i get a lot of email and i write back to pretty much everyone i can. my favorite emails are the ones where people agree with me and tell me that i am a great writer. normally i get these type of emails from dudes, which is ok, but playmates would be better.

strangely, i am very well liked by those at Ivy League schools and by lawyers. now thems demographics.

haven’t quite figured out the attraction yet, but if i ever need to raise a few million in bail money, i don’t think i’ll have a problem.

this week was dominated by correspondences relating to the bob costas / harry caray posts. i did mention SF Giant announcer Jon Miller who i had the chance to listen to for a few years when i was living in frisco, and his pleasant manner struck home with our man Jesse who remembers him from when he was doing the games in Baltimore.

Re: Jon Miller

Hey Tony,

long time listener, first time caller. Thanks for giving the best broadcaster around his due.

As a lifelong Orioles fan, I nearly cried when that schmuck Angelos refused to bring this man back. He loved Baltimore,and Baltimore loved him.

He is funny, he doesn’t over-analyze the game; he does, as you aptly stated “paint the picture.” If given a choice between the return of Mussina or Miller, I would choose Miller; he played every day and would have stayed around much longer.

I watch (usually muted as I read or work) almost every Orioles game that I don’t attend. When Miller was here, I would mute the t.v. and turn up the radio, just like they asked me to do. I was a dutiful soldier, because I knew, if I was, I could hear Him paint the picture, which was a treat.

I miss Miller. The guy that replaced him is very good, but he ain’t no JM. He is Steve Young to Miller’s Joe Montana, to use a Bay area analogy. Young was great, but he was no Montana.

Anyway, thanks for giving Miller his props. And tell your friends in SF to enjoy that treasure, he is in the (not so) early stages of Harry Carey-dom, Jack Buck-dom, Vin Scully and Joe Garagiola-dom…

One other thing, right after the online newspaper, your the next website I eat my lunch to, every day at noon, here on the East Coast. Keep up the good writing.

Jesse

after that i asked Jesse if i could use his email on my site to which he responded thusly:

Tony:

Not only do I get a response, but you want to honor me with the use of my email. With pleasure.

And if you’ll allow me a minute to be a fan…I am (don’t hold it against me) a lawyer on the East Coast and I write for a living.

That said (or typed), I think you are a truly gifted writer. I went into the law so that I could write for a living (a make a decent one at that). And, for the most part, that is what I do. Your writing style is actually inspiring and has had an influence on my own. Your style is so conversational, I can almost hear the discussions.

Your wit is very Thompson-esque (Hunter, that is). Anyway, use my email at will; and stick with what you are doing, you obviously have a huge fan base, and though you may not be getting rich, think of what you contribute to the lives of us bored lawyers eating our lunches every day.

Now there’s some inspiration.

Thanks so much. By the way, congrats on the Angels.

Jesse

feel free to send me sweet messages of appreciation to xxxtonyxxx @ hotmail.com and maybe you’ll be the lucky recipiant of being deemed “email of the week.”

not a hand written autograph, not a hand job, not even a hand out, but we’re denied.

my astrology today says that i will be getting a nice gift that will have a smudge on it. that i should ignore the smudge and appreciate the love.

it makes me wonder what my future will hold. will i (finally) make the laker squad and they spell my name wrong? will christina aguilera (finally) spend the night with me after just using my body, but mumble some other man’s name during a deep sleep? will i (finally) get hired to be a journalist, but find out it’s with the LA Times?

sometimes that smudge is more like the skidmark on the panties of a redhead who flings them at you and lands squarely on your nose.

but isn’t it better to have soiled panties tossed your way, than nothing tossed your way at all?

anna is a funny girl. she called me from the friendly skies last night telling me that shes gonna be in town tonight and she wants to see a movie with me. i told her i could wait to see her.

then today she gives me all the signs of a girl who is trying to squirm out of date.

so is it better to have a date canceled by anna kournikova or not have one at all?

these are the problems that surround my life.

and the fact that power has still yet to be restored to the beach house, which means that my cleaning lady wont be able to run a vacuum over the game room where me and ashley spilled smart food popcorn after an explosive scrabble game where i seven letter triple word scored her ass for a dramatic comeback.

never play high stakes scrabble with a poetry major i whispered later as i slammed the door to the dungeon.

Standing on the waters casting your bread

While the eyes of the idol with the iron head are glowing.

Distant ships sailing into the mist,

You were born with a snake in both of your fists while a hurricane was blowing.

Freedom just around the corner for you

But with the truth so far off, what good will it do?

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

So swiftly the sun sets in the sky,

You rise up and say goodbye to no one.

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,

Both of their futures, so full of dread, you don’t show one.

Shedding off one more layer of skin,

Keeping one step ahead of the persecutor within.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

You’re a man of the mountains, you can walk on the clouds,

Manipulator of crowds, you’re a dream twister.

You’re going to Sodom and Gomorrah

But what do you care? Ain’t nobody there would want to marry your sister.

Friend to the martyr, a friend to the woman of shame,

You look into the fiery furnace, see the rich man without any name.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

Well, the Book of Leviticus and Deuteronomy,

The law of the jungle and the sea are your only teachers.

In the smoke of the twilight on a milk-white steed,

Michelangelo indeed could’ve carved out your features.

Resting in the fields, far from the turbulent space,

Half asleep near the stars with a small dog licking your face.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

Well, the rifleman’s stalking the sick and the lame,

Preacherman seeks the same, who’ll get there first is uncertain.

Nightsticks and water cannons, tear gas, padlocks,

Molotov cocktails and rocks behind every curtain,

False-hearted judges dying in the webs that they spin,

Only a matter of time ’til night comes steppin’ in.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

It’s a shadowy world, skies are slippery gray,

A woman just gave birth to a prince today and dressed him in scarlet.

He’ll put the priest in his pocket, put the blade to the heat,

Take the motherless children off the street

And place them at the feet of a harlot.

Oh, Jokerman, you know what he wants,

Oh, Jokerman, you don’t show any response.

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,

Bird fly high by the light of the moon,

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman.

y carpal is ridiculous this morning. the xbi has had me at this desk job all week and it does nothing for my recovery, but it looks like theres a light at the end of the tunnel.

but lets not talk about lights since there were none last night at my beach house. but nothing in this is true, so i’ll continue.

ashley called in sick and told me that she would be waiting for me when i came home last night.

i called her from the flower stand to see if she liked baby’s breath with her daisies. the phone just rang and rang. i assumed that she was using her laptop on my land line, so i chose no baby’s breath.

just one of my dozen wrong decisions yesterday.

finally made it to the villa and the house was a little dark. ashley appeared from game room, pool cue in hand, fuzzy slippers, flowing see thru robe, sunset showing off behind her, waves crashing, seagulls… “power’s out,” she told me, kissed me on the cheek, strolled back to the table and sank one in the corner pocket.

i looked at the clear plastic US Mail basket that had arrived the previous afternoon from the post office. i had a vacation hold on my mail when i took my trip two weeks ago. for whatever reason they chose not to give me my mail until i called and alerted them of their error wednesday morning.

i dug into the basket and saw several copies of the Onion, fan mail, my Quick Chop that someone had generously given me from my amazon wishlist, and, hi, a disconnect notice from the DWP.

thank God for cell phones, i dialed up the toll free number. waited a good 15 minutes to talk to a surly man who acted as if it was His electricity that had been shut off.

address please.

1122 Boogie Woogie Ave.

your service has been disconnected due to an overdue balance of $68.12.

you shut me off for not paying sixty eight bucks?

it’s two months late, sir.

im sorry i was in aruba when the bill came, then the post office didn’t give me my mail after my vacation hold should have been lifted…

none of this aroused even a whimper of sympathy from the man on the other end of the phone.

ashley arranged a new rack of balls, broke, sank two and giggled.

perhaps your wife should have called us earlier this morning when the power was disconnected.

that’s not my wife, that’s ashley. shes twenty. she doesn’t have a cell phone.

lots of twenty year old girls have cell phones.

well, she doesn’t. shes broke.

you live on Boogie Woogie Avenue, right on the beach, and your 20 year old girlfriend doesn’t have a cell phone?

what was this fellow’s name again, i wondered.

fine, may i please pay my bill. i will pay. heres my credit card number.

great, it will be an additional $28 to reconnect you. and if you want to use your credit card, that’s an extra $5.75, but we cannot restore your power until tomorrow morning.

apparently paperwork must be filed before 5pm for the “technicians” to flick my switch that evening. it was 5:25. damn flower shop. damn waiting on hold. damn sunset looking terrific. damn ashley kicking my ass at nine ball.

so i paid my money. thought about how the DWP punished the working man. thought about how i would miss “survivor”. wondered if there were batteries in the boom box. wondered if ashley would see the loser me for who i was, a loser. cursed my address, my villa, and the fact that my hollywood bungalow was being fumigated for termites.

so we lit candles. ashley was really cool about it all. she praised me for having so many candles. there was batteries in the boom box. there was food in the fridge that was going to go bad, but we could eat it all before nature did.

she had been reading “white oleander” all day and was half way done with it, and asked me if i wanted to write while she read.

writing longhand is for girls, i sniffed. and chose to dig through my stack of magazines: “W,” “Jane,” “Us Weekly.”

darkness fell. i put in the police, regatta, “walking on the moon”. i thought that would be sexy. turns out ashley hates sting’s voice. put in elvis costello, “all this useless beauty.”

she just wanted to read.

i flew over to burrito stand, came back, went to bed early and realized this is exactly the sort of evening that the native americans must of had back in the day.

set my cell phone alarm to wake me up at six a.m. and fell asleep to the sounds of one fan booing.