook is its “Out of Office Assistant.” It’s a simple macro designed to automatically respond to your e-mails when you are unable to do so. Granted, it will only be able to respond with the message you have left for it, and can’t quite pull off sarcasm as well as you might hope, but it’s an unexpected bonus tool of the Microsoft Office Empire.

But if I wanted a parrot, I would have bought a parrot.

Over the past week, I wasn’t in the office much. I had a wedding in NYC, a surprise early arrival in the NJ, and a New Year’s party at the YAZ. So I made sure that if anyone e-mailed me, they would receive the following automated response in return, courtesy of my Out of Office Assistant, Polly:

“I will be out of the office and will return on January 2nd. I will be checking e-mail intermittently and will respond to urgent requests.”

And for the most part, what Polly sent to you people was true. I was out of the office, and I did return, as promised. Of course, intermittently meant, eh, twice and an urgent request would have had to have read,”Help me now. My couch is on fire, FedEx hasn’t delivered your Christmas present yet, the Eagles are thinking about signing Koy Detmer, and we’re out of string cheese.”

Translation: Nothing was that urgent.

So while the heads-up from Polly must have been nice, was it really all that helpful? Probably not. Was Polly just following orders from her direct supervisor? Yeah. Can she do anything else of real value, like file e-mails or format spreadsheets? Not really.

Why do I keep her on the payroll?

I don’t even have the funding in my budget for an In the Office Assistant. I understand that filling that position would be way more helpful – being able to dictate clerical tasks that I don’t feel like doing and dealing with people I don’t want to talk to would be a grand reducer of stress. But In the Office Assistants are too demanding. They want a place to sit. They want to be paid in something other than “electronic data.” Good God, they probably even want 401k and dental. And since I have all the funding that Robert Parrish was fit to wear, it doesn’t appear that I’m getting an In the Office Assistant anytime soon.

That leaves Polly. The poorly paid, oft-bored Polly.

There’s another problem with Polly – we don’t communicate well. In fact, we’ve never even spoken. When I need her to come in and work (since I do not plan to be there simultaneously), I let Outlook know that she needs to come in tomorrow. I leave a note telling her what I need her to tell people while I’m away. And just to test her, I’ll send her an email from my gmail account to see if she’s slacking off on the job.

She’s yet to slack off on the job.

But when I am scheduled to come back, and am actually sitting at my desk, Polly can’t quite take a hint. Here I am, typing and responding to people’s e-mails, and yet, she still insists on sending out the message I told her to while I was away. This thus confuses the recipient of both our e-mails to no end. It’s not until she sends something out to an undeliverable address that I realize she’s even working.

Look, Polly, I understand that the holidays are expensive and everyone could use the overtime, but this is the last straw (because I clearly make my executive decisions based on the multitude of bendy drinking devices I have remaining.) Polly, we’re going to have to let you go.

You’re fired.

Two Wheels of Fury

“Even in the future when kids are fat, immobile technaddicts, nothing will beat waking up Christmas morning and finding a shiny, new bicycle under the tree.”
- Spud Mellor, Monrovia Top Five

And while we like this quote just because of the coining of “technaddicts” it appears that in his ode to his first red bike, Mr. Mellor is clearly on to something. Although it should be pointed out that unless he lived outside in an evergreen forest, his and every other Christmas morning bicycle probably rested next to the tree and not under it. That’s why God invented kickstands – so shiny new bikes don’t fall into the tree and ruin Christmas.

While I was unable to post to MT5 that particular week due to Blogger playing Scrooge, I, too, would have made sure a shiny new two-wheeler was part of my list. Before I write my own personal ode to a bicycle, I think it’s worth taking a gander at the latest bike to roll down the line.

Is it a Huffy? No.
Schwinn? Uh-uh.
Trek? Don’t think so.
Mercedes? Of course!

As if making reliable German luxury cars wasn’t enough, it seems that the automaker has finally rolled out their auto show prototype BICYCLE. Yes, it seems that since Germany didn’t win the World Cup, they have instead focused their efforts to the world of cycling. Jan Ulrich aside, this just might be the bike that takes them to the forefront of Ich Sport de Tightpants.

The Mercedes bike, according to the linked press release, has some features quite nicer than the Point A-to-Point B stuff we Americans are used to. An intelligent lighting system operates to provide safety features in close quarters, as well as ask you impossible Trivial Pursuit questions (probably Science and Nature) during your bike ride. An on-board computer does an array of functions from displaying speed and gear, to flashing a lateral red light back and forth with the voice of Mr. Feeney from Boy Meets World. But the most revolutionary bicycular advancement on the Mercedes bike?

An automatic transmission.

Yes, while you are shifting gears with your hands like a sucker, the Germans are letting the machine do the work FOR THEM. Face it, your hands are busy enough with minor tasks like “steering the bicycle” and “not falling off,” they could use a break. The Mercedes bike does the work for you by calculating speed and incline to determine the ideal gear. That’s why it’s the Mercedes is the Mercedes of Bicycles.

Now let me introduce you to the Saturn.

Known for affordability, initial dependability and reliability, both the Saturn and my Huffy Mountain Bike get off to flying color starts. They serve their purpose with a limited sense of style. This is a Huffy I probably got in 6th grade or so. It was the third in a line of bikes for me; the first had been handed down, and then I really put the pedal to the metal with my first red 10-speed. However, as my riding got more aggressive (read:off-road), it was clear that it was time for an upgrade and Santa came through. BIG TIME.

This was 1991.

NINE YEARS LATER, I brought the aptly-named Huffy Death Trap to college with me for my freshman year. I had grown 13 inches in that time; the bike did not. Its gears? Squeakier. So much that you could hear it coming at the UC if I was still at Monroe. Had it had an equivalent on-board computer, it wouldn’t have been capable of speed and gear readings. Its processing power?

Perhaps it was more the speed of “The Cow Says Mooooooo.”

RIP, HDT.

Insert Steely Dan Song Title Here

So we hoped you enjoyed the Story of the Secret Magi. We felt it was so damn good we left it as the top post on YAB for the last week. (Or the holiday season kicked our butt and nothing was written during the Second through Eighth Days of Christmas. We blame the swans.)

Well-rested and un-deterred by a forty day backlog, we press on in the year of our Lord 2007. This new year might bring forth the need for resolutions, but we took that a little too literally last year. And besides, since all of you have probably vowed to do things like “go to the gym more” and “spend more time outdoors,” this blog doesn’t translate well to such pursuits. Of course, we’re in talks to have James Earl Jones record audio versions of the funny for podcasting, but iYAB is still a few months off.

(And we kind of get a kick out of you trying to balance a laptop on an elliptical machine.)

Cardiovascular hilarity aside, we consider the year 2006 a blogging success. According to our records, we wrote to you all 233 times this past calendar year. Sure, that means the backlog slipped by 27 days, but that still means we put over 150,000 words of the funny out here on these Internets. And just because the backlog slipped, it doesn’t mean that our ambition has in turn. The reason in simple. 2007 doesn’t appear to be any less hilarious of a world to live in. Famous people will still do stupid things. The lighter side of sports will continue to be more than outfielders running into walls. Movies will still require astute commentary that critics and industry folk will overlook. The English language is still fit to mock, and Stephen Colbert is improving it, one word at a time. And yes, people just like to laugh.

About half of what we put up here comes to us from events and places that I’ve never been a part of or have never been to. However, the other half comes from within the walls of the Fortress of Condon. After 600 posts or so, I’m still amazed when I come up with a personal story from the past that I’ve yet to relay to you all (hell, the Lamppost story was used only three months in!), and there are probably even some of those stories that don’t end with Joe Brescia on the ground in considerable pain. New funny stuff happens to me every day, but that by no means makes me unique. It’s the ability to remember daily comedy and translate it to the blogworld that has given YAB countless material out of nothing. Good God, I swear I’ve written 20-25 posts about the cafeteria downstairs. If this were Hollywood, I might have a green-lighted pilot on my hands.

2006 was a great year, personally. We bid adieu to learning. Forever.

Ok, maybe not forever, and maybe not learning altogether. But it did signify the end of formal education, as I graduated with my MBA from GW in May, and in turn, we said goodbye to an avenue of good writing material. That will probably be the most time I ever spend in a city the rest of my life, so I hope I got all of those public transportation jokes out while I had the chance. And yes, Katie and I completed our first year of marriage in 2006. And for the record, I’ve only slept on the couch once. And who can forget a stellar Oscar Party III – which has been re-lived over 20,000 times on YouTube and Google. Yeah, it’s been a good year.

So what will 2007 bring YAB Nation? Well, our Oscar coverage will continue in late January for the nominations and a re-cap of OP IV in February. And hell, maybe we’ll get to change the colors to Eagle Green then as well. We think we’ll bring back the Fall TV-NFL preview next August, and with more than a few trips plan, we’ll be blogging from all parts of the country in 2007. And of course, we’ll be hiring someone new to the staff, who will no doubt be a constant source of amusement and laughter and stories and the funny – our baby girl, Clara. Yes, we’ll be sure to have an array of baby-arrival posts this month, and then after the delivery, a new segment called the Condad Chronicles.

Happy New Year, YAB Nation.

The Story of the Secret Magi

As everybody knows, the Holy Gospel that foretells the birth of Jesus Christ comes to us courtesy of four ancient writers - Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. In addition to their universal roles as Biblical historians, the four have effectively served as our New Testament media outlets, reporting on the breaking news that occurred in Bethlehem that magical evening. Had the arrival of Christ occurred in modern-day times, we would no doubt expect to find the Gospel authors sitting at the network news desks of NBC, ABC, CBS, and Fox. (It is also widely expected that the Fox Network would have hired Mark; a man of such literary brevity would have no problem working in promos for a very exciting episode of Prison Break to immediately follow the broadcast.)

With such news to break, it's likely that the Big 4 networks would probably have little time to cover the human interest stories surrounding the Nativity. (Katie Couric would have been sold to the TLC Channel for thirty pieces of silver.) And with that, this is THE story, that would be featured by TLC's newest anchorwoman on this Christmas Day.

(Turns out the ancient Greek for "Cable" is "Apocrypha.")

In the time that was known as B.C. (but prior to the time that anyone actually knew what the "C" meant), with the holiday season fast approaching, it was time for the annual inter-kingdom Secret Sant- er, um, Secret Magi. In a annual giving tradition orchestrated by the One called "I Am," it was a custom in which each king was given a the name of another king on a tiny slip of parchment, and it became his goal to find a gift for that king. This not only embodied the spirit of the season, but a good gift would also foster positive trade relationships during the next harvest.

With only the three participants, Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar, there was not much variety in the gifts, nor was there much surprise. After all, if Caspar read his slip of parchment to be "Melchior," he then knew that Balthasar must have drawn his name; for if two of the kings drew each other's names, one would be stuck purchasing a gift for himself. This is why Jacob had twelve sons - to make Secret Magi a surprise every year.

So when Caspar opened his slip this year to not read one of his two fellow rulers, but rather the name "Emmanuel," there was a little confusion. For ages, there had only been the three of them (Herod was expelled after 9 consecutive years of giving the gift of fruitcake), and now a new name had popped in the mix. Who was this Emmanuel? What does he rule over? Does he remember to include gift receipts?

The same confusion befell Melchior, who opened his slip to read "Wonderful Counselor." This must have been a pseudonym of another entrant - after all, the Divine Organizer that puts together this whole shindig probably didn't extend the circle to therapists. (In ancient times, therapists were somewhere on the salvation chain between Pharisees and tax collectors.) Nevertheless, Melchior figured he'd go with his old standby: Frankincense.

And thirdly, there was Balthasar. Upon opening his parchment to see the name "Prince of Peace," he had an initial hesitation. A Prince?? Now we're just letting any level of royalty into this gift exchange? Eh, I guess it doesn't really matter. Maybe Caspar will have him, and give him the gift of Gold. (Which Balthasar will then have his smiths smelt into a beautiful amulet to give to the Queen - he always hated the Marketplace with the crowds and not being able to find a place to park his camel anywhere.) Having sent all of the spare chalices and ornaments to the teachers of his children, he searched through his majestic pantry to settle on a gift for the prince - a designer embalming fluid called "Myrrh."

Gift exchanges usually happened by post - as respective rulers, no one could leave for too long - there were kingdoms to manage. But this year, with new entrants to the fray, there was special instructions to meet in a town known as Bethlehem. And since no one had yet invented Mapquest, the three had to rely on their rudimentary astronomy skills and follow a light in the sky. No one asked questions, and well, the rest was history.

And at his heavenly desk, amidst scraps of parchment and ink, God smiled down upon the gathering of kings (only 4, not 6 as the Original Kings of Holiday had thought) that was about to commence in a barn just outside the Inn.

Merry Christmas, YAB Nation.

M-U-P-P MUPPETS MUPPETS MUPPETS!

There’s two weeks left in this NFL season and there are 6 teams that have already locked up playoff appearances. That leaves six more openings, and a staggering 18 squads still in contention. Now one would think that the remaining dozen and a half would spend the week going over game film, walking through two-minute drills, and doing whatever it takes to prepare for this weekend’s games. Ok, we’ll concede that snowball’s chance in hell the 6-8 Rams get in, but what of the rest?

What of the New York Jets?

The Jets face an uphill battle in the AFC to say the least. Yes, they’re 8-6, but need two wins and either a New England collapse, a Bengal blunder, or Denver and Jacksonville to surrender. So, really, football is fun, but why not have some REAL fun. Screw the playbook this week, Jets. Let’s read a coloring book instead.

With their road to the playoffs far from easy, it appears that the J-E-T-S have made a sudden left turn…onto Sesame Street.

Because of their respective kids’ infatuation with the long-running program of the Children’s Television Workshop, Coach Eric Mangini, QB Chad Pennington, WR Laveranues Coles and P Ben Graham taped several segments with Elmo and crew for a broadcast set to air next August. Now why, exactly, they picked a week leading up to their Monday Night Football appearance is a little confusing. Let’s break down this foursome, shall we?

Eric Mangini – Mangini wants you to all know that should Terrell Owens actually find a way to cause a Bill Parcells heart attack, the Jets’ head man will be glad to continue the tradition of manboobs on the sideline. In fact, take another look at the NYT photo – he kind of looks like he’s envisioning an Elmo entrée.

Chad Pennington – Sometimes it’s just nice to hang out with someone else who possessed Muppet arms.

Laveranues Coles – Upon trying to spell Mr. Coles first name, Big Bird’s head promptly exploded. (For non-NFLphiles, it’s pronounced Lah-ver-nee-uhs)

Ben Graham – Yes, they brought the punter. I think he agreed to drive, treat for lunch at Mr. Hooper’s, and not speak unless spoken to. Apparently, punters don’t need to watch game film during the week. One, two, three, KICK!

Now, the minds behind Sesame Street often come up with variations on the names of celebrities in order to create comical representations of them in full Muppet form. This includes Polly Darton, Marry Banilow, Bruce Stringbean, and Meryl Sheep, but sadly, excludes Teve Torbes.

(So let’s see, if we switch the J in Jets with the N in New York…oh no, that won’t work. We’ll have to bring on the real Jets instead.)

Right Said Wooderson

This is where we pull a Timberlake and “bring it to the chorus.”

Earlier this week, it was revealed that Chris Condon (among others) was chosen as Time’s Person of the Year. And since weekly magazines have somehow become THE go-to authority on the ranking of humanity, I’ve officially captured the first part of the All-Human Trifecta. It took a mere 27 years to be designated as awesome in every regard, and now I can move on to the next two. I realize I may have to catch eleventy billion more flag football TD’s and master a slow-pitch softball bleachers stroke in order to gain the Sports Illustrated “Athlete of the Year” crown, but in the mean time, we’ll turn our attention to making some New Year’s Resolution for eating right and staying trim in order to become People’s Sexiest Man Alive.

So, looking up the list on People’s chart, I see that Matthew McConaughey, of Dazed and Confused fame, recently lost his throne to George Clooney. So there’s little doubt that McConaughey will work on his sexy even harder in ’07 to regain his crown. Another bastion of Authoritude, Entertainment Weekly, decided they needed to kill some time until “We Are Marshall” rolls out and interviewed Matthew on his lifestyle, his looks, and his lager of choice. And from that interview, the editors at EW pondered:

“Is Matthew McConaughey TOO sexy for his own good?

It’s a tough question to deal with – after all, who gets to decide if and what the Sexy Threshold is. Sure, this man has charmed in romantic comedies, played the tough-guy roles, and somehow found a way to take off his shirt for no reason whatsoever (see this Matt Damon on Letterman clip for more), but how in the world do the people at People even determine and quantify a level of sexiness??

As usual, YAB has the answer.

We’ve employed the RSF Method, founded by a couple of bald, mesh-shirt lab-coated brothers in 1991 has set the standard for the Sexy Threshold. Rather than get numbers and complex equations in everyone’s head (a big mistake, since Dr. Thomas Dolby was earlier blinded by science), they kept it simple. One is to measure their sexiness on a TOO/NOT TOO scale, using several commonplace items as barometers. We apply this test to Matthew McConaughey here.

Item 1: “LOVE”: Well, the man’s biggest box office successes (after A Time to Kill) were all romantic comedies. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and Failure to Launch made a combined 193 million at the Box Office. It appears that if he’s choosing his projects well, he should do one of these every couple years, so love (love)’s not going to leave him. VERDICT: NOT TOO SEXY!

Item 2: “SHIRT”: The most obvious item – if U-571 hadn’t taken place on a submarine in the middle of the freezing North Atlantic, he probably would have gone topless. VERDIT: TOO SEXY!

Item 3: “MILAN, NY, and JAPAN” – Three items really, but these three major fashion meccas are rarely the filming location of a Matthew McConaughey flick. Sahara was probably the closest to Milan (filmed in Morocco), and while you thought it was New York, most of “Two for the Money” was in NYC’s kid brother, Vancouver. VERDICT: TOO SEXY!

Item 4: “YOUR PARTY” – Observe the way he’s disco dancing. And the way he tried to stop his own wedding from happening in The Wedding Planner. (Ok, technically, it was “his” party.) VERDICT: TOO SEXY!

Item 5: “CAR” – In Failure to Launch, he has a car but prefers his boat. In Reign of Fire, he prefers dragons. U-571 it was submarines. But Dazed and Confused, Wooderson’s life (other than high school chicks) IS his car. VERDICT: NOT TOO SEXY!

Item 6: “HAT” – I’m starting to think that the Brothers Fred were just coming up with words that rhyme rather than conducting astute scientific research. Anyways, McConaughey wears an assortment of hats in his movies, most regrettably one of the California Angels in the 1994 flick, Angels in the Outfield. VERDICT: NOT TOO SEXY!

Item 7: “CAT” – The man is a Longhorn, an alumnus of the University of Texas. On September 30th, Texas hosted the Sam Houston State Bearkats and destroyed them, 56-3. VERDICT: TOO SEXY!

And by a 4-3 judges’ decision, it appears that Matthew McConaughey is too sexy for his own good.