TR is Rushmore's Sunderland

Forget the 2008 Presidential Race. I’d like to hold a Special Election to promote a former President to acclaimed status.

As it currently stands, Mount Rushmore contains the stately heads of Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and Theodore Roosevelt. This quartet served as the inspiration for the Washington Nationals’ Presidents Race for the 2006 season at RFK. Similar to the mighty sausage drag race of Wisconsin, the Presidents Race of RFK has Nats’ staffers inside the costumes of our former heads of state, as they race from the right field foul pole to a finish line in front of the dugout.

Here’s the Fab Four.

However, it has become local lore that while 3 of our former Commanders-in-Chief started their mornings in the White House with a brisk jog, one lags horribly behind. That’s right, Nats fans – TR is slower than Nick Johnson’s recovery from his broken leg. With one season plus one game in the books, Teddy Roosevelt has NEVER, EVER won the Presidents Race.

After being an also-ran for 81 games last year, the Nats’ management even devised a way for TR to cheat his way to an Opening Day victory yesterday, during Washington’s 9-2 loss to the Marlins. An inning prior to the great race, a certain 26th President of the United States appeared to be contemplating suicide, as he stood high above the field. While his peculiar placement drew the park’s interest away from Hanley Ramirez’s sick opening day, it did nothing to assuage the fears that he’d take a flying leap down to the pavement.

No, he had other plans in mind.

Over the reign of Theodore Roosevelt, historians have had many exciting tales to lament and ultimately, exaggerate in middle school textbooks. There was that time he left the country to round up animals for the Smithsonian on an African safari, and killed a bear using only his teeth. He got the idea of having a Great White Naval Fleet playing with his tub toys – a practice later attempted by Taft – this is why he got stuck. And now, Teddy Roosevelt has learned to fly.

For those too lazy to click through to the accompanying YouTube video, Captain Big Stick leapt from the roof of RFK and utilized a zip line to zoom ahead of mere bipedal Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln. He surged out to a commanding lead over his rivals. 2007 could be HIS year. However, in order to win the race, TR would have to land and finish the final few steps on foot. His landing was far from graceful – as he fell on his back in shame, the other three sped by. Same old result.

So what should we do with a foam representation of a former President whose ethics are now called largely into question? Impeach him posthumously? Nay.

Send him to the minors.

I know we broke free of Great Britain for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, but I feel that we can still learn from our former rulers. In their English Premier League, any team deemed to be substandard, or unable to keep up with the level of competition the rest of the league is exhibiting, they are demoted to the Football League Championship. Each year, three teams go down, and three teams come up. This encourages teams to not phone it in (as Washington may be threatening to do in ’07), as well as give teams from other origins a chance to compete on the main stage.

Wouldn’t this be PERFECT for the Presidents Race?

After last year, TR would get demoted for a year, and seek reinstatement next off-season. In the meantime, a new challenger would enter the fray and take on the other Fathers of our Country for this season.

I leave it to the YAB Readership YAB for Presidential suggestions.

Mike Nordberg Talks Some Smack

Hi. I’m Mike Nordberg*. And I’m about to shock the world.

I’m a big fan of movies. Every post I’ve ever done over at Nordblog has used a relevant movie as the title of whatever it is I’m writing about. I like movies that have a surprise ending; movies that catch you by surprise, floor you to your soul, and leave you wondering, “How the hell did I not see that coming?” You know what the closing credits are for? They put them there to give you some time to remove your dropped jaw from your bucket of popcorn. Why? Because that’s how movies are meant to be made.

I’m Keyser Soze. With a kayak.

I like sports, too. I like the heat of competition and the draw of a closely-played match. With the exception of Lehigh-Lafayette, that needs to be an annual bloodbath. (For the record, Lehigh outscored Lafayette 117-42 during my four years. I thought Leopards were supposed to be jungle cats. You guys couldn’t outclaw Garfield.) But that’s the exception to the rule. I like come-from-behind victories, last-second shots that leave wusspants like Adam Morrison in tears like it’s the funeral scene from Steel Magnolias.

Um…I meant Braveheart. Yeah.

Look, I play with the Navy’s torpedoes for a living. All day long. If I wanted to blow the other 16 members of the YAB = You’re a Bracket out of the water, you know I could have. But like I said, I like a close call. (And at the time, I had no idea Kristen Cole went to Lafayette. That might have changed my gameplan a bit.) You see, a good sports movie final doesn’t end with the heroes up by 20 with a minute to play. It ends with a shot heard round the world. Hoosiers. Miracle. The Mighty Ducks. Let’s rock and roll until the final buzzer.

And that’s how I picked my bracket.

Right now, I’m 31 back and in 5th place. And I’m here to tell you know, that was by my divine design. Just look at my bracket. It may read I’ve gone 39-23 to date. That’s the fewest number correct of the ENTIRE bracket pool. I don’t care about that. All I care about is making statement picks. I like to make picks to anger my enemies. But Mike Nordberg? Won’t you lose your chances at some free YAB swag? All in good time, reader. I’ve got to fry some fish.

Torpedo-style.

I said Butler’s going home in the first round. Why? Because Bulldogs are overrated, and I live so close to ODU’s campus, I might as well get a campus dining plan. But as for the other schools of Virginia? I picked them to lose in the first round to make a statement. UVA? VCU? Virginia Tech? You can all go home. Why? Because I’m sick of paying your commonwealth’s car tax on my sweet pick up truck. That’s why. So what if you all won in the first round? I DON’T NEED YOUR CRUMMY POINTS.

And yeah, I had no intention of picking North Carolina to go to the Elite 8. I picked Texas, and not just because of Kevin Durant. You see, my dear brother is a recent Tar Heel grad, and he told Mom that I broke that vase when we were 8. Guess what, Mom. It was Chris. He was practicing corner kicks in the dining room – I was on the computer at the time – designing the ultimate strategy for smoking my next of kin in Battleship. So this was my statement game. Sure, I thought UNC could make it to the Elite 8. But sometimes you need to rock the brotherly boat.

And what about Ohio State??? The archrival to my mighty Michigan Wolverines??? There’s no way I’m picking them with a sound conscience. I had Xavier taking them down. And then Tennessee. And then Texas A&M. And then Georgetown! I should be furious that Greg Oden is still standing!!! They stole 30 points from me by themselves!

But I’m not.

Like I said, Mike Nordberg doesn’t like a blowout. I like for my foes to not know what hit them. Have a plan, and then see what happens – that’s how I roll. For tonight is the national championship game. And I’ve still got a horse in the race. In fact, I’m the only one backing the defending national champions in this race. I’ve got Florida winning at all, and nobody else does.

I’m down 31.
Tonight’s game is worth 32 points.
Do the math, suckers.

* if Mike Nordberg isn’t the actual author, then maybe someone who shares the same first name as his twin brother is. Just a hunch we have.

Baby, I'm Amazed By You

The following are a list of things that babies that babies find amazing. Maybe not all babies – it’s not like every adult finds the Mona Lisa to be art or the this past week’s Nikki and Paolo episode of Lost to be excellent – so we can’t assume that babies are a homogeneous think tank, either. So let’s re-phrase this upcoming list’s title. And put it in bold and underline it for added…amazement.

Things Our Baby Finds Amazing

1. Lights – It doesn’t matter if it’s fluorescent, incandescent, white, yellow, blue, natural, artificial, or neon, illumination is by far the greatest thing on the planet according to Clara Grace Condon. Who can blame her? She spent nine months in relative darkness, save the time that Daddy put a flashlight up to Mommy’s stomach to see if the baby would turn her head. (Answer: Nope.) And all that did was probably make one wall of the womb glow red. The first time she sees E.T, she’s going to have some wicked flashbacks.

But most of the baby’s day involves lying somewhere and looking around. And no matter how many times you try and get her attention, if there’s sun peeking through the window blinds, you’ve lost her. She’s visibly exciting to see that light is concentrated into specific sources, and is probably formulating a plan as to how to make it light all the time. After all, it’s only when it’s dark that her parents insist on wrapping her up tight and putting her in a crib.

This kid’s going to be beside herself come Christmas.

2. Cause and Effect – She’s also starting to realize that her actions often bring specific results with them. Take her bouncer chair, for instance. Every time she scoots down in the seat to get with in swinging distance of the hanging toucan or chimpanzee, she’ll take a crack at moving them from their peaceful positions. And if she manages to succeed, a carnival of light and sound erupts before her eyes. Smaller animals move back and forth, cheerful synth tunes play and the waterfall (note: does not contain actual water) flows and ebbs with the rhythm. She’ll sit there and take whacks at it, and finds that there is a symphonic reward to be had. At this age, she’s not at a point where we can teach her a whole lot, other than cause or effect.

Or an intense need to bludgeon any monkey or tropical bird she sees.

3. Medicine – Right now, there’s a few things that our doctor has prescribed that Clara should take on a daily basis. Aside from helping her stomach feel better, bones grow stronger, and reduce colic, this is her first real introduction to her sense of taste. And she finds this amazing. Prior to these liquid dropper-fuls of meds, the only taste she has come to taste would be that of milk. And for all she knows, this is just something she needs to do to not be hungry. She has no idea that there is other food flavors – when she watches her parents down a pizza in record time, she assumes that pizza tastes like milk, too. Or that was until she got these prescriptions. Pharmacists have take the time to make baby vitamin mixtures taste like strawberry or bubble gum. Strawberry or Bubble Gum! It’ll be years before either flavor will be properly associated with the food from whence it comes, but she now knows that there are way more possibilities to how things taste in years to come.

That, or she thinks our pizza is now bubbleberry-flavored.

4. The Element of Surprise – Yeah, she’s pretty amazed that we haven’t caught on yet. Post-feeding, she’ll lie there in your arms, or likely, on you lap. She stares up at you; she’s happy, satisfied, and full. Life IS good. So what does she do to show her appreciation? She gives you one of those trademarked Baby Smiles – the ones that make the 3 AM diaper changes worth it.

You’ve been lured into the trap.

From her perspective, she sees you smile back and knows that you’re cooked. Amazed at this simple ploy, it’s really remarkable how often it works. Just as the tall ones are about to pat themselves on the back for a successful feeding, you widen that childish grin even farther. This causes whoever fed you to call their spouse into the room to see that beam. The spouse will look, smile, and then she senses it. This is all too perfect. Everything is going too well. She’s too happy after a feed. And right before she can say, “It’s a trap! It’s a trap! Run!” You show them just why you’re so amazed.

This is why I feed my daughter with a rain coat on.

Hot Corner Cinema, Part 2

Ok, before we unveil the arms of the team, some notes on Part 1.

• As Spud deftly pointed out, Roy Hobbs was actually a right fielder in The Natural. After the gunshot to the arm, he didn’t have the strength to pitch in the majors. I’ll keep on the pitching staff, though, as we hearken back to the times when all nine positional players could swing the bat, long before the DH rule tainted the American League. So rather than having a Brett Myers (2 hits in 63 AB last season,) Hobbs pitches.
• This roster says an awful lot about what we like from our baseball flicks. Face it, there’s nothing interesting about an infielder who makes routine plays in the field. If anywhere in the infield, we make movies about catchers. In the field, they participate in every play, engage in witty banter with opposing hitters, and it’s okay for them to be a little out of shape, and thus, endearing. While we took Dottie and Crash, we had to cut Major League’s Jake Taylor, The Sandlot’s Ham Porter, and even Summer Catch’s Billy Brubaker (Spud’s theory: Matthew Lillard makes any movie better. And trust me, Summer Catch needs all the help it can get.)

Let’s get ready to hurl. (Ok, that sounded WAY better before I typed it.)

Starting Rotation:
Roy Hobbs – The Natural – Like I said yesterday, he gets this spot because he took down the biggest hitter in the league, The Whammer, on three pitches. And then, the movie ends up being about his hitting, not his fastballs. Talk about multi-talented. It’s like if Ghostbusters began about Peter Venkman’s ability to capture ghastly apparitions, only to find out it’s really a movie about his ability to pull tablecloths out from under dishware. Yes, the flowers are still standing.
Nook LaLoosh – Bull Durham – A bit of a headcase, but that’s just as dangerous to the other team as it is to your own manager. He has the skills to be a part of The Show. However, they laugh at you in The Show if you wear women’s underwear. And yeah, the rose goes in the front, big guy.
Steve Nebraska – The Scout – Let’s just call this me officially getting over my hang-up that Brendan Fraser is a bad actor. (He just chooses projects terribly.) A tall righty whose claim to fame if winning the World Series by pitching a perfect game, composed of 27 straight three-pitch strikeouts, Nebraska is probably the staff ace – if he can keep his head on straight. Although in that game against the Cardinals, the final batter is Ozzie Smith. I know it seems impressive, but that’s a tad anti-climactic for two reasons. If he strikes out Ozzie as the 27th batter, that means St.Louis has him batting ninth – behind the pitcher. He must be mired in a terrible slump. Oh, and Ozzie Smith isn’t exactly know for his batting prowess – he was a lifetime .262 hitter.
Billy Chapel – For the Love of the Game – For the love of the game, I’ve tried to watch this movie three times and have never stayed awake past the 10 minutes mark. Oh, and the director – you’ll never guess. Sam Raimi.
Henry Wiggen – Bang the Drum Slowly – From IMDB, it says “The story of a New York pro baseball team and two of its players. Henry Wiggen is the star pitcher and Bruce Pearson is the normal, everyday catcher who is far from the star player on the team and friend to all of his teammates. During the off-season, Bruce learns that he is terminally ill, and Henry, his only true friend, is determined to be the one person there for him during his last season with the club. The pitcher, Wiggen, was played by Michael Moriarty, who went on to do such films as Troll and The Stuff. The catcher? A young actor named Robert DeNiro.

Bullpen
Rick “Wild Thing” Vaughn – Major League. Hey Red Sox, you did the right thing returning Jonathan Papelbon to the closer’s role for this upcoming season. Vaughn is living proof that sometimes closers are just meant to be closers. Or deodorant pitchmen.
Jim Morris – The Rookie – This movie should not have been good. It really should not have. And somehow, it was. Because of Morris’ age, we’ll make him a middle reliever who can still throw heat but only needs to go an inning or two to get the job done.
Amanda Whurlitzer – Bad News Bears – If Hinson is still in the game, this would be the first all-female battery in the history of Major League baseball. And if this woman is promoted, she could be the umpire. Could you imagine some intense pro player like Carlos Delgado stepping to the plate and trying to concentrate with all these women around? Guaranteed out.
Henry Rowengartner – Rookie of the Year – You know, before he loses his 120-MPH laser rocket arm and has to subject us all to the ridiculous underhanded toss his mom taught him. No offense, kid, but Ryan Howard would crush that 650 feet. Let’s hope you still got the heat, otherwise you may actually agree to be in those horrid American Pie sequels they’re churning out.
Kenny Denunez – The Sandlot – After Benny, the only player from that old ballfield to play semi-professionally. He made it to Triple-A. (Jesse Hall is a two-sport phenom.)
Ryan Dunne – Summer Catch – Freddie Prinze Jr. makes the team, but only because I had to do everything in my power to not take Tony Danza’s character from Angels in the Outfield. From Spud’s Film Critic Review: This movie contains one of the stupidest "inspirational" moments in all of film. When Danny Glover comes out to trick 57-year-old pitcher Tony Danza into believing that he will be able to strike out the league's RBI leader on his 160th pitch when he has his closer warmed up in the bullpen by telling him that "the kid sees an angel," and the whole Angels crowd stands up to do that stupid arms-waving thing. So ridiculous.

Hot Corner Cinema, Part 1

You may recall that in lieu of a 2004-2005 NHL season, we were forced to get our hockey fix elsewhere. This was the reason for forming our Cinematic All-Star Pro Hockey Team. Looking back almost three years and re-reading it now, here are some thoughts that come to mind.

• There just haven’t been that many hockey movies. Outside of any movies involving ducks with super-strength, we count about 5 true hockey flicks. We had to reach a bit to include Happy Gilmore, for the love of Saku Koivu.
• The lack of hockey movies provided a talent pool so thin that we accepted Mike Modano as our third-line center. For those who don’t recall, he had a brief came alongside Basil McRae in the first Duck movie. About 12 seconds of screen time.
• Charlie Conway was left off. This STILL pleases us.

When the Mets do battle with the Cardinals this Sunday, the 2006 Major League Baseball season will be upon us. And with that, we’ve decided to unveil a far more impressive team in our franchise stable, the YAB Cinematic All-Star Pro Baseball Team. Here were our rules this time around.

• No Cameos. MLB tends to cooperate with Hollywood, so pro players end up in movies all the time. You could form a team of just them, and hell, maybe some day we will. In the meantime, there won’t be Mike Modanos on this squad.
• No Hall of Famers - more than likely if you are the focus of a movie - Pride of the Yankees, Babe, that one about Grover Cleveland Alexander - you were probably damn good. Cheating. Not in the Hall? We’ll consider you.
  No more than 3 players from any one movie (including sequels)
  

Starting Lineup

1. 3B – Benny “The Jet” Rodriguez – The Sandlot – In the movie, Benny always seemed to be hitting batting practice to the rest of the guys, so we never really know his true position. However, we have no doubt he can play them all. Therefore, we see him as an A-Rod, but with more speed. (Mike Vitar, the actor, is the only guy to make both our baseball and hockey teams.)
2. CF – Bobby Rayburn – The Fan – The first of two actors with multiple lockers. Snipes plays the total package in center here, and is a mirror image of another San Francisco Giant who can belt homers and wears an earring. But 6 hat sizes smaller.
3. SS – Joe Hardy – Damn Yankees! – The slugger who made a deal with the devil, this Senator might be the closest a Washington ball player gets to an all-star team this year. When Katie directed this musical back in 2003, she had me pen a parody of Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy for the show to be about Hardy. (It rules to hear other people perform your lyrics.)
4. RF – Pedro Cerrano – Major League – There’s a clear distinction between Cerrano in the first movie and Cerrano in the second movie. We’re picking Cerrano #1 here. If my starting right fielder ever ran outside of the base paths to help a fallen bird he hit with a line drive, it would be Back to the Minors with him. Oh, Jobu!
5. LF – Shoeless Joe Jackson – Field of Dreams – The nice thing about making the rules? You get to make the loopholes, too. The heart and soul of my favorite baseball movie.
6. C – Dottie Hinson – A League of their Own – I don’t care if she plays ball like a girl. She’s a power-hitting catcher with flexibility, the mindset to cool off hot-tempered pitchers, and is a true leader in the clubhouse. As an added bonus, she’s almost as pretty as Mike Piazza. Almost.
7. 1B – Jack Elliot – Mr. Baseball – How did one of the most important positions in baseball, from a hitter’s perspective get so overlooked in film? I guess there’s not a whole lot a player can do in the climactic scene of a baseball flick from first, other than catch the final out after a brilliant diving stab from the shortstop, but really? I’ve got Mr. Baseball in the starting lineup?
8. 2B – Marla Hooch – A League of their Own – the best true contact hitter on the team. Not much of a singer, we hear.
9. P – Roy Hobbs – The Natural – Again, another star at the plate who we don’t see much other than in the dugout or circling the basis, The Natural proves that he’s the best pitcher on my staff in the early scene in the movie where he sends the Babe Ruth-like guy home swinging on three pitches. Not a guaranteed out, like most pitchers. Wonderboys for everybody.
   

Postional Bench Players
1B – Lou Collins – Little Big League – Yeah, when I’m trying to cast a star ball player for my movie, the first actor that comes to my mind is totally…Timothy Busfield? Personally, I thought they’d never let him near another field after he played such a huge prick in Field of Dreams. Like I said, 1B is WEAK.
C – Crash Davis – Bull Durham – Face it. He’s a minor league catcher on the decline of his career, but he brings certain intangibles to this team that few others can. He has a mentoring relationship with one of our starting pitchers, and no all-star baseball team would be complete without at least two appearances by Kevin Costner. I swear, he pitches movies as adventure-romance epics, and then when he gets the funding, he pulls out a diamond story.
OF – Archibald “Moonlight” Graham – Field of Dreams – Graham, a real player, never got an at-bat in a major league game. Which is to say, Graham is the one player on this team who will never ground into a double play, strike out, fly out, ground out, or pop out. No one has ever gotten him out, and we assume that to be true going forward.
2B – Denny Hemmerling – Angels in the Outfield – Scrappy middle infielder played by Academy Award winner Adrien Brody. Aside from the ridiculous play where the ball off of Denny’s bat never leaves the infield, yet eludes the fielders 20-something times while the speedster rounds the bases, he’s primarily going to be a pinch runner and defensive replacement.
OF – Stan Ross – Mr. 3000 – Bernie Mac has locker room presence. Bernie Mac brings the funny. Bernie Mac has magic powers. How else do you explain a movie that centers around the Milwaukee Brewers?
OF – Willie Mays Hayes – Major League – Is it just me, or does he look a LOT different in the second movie? And I’m not just talking about that power stroke, either.

Pitchers to follow later.

Time to Take the Donuts

Ready for a quiz? No? That’s okay, you never were in high school and look how successful you’ve become. (Moral of the story: Quizzes are a waste of time. Or in this case, an enjoyable time waster. Let’s proceed.)

The following list is a list of a typical set of 12 donuts that might be found in a box from Dunkin’ Donuts. I’m not saying that any two boxes are the same; however, I would venture a guess that if you asked the cashier to throw one together for you, it would look a lot like this:

Boston Crème-filled, Chocolate icing
Chocolate Cake Donut
Cruller
Glazed Donut, Chocolate icing (hole in middle)
Glazed Donut, Pink icing with Sprinkles
Jelly-filled, Powdered White
Plain Donut
Specialty Order Donut
Standard Glazed Donut #1
Standard Glazed Donut #2
White Crème-filled, Powdered White
Wheat Glazed Donut

Take this list and order them from 1 to 12. The criteria? The order in which these donuts will disappear from the box. We want to see what your opinion is on Donut Vanishing Theory, and then once we have it, we’ll proceed to prove how naïve it is. The actual answers are provided below.

(in order of disappearance)

1. Specialty Order Donut – Look, Dunkin Donuts make good Donuts, but they aren’t the type of gourmet, world-class donut you crave. Instead, they are the convenient road-side donut depot that a generous colleague of yours passes every day on the way to work. If he’s going to go out and be the Office Hero, he’s going to want more than a pat on the back and the good graces of the crazy secretary. He’s going to want his favorite donut, too. So when he gets to work, he’ll put the box down in the kitchen, send out an e-mail notifying all of his good deed, and chomp down on the one donut he ordered – just the way he likes it.
2. Standard Glazed Donut #1 – The next guy to the box got there in so much of a hurry that he probably spends his entire day that way. Always on the go, never stopping at the water cooler to chat up last night’s episode of Lost. He’s Nordberg (assuming Nordberg isn’t phoning it in that day.) He needs a simple, classic choice, to go with his plain, black coffee while he reads his Blackberry. (If this was a mock draft, though, I’d say he reached picking Glazed at #2. Why?)
3. Boston Crème-filled, Chocolate icing – This is why. The jewel of the draft dropped down to Number 3, where you’ve got that worker who was so exciting to get the donut e-mail that they also rushed down to the box to make the primo pick. Guy #2 is more concerned about efficiency, while this person wants a tasty treat to help get through the first hour of the day. It’ll be a grueling one, but it’s okay now. They just took home the Michael Jordan of the donut box.
4. Glazed Donut, Chocolate Icing – Another solid pick. And with less guilt and calories than number 3.
5. White Crème-filled, Powdered White – Ooh, this could totally backfire, but whoever grabbed it should be satisfied with their selection. The real reason we like donuts? The crème filling. It just tastes great. However, there’s very few avenues that one can take to have this delicious crème. Unless you go the “Bowl of Pudding” route, there are few ways one can get this stuff. Donuts are a great crème vehicle; let’s just hope that you’re careful enough that your blue shirt isn’t sprinkled like a snowstorm by the end.
6. Standard Glazed Donut #2 – Similar reasoning as number 2, but this guy was SO busy he didn’t get here right out of the gate. He’s lucky for his choice to still be around.
7. Chocolate Cake Donut – No one quite knows what to make of Chocolate Cake Donut. It appears to be a plain, boring donut, with the exception that it has that dark, fudgesque hue. Looking at the rest of the box, it’s a best option pick. Of course, milk may be a better compliment over coffee here.
8. Glazed Donut, Pink Icing with Sprinkles – There’s nothing like trying to call someone in your office to tell them the bad news about the 3rd Quarter earnings wit a sad, solemn, straight face. At a pause in the conversation, you take a bite of your donut. If you were the 8th to the box, your edible circus in a circle might ruin the tone of the meeting, no?
9. Plain Donut – Wow, safe pick thre, Captain Risk Taker. Let me guess, there’s no ice in your water glass for fear of cutting the inside of your mouth . Am I right? Bo-ring.
10. Wheat Glazed Donut – the donut that’s technicall 4% better for you than the rest has fallen into the latter half of the morning untouched. There’s two reasons for this. First, there’s been WAY better options on the board, so why would someone go for something that tastes slightly less than satisfactory. Secondly, the guy on the diet has spent the last two hours in agony deciding whether to partake on the free snacks, and he’s finally rationalized that since the dough is wheat, it’s going to be just fine.
11. Cruller – If turned up on their ends, donuts are supposed to look like inner tubes. Not the tire of a monster truck. Let’s move on.
12. Jelly-Donut, Powdered White – Somewhere there’s a guy who likes jelly donuts; otherwise Dunkin Donuts just wouldn’t make ‘em. Unfortunately, the odds are slim that he works in your office. As with the Crème-filled, white powdered sugar is an invitation for a ruined blazer, and honestly, who’s going to take the donut that two other people have probably already poked holes in, in hopes that there’s crème inside? Not me, sir. Not me.
    

Give yourself one point for every correctly-slotted donut. How’d you do?

23 Days Until the Break-Up

In your history of relationships with the opposite sex, the following sequence of events has no doubt happened to you.

You’re in a long-term relationship and you absolutely love it. The two of you operate like you were meant for one another. The world knows you couldn’t be happier with your partner, probably because you insist on telling the world even when they don’t care. Maybe she’s rewarded you with adorable pictures, maybe you’ve gotten her a gift, too – I hear earrings are nice for any occasion. Yeah, there’s no doubt that you two are joined at the hip.

Literally.

But relationships are not easy – no, no. Once you get comfortable with a person, you may start to get lazy – to develop some bad habits. Maybe you don’t take the time to push all the right buttons – voice activation is easier and less-time consuming. Maybe she doesn’t remember to tell you when your buddy called about going to the baseball game until long after the final out has been made. Suddenly, there’s these growing pains that puppy love just wasn’t accustomed to handle. And at the time when you want to show her off out on the town, she just wants to be at home, as she puts it, “recharging her batteries.”

What happened to the good times? What about when you were too tired to copy the notes of the blackboard in grad school, so she stepped up and used her multi-pixel photographic memory to copy them for you? When was the last time you knew that it was going to snow out, and you offered to keep huddled within your overcoat to avoid the harsh winter elements? Heck, you don’t even get excited when you hear your song – in this instance U2’s Sunday Bloody Sunday – on the radio.

It may be the end of the line.

At some point in your relationship, you know that the end is in sight. You face the facts, and you realize that the two of you aren’t meant for one another for all eternity. You’ll move on and find a new partner, she may end up in the gutter. But listen, man, that’s not your problem. You need to be strong, say what you need to say to her, and turn the page. And since you’re going to have this discussion of monumental importance, you better have a damn good reason as to why you want to break up.

Here is mine.

Ever since September, my current cellular significant other has changed. Every time I look at her to see her multi-color face, all I get is a blinding white, faceless stare in return. I ask her questions like “Hey, what time is it?” and “Did I get any text messages?” and she responds with nothing. Silence. I have to guess what’s going on in that little head of hers, since she has no plan on showing me directly. If we have guests coming over unexpectedly, she won’t tell me who it is until I open the door and see them face-to-face. In the last 7 months, that’s come back to haunt me more than once.

Of course, she’s no idiot, either. She knows that the relationship has soured and that the end may be near. The thing is, she knows that you’re a catch – losing you in her life may lead to a life of solitude, probably in a drawer somewhere. So what does she do? She makes those desperate attempts to win you back. She’ll open her eyes and you see all the Technicolor brilliance that you first fell in love with. Dates, times, people’s phone numbers – she’s willing and able to give you any information you need. She lets you know who’s calling and just how much time you have before she decides it time to go to sleep and black out for the night. You love this – her drive to win you back, and for a fleeting second, you think that you can make this work. God, maybe we have a chance to work things out. Verizon has so many damn people following me all the time – one of them must be a couples’ therapist, right?

The next morning you wake up full of hope. You pull her tight, only to get that cold, white, blank stare once again. And then you realize the sad reality of it all.

Too little, too late.

We're Gonna Need a Bigger Booth

I used to hate watching NFL football on Sunday nights. There was a few reasons for this. First, the scheduling gods never put anyone all that riveting in the weekend nightcap slot. It was always a battle between two AFC West teams I could care less about or the Redskins getting a home game against an NFC patsy like the Cardinals, Vikings or Packers. Secondly, it came on opposite the Simpsons, a weekly ritual in college, that would not be missed for a game with a very tiny likelihood of playoff implications. And finally, and most importantly, ESPN’s Sunday Night Football coverage was announced by the worst NFL broadcast booth I have ever heard.

Mike Patrick. Paul Maguire. Sunshine Joe Theismann.

ESPN is not exactly a company that has a dearth of football minds on its payroll. Back in these days (2 yrs. ago), NFL Live’s desk was about 8 analysts long, and they even had a satellite desk in the back where they would throw it to Chris Mortensen for further breakdown of the Bucs’ Cover 2 defense. Surely, someone could have agreed to work nights and replace this horrible trio. Hell, you picked Theismann off from there in the first place!? Would it have been so hard to axe these turkeys and Steve Young, Kenny Mayne, and Tom Jackson in the booth?

Apparently so.

The Sunday night team kept me away from football in an era where I could have been watching my fantasy players make or break my week to come. There’s no greater example of these three’s incompetence than the playoff game two years ago between the Redskins and the Buccaneers in Tampa Bay. While Washington would leave with a victory, they left a parting gift with their opponents in the form of Sean Taylor spitting in the face of RB Michael Pittman. Of course, you wouldn’t know it by the call from the booth. Here is an outstanding recap of three guys getting paid to not pay attention to a football game on national TV.

Of course, I had great hopes for this broadcasting team’s demise during last year’s NFL TV Programming Musical Chairs exercise, and my dreams ALMOST came true.

1. Patrick? Gone.
2. Maguire? Gone.
3. Theismann? PROMOTED. To Monday Night Football. Ack.

And so, even though we as a nation could return to watching football on Sunday nights, Mondays were decidedly in jeopardy. Look, I’m a big fan of Tony Kornheiser, and I was a fan of his addition to the broadcast booth. But like Studio 60, it was good material in the wrong format. Tony may grow to become a solid broadcaster in the booth, as he will be around to see this year’s slate of primetime weekday matchups. Joe Theismann? Not so much.

Pardon me while Peyton and I do this little dance of joy.

While I didn’t watch much MNF this past year, what I did see involved Joe Theismann trying to get by on his good looks, always speaking in a condescending fashion to Kornheiser, and still not bringing quality analysis to the game.

Bye, bye Sunshine. Hello, Jaws.

Ron Jaworski, famous Philadelphia Eagle and the only QB that looks at more game film each week that Dancing Peyton, is getting the call. He excelled in the Week 1 MNF doubleheader, in which he, Dick Vermeil, and Brad Nessler carries the West Coast game. He’s currently practicing by calling games for the AFL. And most importantly, he’s not nearly as tan as Theismann, which will make Kornheiser look a lot less pasty.

What next? Randall Cunningham – Sideline Reporter?

Sacramentally Insane

Say what you will about God: He sure does plan for the long-run.

Much of Christianity is based on a set of common events in which its believers can receive signs of inward grace called sacraments. These sacraments are considered to be instituted by Jesus Christ himself – things that He did in his time that you too can do in your time in order to be closer to God.

Consider them a prophetic set of cut-the-line passes.

Yes, through the use of these sacraments you can be on the receiving end of a special blessing as a thank you from the Almighty for your continued support of his rule over all existence. (Way better than a politician bumper sticker, in my opinion.) Hey, if you’re lucky, you’ll get a sense of enlightenment regarding His teachings in the process. You should be proud to be a recipient of a holy sacrament. You don’t even have to do something outlandish to receive it.

That’s where the forethought of God comes in.

This past weekend, we held a baptism for our daughter, Clara. It was a beautiful ceremony at our church in Fairfax, and a reception followed shortly thereafter so that we could show our appreciation to you all for the support of the Most Documented Human on Earth. What might you remember of your Baptism? The actions are probably memorable – it probably involved all the big people in the room ganging up on the tiniest people in the room and dousing her with cold water. In action, you’re absolutely right. But what’s more?

Baptism is a sacrament.

This is where God called His shot eons ago. He wanted a way to honor those who were ready to enter his Kingdom and figured, “Hey, it should be a ceremony of some kind. I need to come up with a symbolic way to show the removal of original sin and the following vibrancy of a newfound Christian. Hmm…what to do?” (Drumming his fingers on his desk caused the Great Earthquake of 241 BC.)

This is why I’m thankful that God took the time to plan something symbolic and clever. By the use of water, it symbolizes the washing away of original sin, allowing the newly baptized to lead a new life, clean and new. Now what if some of God’s other ideas, which ended up on the cutting room floor, had been used for the sacrament of Baptism?

What if he thought we should do jumping jacks? Or hold a heavy stone over our heads? Or be able to list the world’s capitals alphabetically in under two minutes? God charged himself with coming up with something that would stand the test of time – a protocol that would be as practical and relevant on Day 1 of the church as it would be on Day – um – Eleventy Billion.

Let’s review some of those other scenarios, shall we? Jumping jacks for the vanquishing of original sin? First off, babies don’t jump so high, and secondly, the name Jack wouldn’t come into existence until the Old English got their hands on the Hebrew name John. And aside from the physical limitations many true believers have from lifting heavy stones over their heads, some might not know when to put them down, prolonging baptisms until everybody’s out of film. Oh, and the world capital test? It would have been way easier to pass that one when the world consisted of two or three empires. That’s not fair for us moderns. Besides I bet none of you know the capital of Lesotho of the top of you heads.

God came up with the pouring of water, the spoke rite, and the sign of the cross in place of all those crazy sacramental ideas. I guess He’s telling us something else with Baptism.

The Earth will always have water.

Humans will always have heads.

(Note: It’s a good thing God was all about the pre-planning. I suspect if He was designing Holy Communion today, He would have dropped bread from the equation in favor of Hot Pockets. I hear He loves them.)

Revenge on the Mac

I got a call from Katie Friday concerning our self-destructive apartment. Apparently, what she thought was a routine quest to grab a coffee mug turned hazardous, as the cabinet door that protects our coffeeware from the elements nearly came crashing down in her hands. Upon further inspection, the screws that affix the hinge to the cabinet proved to be too much metal for the particle board that serves as the cabinet wall. Best of luck, apartment maintenance guys – this one’s going to need a full replacement. We’ve started to notice over the last month or so that our brand new apartment, which finished construction some 2 weeks prior to move-in, may have not been built by proper pros.

Certainly you’ve written a paper at some point in your academic career where you spent so much time making it read perfectly, only to realize it is ten minutes to class and you don’t have a conclusion yet. The conclusion you end up turning in? Probably not your finest work. Probably not altogether coherent.

Hopefully legible.

The revelation is this; the finishing touches of our apartment – things that don’t involve walls, ceilings, and floors – may have been put together in those last ten minutes. It’s shoddy craftsmanship at its best. Or expert craftsmanship at its worst. Maybe both. For some things, speed is not an option. If you want a job done right, just take a deep breath and take your time. Don’t believe me? Well then, maybe you’ll believe what my flashback machine has to say. And here we GO!

Time: March, 1998
Location: Orlando, Florida
Event: Senior Class Trip, Disneyworld

There are many fondly-remembered stories that came out of my SHS class’ descent upon the Magic Kingdom – midnight pillow fights, the origins of Jeremiah the Kullfrog, Daytona Joe, and the Lampost from Hell – but these were all stand-alone tales. What I am about to recount was more of a saga – and as my into suggests – the culmination of which required me to take my time and have a steady hand.

During our time in Disneyworld, the origins of the Shawnee Group traveled as a pack throughout the theme parks. In the morning phone calls would be made, schedules would be coordinated, meals would be planned, and days would be set so that we could all enjoy this “educational” voyage together.

Someone was tapping the phone lines.

A fellow student of ours, one Chris MacAleer (Misspelled the surname for Googling anonymity) managed to tag along every single day with our pack, and we’re not quite sure why. Chris wasn’t in our classes; he didn’t talk to us in the halls. Maybe he just liked the clapping rhythm from that Car Wash song we repeated ad nauseam. Regardless, the Group decided that somehow I was the magnetic leak to this whole ordeal. Because of that, my plans for the day had to include some sort of AM evasion – so that the Mac wouldn’t be at our back. My personal favorite? Being forced to get the commuter bus to the Park from a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT RESORT. Whose idea was that anyway?

On the second to last day of our trip, we found ourselves killing time, waiting for a bus that would take us to Splash Mountain. The Mac somehow knew of our plan earlier in the day, for he had packed a suit and towel as well (He probably works for the CIA now.) As we waited, the Group laid out on a grassy Disney embankment. After all, we can relax on our way to relaxing, right?

I, for one, had other plans.

I had to find a way to find revenge on the one who was tracking our every move.

For the Mac had also taken to resting, but over on a park bench, lying on his back. So while my accomplice (name ends in -imothy Fischer) chatted up our mark, I ever-so-slowly slid underneath the bench. You see, the Mac chose to keep his wallet dangling via an odd clip that hung off a belt buckle – and as you may guess – just off the side of the bench.

I’ve never been so cat-like in my life.

Of course, this escapade garnered the attention of the dwellers on the Hill, and remarkably none of them blew it. It may have taken a stellar effort of my accomplice to make 10-15 minutes of small talk, but once it was done, revenge was mine. With moves of a ninja, I had unclipped the wallet, slid out from underneath, and joined the peanut gallery on the hill. Revenge was mine.

(You know thieves that steal things for the thrill of the heist? That was me – we gave back our loot like five minutes later.)

Here’s to hoping that my stealth and precision serves as a lesson for future apartment complex construction firms everywhere. Sometimes you need to not heed the need for speed.

Indeed.

How to Make a White Car Red

Not all Samaritans are good. Some are just indecisive.

I firmly believe that everyone deep down inside has inherent desire to do good. I remember in high school we had a unit in World Cultures where we debated the platforms of famous philosophers (yes, the unit that spawned the John Locke video), and the first litmus test was whether or not “Man is inherently good” or “Man is inherently evil.” Of course, I had World Cultures right before lunchtime, therefore my only contribution was “Man is inherently hungry.”

I wasn’t much help, in retrospect.

I was driving into work this morning, on my usual route in my usual car listening to my usual radio station. It should have been like any other morning drive – killing time keeping track of how many lights I make (I shoot for 70%) – and even though I was running a little bit late, there was no need to panic. However, I did notice that even a 10 minute delay in my commute brings forth a completely different set of traffic conditions. There are different cars and different traffic light patterns to contend with.

And as it turns out, this breed of fellow commuters are stupider.

On a route like downtown Vienna’s Chain Bridge Road, you have to accept the fact that the road is lined with retail businesses. And with retail businesses, cars are going to exit and enter Chain Bridge whether you like it or not. Let them in; for one day you will need to be let in. You never know when you might be in need of an early bird hair styling or key duplication.

Or a drink.

Such was the case of the driver of a white Pontiac Sunfire (I don't know but it's white!) I followed to work this morning. He made his pit stop at 7-11, and then pulled out onto Chain Bridge, as I was kind of enough to allow him to do so. His car had few distinguishing marks, other than a Virginia Tech sticker in the back window. Oh yeah, one other thing.

THREE BEVERAGES ON THE ROOF.

Yes, the driver who was probably inside his car enjoying a hot cup of coffee managed to forget to bring 2 Slurpees and another coffee inside the vehicle. And as he amazingly made the transition from parking lot to roadway without loss of liquid, I now stood at an ethical crossroads. But before I could cross said roads, let’s ask a few quick questions.

• What distracted this guy so much that forget about three beverages that he had placed on the roof??? I assume he had to put them down to fish his keys out of his pocket. Or perhaps someone called his cell phone and upon answering it he forgot? These weren’t in one of those fancy cardboard cup carriers either, which means he had to go through a great deal to get them from the counter to the car. Clearly, this man has no short-term memory.
• Oh yeah. Who gets a Slurpee for breakfast?

Anyways, back to my crux. I followed this car for one block, and nothing fell from the roof of his car. Should I tell him that he’s got copious amounts of refreshment up above or watch in amazement as momentum is no foe to misplaced 7-11 drinks?

Here's the thing - even if I wanted to be a Good Samaritan and let him know of his impending doom, what could I possibly do? There's no special honk that my horn can emit that means, "Dude, you totally left your drinks on top of your car." Nor do I know Morse Code to inform him via headlight. (By the time I got through that whole phrase, I'm sure he'd assume I'm a psycho, anyway.) And there's no way I'm getting out of this car - the minute the light turns green, I'm everyone's worst enemy. And why should I be a martyr for this Hokie's idiocy?

Look, I don't want to be a hero, but if I'm going to do this next time, I demand a finder's fee. I want one of the Slurpees to myself. Is that fair?

(Postscript: For those who actually care how this ended, the guy realized his horrible mistake two traffic lights later when one of the Slurpees rolled down his windshield. Rather than get out of the car to rescue the two remaining items, he rolled down his window and felt around the roof, proceeding to knock the other two over in the process. You stay classy, Sunfire.)

What's Next? Ewok Policemen?

Looking to track a package from Amazon the other day, I stumbled onto something. Something big. Something that happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

Over the years, Lucasfilm’s Star Wars series has been supreme ruler of the movie merchandising kingdom. From the highly lucrative Kenner action figures from the early eighties to the Star Wars Pepsi cans of ’99, a lot of product has been sold just because the Force may or may not be packaged with it. (I still have my set at my parents’ house in Jersey – Smith’s, I believe have since gone off like a carbonated fireworks display.)

And even though the final prequel is in our rearview (by two years), it appears that George Lucas is having trouble paying his power bill. (Rumor has it he flies a electric X-Wing, and that will kill you every time.) How do we know this? Because he’s fired up his cross-promotion light saber, and this time, he’s teaming up with the U.S. Postal Service.

Former spokesman Lance Armstrong did not immediately return a phone call.

When you go to the USPS homepage, important information like “Send Direct Mail” and how to have your mail held while on vacation are obscured from view. Why? Because R2-D2 is taking his wicked sweet time crossing your computer screen. He’s in no hurry to make it to his final destination: the banner on the page that proudly declares: Two Powerful Forces Unite!

No, not UPS and FedEx.

Look, I’m a big fan of living in a country that has its own government-owned postal service. This is something I have no problem paying taxes for. I know there has been recent criticism that with the improvement of private mailing firms and the Internet, postal correspondence is on the decline. Look, I do my part by churning through Netflix movies. Apparently, that’s not enough. The USPS has called in the big guns.

Why they all put on orange jumpsuits for this staff meeting is beyond me.

After doing a little research, I found the first step of what Star Wars plans on doing for the United States Postal Service. In about 400 nationwide locations, this will be replaced by this. The R2-D2 mailbox will perform the same mail collection duties its non-droid predecessor did. However, if your expecting it to make cool beeping sounds upon acceptance of mail, you’ll be sadly mistaken. (Just make the sounds to yourself. We won’t laugh.)

However, we here at YAB have to question their choice of droid for such an important task. Does anyone remember the first time we saw R2-D2 try and deliver mail? It was a letter from a L. Organa and address to a B. Kenobi, and it had a simple message. There was probably a whole lot more, but a certain member of the Rebel Alliance Postal Service damaged the letter in transit. It was unclear, incomplete, and well, repetitive. Sure, one could argue that not snow nor rain nor ice nor Empire Destroyer could stop the mail from getting through; however, if its damaged in transit, can we really be happy with the service we’ve paid for? It’s R2-D2’s fault. It seems to me that C-3PO would make a much better mail carrier. God, he could even translate correspondence using his fluency in 6 million forms of communication – what a bonus! Look, I like what the USPS is trying to do here. I just have a problem with the hiring practices.

Here is my list of Top Three Star Wars Characters I’d Like to Be My Mailman

1. Chewbacca – no dog is going to bother him.
2. Obi-Wan Kenobi – A true Jedi mind. “This is not the junk mail you’re looking for.”
3. Imperial Scout Trooper – God, what a sweet ride for a mail truck.

YABDome, anyone?

In a move likely caused to divert attention from the fact they may actually put Sammy Sosa on their opening day roster, the Texas Rangers have laughed in the face of corporate funding and decided to rename their stadium “Rangers Ballpark in Arlington.” Previously Ameriquest Field, the Ballpark will no longer be known to fans as a random institution of financial services, much less one that’s headed for the tank in a number of years.

Good for you, Texas Rangers. Walker would be proud.

Yes, it’s a sad reality that there aren’t more of these naming rights buybacks happening, but hey, money talks. When the Flyers and Sixers built a new stadium in the mid-nineties, Comcast-Spectacor offered up the naming rights for an additional source of revenue. CoreStates took the lead, only to be bought by First Union. And when it was time to change the name from the CoreStates Center to the First Union National Center, Flyers winger Brant Myhres objected. There’s no way he could get into a hockey fight in a place known as the FUN Center. And like that, the National was 86’ed.

The Philly sports complex is now the banking district of the Eastern Seaboard. You’ve got Lincoln Financial Field, the Wachovia Center, and of course, Citizens Bank Park. Hopefully, this era of financial prosperity will translate into a championship soon. Please?

The Kids in Philly may have nothing to complain about when it comes to naming rights, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t stupidly-named stadiums elsewhere in the 4 major sports. The worst ten follow here.

10. Dolphins Stadium – Florida Marlins (MLB) – This is a great, great name for the Marlins’ locker room neighbors, the Miami Dolphins. There’s no corporate overlord and it tells it like it is. However, it’s a little embarrassing to be playing in a stadium named for an entirely different pro sports franchise. Plus, a marlin and a dolphin are different species of underwater creature. They don’t even like to make eye contact at parties.

9. Rogers Centre – Toronto Blue Jays (MLB) – I have no problem with the name Rogers, nor do I protest at the silly British way of spelling Center. However, if I hadn’t let you know that this was Toronto, you’d have no idea 1) who plays here or 2) if this a stadium or a collegiate academic complex. What was so bad about calling it the SkyDome? Way to ruin sports, Canada.

8. LP Field – Tennessee Titans (NFL) – Lousiana-Pacific Paper Company has stepped up and bought the naming rights from Adelphia, who needs some spare cash to stop at Taco Bell for dinner on the way home from their bankruptcy proceedings. However, the Libertarian Party and Linkin Park are totally cool with the free advertising, too.

7. PETCO Park – San Diego Padres (MLB) – Does it bother anyone else that PETCO doesn’t actually sell pets, but rather mere pet supplies? You have no idea how many times I’ve driven by one of these stores and wanted to play with some puppies, only to end up playing with a 50 lb. bag of dog food. Somehow, I feel that San Diego could have held out for a stronger corporate sponsor that doesn’t remind their fans of bird cages and chew toys.

6. Rose Garden Arena – Portland Trailblazers (NBA) – Where would you rather play hoops? In Madison Square Garden or a Rose Garden? Ladies…

5. Minute Maid Park – Houston Astros (MLB) – In another showcase of who’s the inferior cola bottling company, Coke ponied up the cash to rename Enron Field after a certain multi-billion dollar corporation got busted for, well, everything financially possible. And what did they do? They named the ‘Stros’ field after their middling orange soda. Meanwhile Pepsi put its flagship brand on the Pepsi Center, home of the Colorado Avalanche. Figures.

4. Quicken Loans Arena – Cleveland Cavaliers (NBA) – Every time LeBron James scores 30 points in a game, you get to take home a free mortgage calculator. Rock.

3. Amway Arena – Orlando Magic (NBA) – How would you feel as a Magic fan over the past ten years? You’ve had two of the greatest NBA talents on your team in Shaquille O’Neal and Tracy McGrady, only to watch them go elsewhere to compete for NBA titles. Penny Hardaway was a bust, and it’s only a matter of time before Dwight Howard signs with Charlotte and torments you in your own division for the next six years. Yeah, I’d feel like my playoff hopes were being placed with a fishy operation, too.

2. University of Phoenix Stadium – Arizona Cardinals (NFL) – Yes, a university who lacks their own football team (and their own campus, for that matter) has found enough scratch to name the Arizona Cardinals’ new digs. If I were a student at said university, methinks I’d protest a bit about the level of tuition at this point, no?

1. Jobing.com Arena – Phoenix Coyotes (NHL) – Who is Jo Bing? Why does he have a website? Where did he come up with the money to name the Coyotes’ rink?
a. It’s actually pronounced (job-bing).
b. It’s a job search webpage.
c. By selling Amway products.

122 Minutes to Go...

Yes, last week we wasted your time by preaching about how March Madness doesn’t waste your time. In our research on said topic, we came upon this interesting article, and decided it was important information that you all should know. Or at the very least, it was important information that we all should mock. Eh, same difference around here.

According to a survey that was conducted in tandem by Salary.com and AOL (the former a guru’s guide to worker’s compensation and the latter being the Rich Kotite of internet service providers), the average worker spends 2.09 hours out their 8-hour workday not actually doing work. I know what you’re thinking – “What if I work more than 8 hours a day, does that mean I’m being more productive?” No, Slackerman, you’re just wasting a comparable ratio amount of time. A 9-hour workday yields 2.35 hours of wasted time. A 10-hour day gives you 2.62 hours to space out. An 11-hour day? Good God, man. Go home already. Your dinner is cold.

2.09 hours may seem like a strange, non-standard way to measure time, so I’ll take one for the team and do the calculation. (scratches head) (carries the 2) (checks his work) (declares himself a math god)

That’s 2 hours, 5 minutes, and 24 seconds.

What does this mean? In order to stay on par with the rest of America, you need to waste 2 hours and 5 minutes of this workday. Any more, and I’ll sign you up for the Penske file. Any less, and I’ll make sure your co-workers snicker and call you a teacher’s pet.

But Condon, however will I waste so much time? Good question, hypothetical reader query guy! I’ll give you 4 choices as to how to waste 2 hours and 5 minutes.

1.) Watch Mrs. Doubtfire in entirety.
2.) Watch Batman and Robin in entirety.
3.) Watch Ocean’s 12 in entirety.
4.) Split the time evenly as per the national averages.

Yes, the article goes on to breakout how their survey takers spend their work time when it’s not time for work. Using simple logic, one can fathom that these percentages aren’t just the answers’ varying levels of popularity – no, no. We will assume that each American worker does ALL of these during the day, and the pie chart of 100% can be applied to the 2 hours and 5 minutes of playtime.

Confused? Keep reading.

1. Surfing the Internet accounts for 44.7% of the time people waste. That would amount to 56 minutes of the 125. Seem high? Yeah, it might be. But remember this about the Internet. Consider the time you spend here, checking your Gmail, watching YouTube, reading the news, looking at box scores, shopping for grills from pro baseball players, and other miscellaneous Yahoo! Searches, I’m sure that time goes by fast.
2. Socializing with Co-workers for 23.4%? That’s 29 minutes. Ah, the all-important water cooler talk. When will you people stopping shooting the breeze about the weather and weekend plans and instead actually discuss the mechanics and artistry of the actual water cooler? A truly unappreciated office fixture.
3. Conducting personal business for 8 minutes? Whether it’s scheduling a doctor’s appointment for the kid, paying your bills online, or running a counterfeit jeans ring out of your car-hole, it’s good you have a little “me time.”
4. Spacing Out – 3.9% means 5 minutes of staring at the wall. For 1 of those minutes you’re contemplating why you’ve never put anything on that wall, and the other 4 you have that song from Tetris stuck in your head. Good for you.
5. Running errands off-premise – 2.3%? 3 minutes? Sure, if your dry cleaner set up shop just outside the lobby and you’re a world-class sprinter. Totally feasible. (Note: are Spandex bodysuits dry clean only?)
6. Applying for other jobs – 1.625 minutes. Ah, 1 minute and 37 seconds dreaming of greener pastures. God, you have a short attention span.
7. Planning Personal Events – 1% = 1 minute and 15 seconds. This is why Evite was invented.
8. Other – 13.5% - Hey, who are we to tell you what to do with the last 17 minutes? Eat something. You look famished.

Bird is the Word

Maybe I should move my desk into a tree.

After all, the air is probably a little fresher up there, I can enjoy the cool breeze in my hair, and get a little exercise by merely climbing up to the branch from which I could conduct business. On the other hand, my co-workers would be replace by unhelpful squirrels, there’s a chance that if I drop a folder it could sail down onto Leesburg Pike, and my phone cord probably won’t reach from the building. Why would I suggest such a ludicrous thing? Well, someone has to restore the balance, right?

During the work week, a line in the sand is drawn. Human beings are the only creatures that belong in office buildings. All the rest of God’s creation must dwell beyond the walls of commerce and industry and wait to play with/torment/get hit by the cars of humans on the weekends. Look, that’s just the way of the world, you stupid bird. Why can’t you understand that?

Our cafeteria downstairs provides a two-storied collection of tables and chairs for lunchgoers that actually leave their desks to take their mid-day meal. It also provides napkins for those who forgot to pack some in their lunch. And now, inexplicably, it provides a safe haven from the cold for a stupid bird.

Yes, just about the moment when I was to turn the corner and turn my back on this crime-on-humanity, I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Up on the second level of the café, a small black bird was flew from end-to-end and perched itself on the window that if sullied, probably would never be washed.

And the people continued their business as if nothing happened.

Look, I’ve never quite understood the purpose of indoor birds. I think most frequently this phenomenon occurs in shopping malls. Just like strangely-placed trees, birds tend to inhabit the upper echelons of the mall’s rafters, and no one seems to care. They’re just another part of the shopping atmosphere, like the smell of Cinnabon or John Mayer music on the sound system. People, this is not where birds belong! You’re doing me a disservice by allowing these skyrats to air-raid my merchandise, and you’re doing them a disservice by denying them the blue sky of freedom.

But back to our Café du Bird.

I wish I could tell you that some exotic, cool avian friend had broken into the building (I didn’t see him wearing a security badge), but alas, this was your run-of-the-mill black bird. It wasn’t a raven, which would have made those who frequented the cafeteria ponder their descent into madness. It wasn’t an eagle that could have instilled some patriotic fervor into their lunch conversation. It wasn’t a toucan that could insist to them they follow their nose for cereal goodness. And it wasn’t a penguin – they all live in the mailroom.

And how exactly does a bird actually make it undetected to the cafeteria? There’s really only a few entrances into our building, and most of them require you to take an elevator up a few floors to get to the lobby. What would you do if you opened the elevator and saw a menacing bird of prey standing patiently in the middle of the elevator floor? Would you go in, guaranteeing a claustrophobic showdown harkening back to the days of Jurassic Park? Would you offer the bird your newspaper, knowing that he’ll probably use it as a toilet rather than check how he did in the stock market yesterday?

And yet, everyone remains calm.

Hitchcock, you warned me of days like these.

Amazing Lace

And just like that 48 of the 63 games that make up the NCAA College Basketball Tournament have come and gone. It is now up to all those in the sports world to analyze and break down just exactly what has transpired over the last four days, and make another round of stunningly bold predictions for this weekend, each of them having the same likelihood of being completely off the mark. We’re going to tune out the Dick Vitales, the Billy Packers, and the Clark Kelloggs for the next three days, as we know there’s nothing they can say to affect next week’s Sweet 16 action.

Well that, and none of their names is Lacey Smith.

A laid-back, low-key high school German teacher day, Lacey Smith is a fearless college hoops prognosticator by night. Aside from some love for the Philadelphia sports teams (which may or may not include her own Phantoms jersey), no one suspected Mrs. Smith of being a hero of the hardwood. Two weeks ago, we here at YAB dropped the gauntlet. We then picked up said gauntlet and threw it at family, friends, and frequenters of our little blog.

You know in Dodgeball when you catch a ball somebody threw at you, sparing yourself and ousted the thrower? Let’s just say Lacey caught the gauntlet and winged it back at our head.

According to the YAB = You’re a Bracket II Standings, not only has Lacey proven she knows far more about college basketball than the whole lot of us, she’s done it going away. Nay, she does not hold a meager 1 point lead over nearest competitors Karen Yelito and myself – that would be expected. Lacey kicked the doors in on the competition and has busted out to a 5 point lead.

The girl must eat, breathe, and sleep March Madness.

With 54 out of a possible 64 points to date, you could throw a chainsaw at Lacey’s head and she wouldn’t flinch. Hell, she’d catch the chainsaw in her teeth, use it to cut down an elm tree, and laugh maniacally as the tree landed on your car. What we have on our hands is a competitor. A take-no-prisoners, drain-the-three, rock-chalk-jayhawk kind of competitor.

Some might argue that Lacey just picked all the favorites, and to the casual eye, that may be true. But look closer, people. Like the bracketologist that she is, she called for the demise of the 8th seeded Arizona Wildcats at the hands of the merciless 9th seeded Purdue Boilermakers. Well, you know what?

She was right.

Come Saturday, Lacey was flirting with the lead for the YAB crown (and the potential free swag that may follow such a crown. *Free swag is not an actual crown.) And while Lacey was doing this, Arizona was on a plane back to Tucson. Why? Because Lacey decreed it to be so. She’s merciless.

So what’s next for the world’s greatest seer since Nostradamus? According to her Sheet of Integrity, she predicts Kansas, Georgetown, and Ohio State in the Final Four. For her fourth she actually predicted the eliminated Wisconsin Badgers, but we know what she really meant. For the fourth team, Lacey planned to take on the Florida Gators by herself and defeat them with sound perimeter shooting, an aggressive inside game, and tension-breaking giggling at the mention of A Bug’s Life.

Will her picks hold true for next weekend? Of course they will. Lacey Smith entered this tourney for two reasons: to chew bubblegum and kick ass.

And someone’s all out of bubble gum.

Sing a Song of Spending

One thing I’ve noticed during my infancy as a parent is that babies like singing. From their perspective, it’s quite simple. The person with the big arms that insists on holding me is speaking to me in a manner far more melodic than usual. And since it’s been weeks since I’ve had Mom’s inner heartbeat to help me drop a beat, I’m going to shut and up and listen to what they have to say.

That’s pretty much it.

Now singing to your baby can come in one of two forms. The first is the planned recital. The Planned Recital method means you have selected the repertoire you are about to perform, measuring it carefully for pitch, range, tempo, and lyrical content, and you expect your selection to have a certain desired effect on your audience: pacification. My choice rendition: The River, by Garth Brooks.

However, the second form is far more unpredictable, and therefore, way more fun. This is when you begin a sentence in talkspeak and for an inexplicable reason, it morphs into singing. For no reason, you’ve added a melody to completely words that just a second ago sounded rather declarative. The pitch goes up and down, but the lyrical content remains remarkably boring. But who cares?

She’s buying it.

Yes, some song that has the musical quality of impromptu tune Will Ferrell sings to James Caan in Elf is actually keeping your baby at bay. Who cares if it’s a list of spices you’re reading out of the pantry. It’s WORKING. And just like that, anything you can think of can be nominated for a Grammy.

Now this is a revelation that I’m sure every parent comes up with at some point, which leads me to my point. Do you know the nursery rhyme “Hush Little Baby”? Of course you do. It’s the one where the overly materialistic parents try and buy their way out of a baby hissy fit. My theory is this: that nursery rhyme, which has been passed down for generations, is just some villager peasant parent looking around and naming things he sees. And somehow, this random tune (clearly from the latter of the two forms mentioned above) has been embedded in the Great American Songbook.

Don’t believe me? Let’s review the lyrics.

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word // Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird”
Ok, I’d start an ad-hoc song with “hush little baby,” too. After all, that’s probably why you’ve opted to sing in the first place. But there seems to be a transitional lyric that got left on the cutting room floor. Because rather than it coming off as “if you’re a good child and do what you told, I’m going to buy you something nice,” it comes off as “no, I don’t care if you think a mockingbird is a completely irresponsible thing to buy a baby, you’re getting one and you’re going to like it.” Wow.

“If that mockin'bird don't sing // Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring”
This is a simple case of parent explaining to child the definition of “defective goods.” Look, Dad, you bought a lemon of a songbird. Take it back to the store and get a new one. What’s that? You didn’t get the new pet warranty? You must feel foolish. And your kid is still screaming. What’re you going to get her next? Of course, a diamond ring! Nothing says panicked parenting like going from new bird to new bling in 2.3 tears. I’m speechless.

“If that diamond ring turns brass // Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass”
I’m assuming that it’s the gold band on the ring that’s gone brass, as opposed to the highly valuable stone. Because if the latter’s the case, congratulations. You’re kid has the gift of alchemy! Quick, ask her nicely to turn that jar of mayonnaise into a stack of hundred dollar bills.

“If that looking glass gets broke // Papa's gonna buy you a billy goat”
A looking glass is a terrible present. She probably threw it on the floor when you weren’t looking. As for the goat – this is proof that this song was conjured up by a peasant wandering his farm. Hey, doofus. Puppies are way cuter.

“If that billy goat don't pull, // Papa's gonna buy you a cart and mule”
You know how some parents insist that their children become doctors or police officers because that particular occupation has been in their family for generations? Upgrading baby’s first pet from a stubborn goat to a stubborn donkey is pretty much like handing the kid a pitchfork and pointing in the direction of the barn. And since you blew all your cash on the diamond ring, you couldn’t afford the mule that sounds like Eddie Murphy.

“If that cart and mule turn over // Papa's gonna buy you a dog named Rover”
Turn over? What could a baby possibly do to upend another animals and the four-wheeled transport vehicle it is strapped to? Forget alchemy. Your baby is telekinetic. And I don’t mean to lyrical nitpick, but what if Baby Magneto made that cart and mule vanish? Would you have bought a dog that’s Spanish?

“If that dog named Rover won't bark // Papa's gonna buy you a horse and cart.”
Yep. If there’s one thing that a baby needs more than one cart, it’s two carts.

“If that Horse and Cart fall down // Then you'll be the sweetest little baby in town”
And you’ll also be the most spoiled, too. Now go take a nap while I go to the bank and take out a second mortgage on the house.

Euclid Cheated and Stole, Too.

There’s an old adage that simply says, “The Numbers Don’t Lie.”
There’s a new adage that simply says, “Oh Yeah? Then mathematicians do.”

The absoluteness of numbers is why I enjoy working in Finance for a living. There’s an answer that can be revealed if you use logic, science, and a calculator every single time. It’s an epic battle to be right all the time and to have the scratch work to prove it. This is why I hated essay tests. Why did we need to bring subjective opinion into academics?

(This is also why I hated Reading Comprehension on the SATs, too. What’s the best answer of the four below for the underlying theme of this passage? What kind of question is that, fencesitter?)

But sometimes number crunchers don’t use their power for good. They use it for evil. And this evil is picked up by those who essay tests, and published on the internet or in a newspaper. And then it’s my job to expose them as the arithmetic charlatans that they are. What’s that? What are my credentials for performing this public service?

I was a mathlete.

I’m sure at some point this week (or some past March) you’ve been thrown the statistic that the annual NCAA college basketball tournament is a distraction so prevalent in the workplace that if one put that productivity in currency terms, American Business would be at a multi-billion dollar loss. (This year the figure is $3.8 billion). And news websites like CNN and MSNBC just take the headline and the total and tease it on their front page, and all of a sudden, Wall Street’s in a panic. “Oh my God,” those traders cry. “At that rate, the 12 GM plants across the country are on schedule to produce approximately nine cars this month. Sell, damn it!”

So overdramatic.

So while I’d like to blame the content editor on the press that makes this story a big deal, the real problem lies with the mathete (read: turncoat) that came up with the amount in the first place. Don’t you remember taking those tests back in high school, Numbers McAddstoofast? Your final answer isn’t what the judges are looking for! Don’t you read directions?

SHOW YOUR WORK.

Nowhere in any of these financial doomsday articles is there ever a supplemental margin of calculations that would demonstrate the $3.8 billion’s origins. Maybe they’re afraid to publish a picture of a nerd with a dartboard, I don’t know. But as your resident logarithmic public defender, I will grab my calculator and debunk the press for you. For Basketball. And for America.

First off, the figure, according to the nefarious article, quadrupled this year, up from $889 million last year. Wow! So we all got 300% raises during our last review period! (Checks paystub.) Oh. Guess not. (sigh)

No, the consulting firm wizards behind this adjusted their “number of basketball fans” up to 41% of the American public, meaning last year, they assumed the figure was 1 in 10. I don’t want to pull out a stats book or anything, but that’s probably more than a few standard deviations from being accurate, no? What did they do last year? Poll a group of 10 toddlers, with only one responding positively to the question (the rest cried when they saw Joakim Noah on TV.)

Random guess at B-ball fans nonwithstanding, it’s still a flawed number. It assumes that everyone in that 41% 1) sit in front of a computer, 2) will spend 14 minutes a day on March Madness for 16 days (even the non-game days?) and 3) this time is in addition to existing time wasting methods.

The blind construction worker on a smoke break begs to differ. (Dude, who gave that guy a sledgehammer, anyway?)

It just took you 4 minutes to read this post. You have 9 and a half to laugh at Duke, and then it’s back to the salt mine with y’all.