fuck friends. fuck rush limbaugh. fuck the view. fuck the president. fuck smog. fuck hemmoriods. fuck taxes. fuck colin quinn. fuck sally jesse fucking raphael. fuck american idol when theyre not auditioning people. fuck rick dees. fuck casey kasem. fuck people who care how i spell. fuck people who leave anonymous negative feedback.

fuck carson daly.

fuck tribune corp who owns the chicago cubs.

fuck the la times.

fuck rude drivers, aids, dollar chinese food that tastes like dog, fuck shrimp fried rice that has onions in it after i politely asked for no onions, fuck my phone that never stops ringing.

fuck infomercials.

my buddy travis k. is pleading with me to not fuck friends so i rescind my fucking of friends and i double fuck jimmy fallon who has a week to learn tina feys jokes and ALWAYS fucks them up.

fuck the fcc. when will adults get their tvs back?

fuck colin powell for not running. fuck michael powell for being more of an uncle tom sellout than his sellout dad.

fuck the yankees. fuck sars. fuck the terrorists. fuck the idea of terrorists. fuck the terror alert level.

fuck britney spears and her wedding. double fuck britney spears and her annulment. fuck the judge who took the bribe and annulled her marriage even though you cant annul marriages because “it was a joke.”

fuck the malloof brothers.

fuck people who make bad movies.

fuck meter maids. fuck the pope. fuck all the cardinals. fuck some of my old bosses. fuck the white sox. fuck mice. fuck lice. fuck bart giammottis rotting corpse.

fuck kathy lee gifford. still.

fuck almost everything thats on the radio.

fuck newscasters fuck djs fuck dance clubs fuck tickemaster to all hell.

fuck george bush and his father and his mother. yep fuck his mother too.

fuck quiet riot, fuck becks last few records, fuck pearl jam and 103.1s love affair with them, fuck KROQ, fuck dumbass motherfuckers who always end up not only in my life but central to my life.

fuck the flu

fuck young republicans, fuck screaming babies, fuck kids who have kids, fuck starbucks, fuck abecrombie, fuck tommy hillfucker, fuck fear, fuck zima, fuck yuma, fuck barry bonds, fuck steroids

fuck mosquitoes.

fuck sub-eighty degree temps in southern california.

fuck carpal tunnel syndrome.

and of course

fuck kwanza.

fuck + fuck fuck fuck + metafilter

i cant sit on them. my hope is someone will read this one day and go, holy fuck man, and then insist that i work for them. better yet, that i work with them.

its ten thirty. i havent eaten yet. i had a very nice surprise guest who offered to drive me home from work. then we had beers and talked and talked and then my landlady wanted me to mail my rent check. and then miss montreal called. then my true love. there just arent enough hours in the day.

im reluctant to watch this pete rose interview on abc. im reluctant to watch donald trumps new show.

all i want to do is write to you as tom waits sings me his newest songs off my media player.

all i want is for calgon to take me away.

all i want is something different better faster sleeker louder taller thicker wetter juicier with less calories and no carbs.

tsars on now.

if it wasnt for bukowski i would think that either you made it at nineteen or you never made it ever. that either the world got you immediately or the best you could wish for was something cool after you died.

i dont think i wrote anything very good for aarons baseball blog and for that, aaron, i apologize.

i miss the sopranos.

wanna know what i resolve.

its ok to have new new years resolutions eight days after the new year.

i resolve to just be cool about the job i have.

and the life im leading.

and the words that get typed in this space.

its all so disposable anyway isnt it. no more or less important than my twenty nine dollar dvd player.

in real life america. in real life, theres a hot shot young woman who wants to spend the weekend with me doing what i love to do.

nothing.

once she just slept on my couch while i wrote and thats pretty nice.

im sorry i complained that it was seventy today, canada.

i’ll stop wishing i was better.

amy + aaron’s baseball blog + leah now has comments

i have a staff of writers composed entirely of a hundred monkeys who think that they are the stars of this blog and not i. some days they might be right.

i wore a sweater into work today like a chump. its seventy one degrees here in LA today but its a cold seventy one if you can believe that.

had a little controversy with the blogger header today. the blogger header is the picture that i put on the top of this blog. usually i will take a picture and do something with it. sometimes i will just crop a picture. the other day tina linked to the incredible illustrations of kozyndan.

i of course fell in love with their style immediately

and i of course ganked their shit without permission.

cuz im a bum.

and of course they wrote me and called me out.

as they should.

with a very super superdooper wtf.

with a bonus compliment thrown in.

which is why i will probably get one of their posters soon.

im thinking about the bus one.

ashley just called me. crying. that girl sure can cry. i keep telling her i have to work. she doesnt care. she can hear the blades of chopper one but she doesnt believe that its me flying around hunting down bad guys.

she says i dont miss her. but i do.

i do.

for two years i talked to her every day. more than once a day.

of course i miss her.

today is a bizarre day.

i wish i had a way to express it to you in a word or two as thats all i have.

i wish there was one word that could paint the picture.

lets think of a good word now.

meadowlark.

today is as crazy as a damn meadowlark, people.

luckydisc

except for the chicks. i never liked wearing a suit to work. never liked mondays. never liked working overtime. never liked paying my rent. even though i hardly have to pay anything.

my landlady called today. shes 91. she actually called yesterday.

am i going crazy tony, or have you not paid your rent?

i called her this morn and told her that she wasnt going crazy, that for whatever reason i was the one who had forgotten to pay my rent.

i would love it if they just took my rent right out of my paycheck. everyone else seems to have their way with my paltry check.

this morning i wasnt so happy when i arrived at the hangar. chopper one was getting another overhaul. its creepy. i dont trust them.

heres what i like to do when i get into work. i like to read my email as chopper one warms up. i like to get a croissant from across the street and eat it with my apple juice. i like to see if anyone has commented on the post that i wrote the night before, then i like to fly chopper one around santa monica as the morning begins.

lately my routine has been all screwy.

its affecting the writing.

im so very sorry.

i feel like im a fish and a bunch of weirdos are making me drink booze.

a hot chick is gonna spend the weekend with me. a vacation of sorts. a weekend excursion. im thinking about just having her get a bunch of food and beer and lock ourselves up in my guest house in the back and lock all the doors. and while she sleeps i’ll write and while shes awake we will go through the tivo and just watch and watch and hold hands and watch her try on different outfits.

these are the things hemingway did, im pretty sure.

the drinking parts at least.

problem is a big time porn company has flowed me free tickets to the adult video convention in vegas this weekend.

i could go, but then the prospective employers who might be reading this blog might think that im some perv. im no perv. im just bored and i have no problems with naked people who get down.

people have dumber jobs.

like me.

read it before she deletes it again + steph + rupaul

san diego

mtv

tuesday nights at ten pm

being 110 years old has its advantages. one of them is i remember life before mtv.

i know for some of you thats hard to believe, but yes, such a day once existed.

they were super dull days, but we got by.

i think i went outside a lot. hard to remember.

mtv was the killer ap of cable in the early 80s. there wasnt cnn. espn & hbo were mere shells of themselves and not all that good. but mtv… fuck.

mtv kicked ass.

it still does in a strange way that has very little to do with music videos, but like, whatever.

shows like the osbournes, cribs, newlyweds: nick and jessica, jackass, punk’d, viva la bam, road rules, and their original “reality” show the real world make most of the programming on the other major networks look old and slow and dull.

there was a time that i could name all the vjs on mtv, now im not even sure they have them any more, but i can tell you everything about the first episode of the real world san diego, which oddly is exactly what mtv wants us to be doing.

it was obvious that mtv gave up on vjs when they kept renewing john norris’s contract.

the real world san diego is filled with more stereotypes than ever before.

youve got the sleepy-eyed buff motorcycle-riding chicagoian, brad, 21, who has been with his girlfriend for four years. the girls admit that hes your typical dumb fratboy but they cant keep their hands off of him, which just goes to show you one thing, america, hot chicks love big dumb guys with girlfriends.

in a typical real world moment in the first episode, brad finds himself telling his new roommates that he has an eight inch penis. immediately two of the girls (the ultrathin blonde south carolinian, cameran; and the ginormously fake tittied 22 year old bartop dancer, robin) attempt to pull down his pants playfully.

brad eludes their girly attacks and takes cameran up to a nook in the san diego marina house, which all 7 of them will share for 5 months, to call his girlfriend so that she can verify the length of his mighty sword.

it’s 4:45am pacific time, 6:45am chicago time.

annie?

hi.

hi baby. did i wake you?

mmm yeah.

im so sorry– listen though, honestly, and i dont want to pull it out, and youre thinking this is ****ing ridiculous, but everybody heres arguing about the size of their **** i know this is ridiculous, but youve got to be serious… how big am i?

he puts the phone next to cameran’s ear

eight inches.

what kind of eight? what kind of eight are we talking about?

i dont know, im not doing this.

thick. ass. eight. and you know it.

cameran gets off the couch in a fit of laughter and embarassment and falls over after taking one step and crawls away laughing, sweet ass high in the air in her tight jeans.

theres jaime a hot little korean girl, first generation american. theres a firehouse red rockabilly girl who has cystic fibrosis but still smokes cigarettes. theres a prettyboy massachusettes hunk who could very well be a jeans model for all i know.

and then theres the token black.

this year my man is a college student from the predominantly black georgia school Morehouse. hes nice. hes dull. he wears glasses and looks like a grown up Urkel.

he doesnt belong.

real world has consistently had a horrible track record of casting cool black people. there was afroguy in the second new york cast, mohammed in the frisco cast that nobody remembers cuz he was barely around the puck world, and teck from hawaii. all the others had some pretty serious issues.

jacquese will at best end up being the voice of reason for the other six who will probably have a great time among themselves, but odds are he will be bored out of his mind and completely left out like a common exchange student.

its almost like after two seasons in a row of highly sexual black men (paris, vegas) it was time for the real world to let the kids know that not every black man only wanted to bed every babe in town.

despite urkel, i have high hopes for this cast. they like to drink. theyre into each other. my chicagoian is a trip. and the ladies love walking around in their bikinis – alot.

which we all know is exactly how the world really is.

on the greg vaine rating scale, i give the first episode of the real world san diego a good good good good.

candied ginger + xtracyx + i look good

a message for sister ramsey

audio post powered by audblog

Q. Hey Tony,

Dan

Dear Dan,

I agree with you, it is a good question. Underneath the question is a statement that goes like this, “if Lefty the Bookie sees that Pete bets on the Reds monday wednesday thursday and friday, then Lefty will bet AGAINST the reds on tuesday, and perhaps give Pete a cut of the winnings.”

Problem is, bookies dont make their money betting.

Bookies make their money off the practice of Everyone betting. They get a cut of the gamble. its called the Vig. Bookies just want people to keep gambling, they couldnt care less if Pete doesnt bet on his team on a game where he doesnt have a great pitcher on the hill.

But good question anyhow.

Q. A manager is going to manage differently if he wants to win one particular game, rather than many games over the course of the week.

– Sean

A. Sean i could see the conflict if we were talking about any other mlb player other than Charlie Hustle, who, must i remind you, plowed over Ray Fosse in the all-star game, an exhibition game, and virtually ended Fosse’s career.

Pete not only wants to win Mondays game, but Tuesday and Wednesdays games.

But seperately than that, arent you supposed to do everything you can to win Today’s game?

And thirdly, is there a record of Pete blowing out pitchers’ arms the way, say, Billy Martin did with the A’s in the 80s? the answer is no.

Try again

Q. Tony,

Chris

A. I think Charlie wouldnta bet on his team on the fourth day after his closer has pitched 3 days straight.

If anyone would have known NOT to bet on the Reds that day it woulda been Pete.

And, of course, anyone else who was smart enough to read the box scores that week before putting down a grand on a team whose closer has been used three days in a row.

Q. Hey Tony –

ryan

A. Hi Ryan,

I do have a comment.

Fuck Jerry Krause.

Tony

aaron has a guest columnist on his baseball blog today

i dont believe him now.

look at that picture.

look at that cover of sports illustrated.

do you see a liar there?

i see two liars.

pete said that bud selig said that he had one question for pete, and then he asked at least four right there!

but whats also telling about this alleged confession is the date.

when mr selig looked at pete rose and asked him the first of those four questions and pete rose told him that he bet on baseball

the commisioner of baseball sat on that information for 14 months

bud selig knew in november of 2002

something doesnt smell right

why did the commisioner of baseball keeping this information quiet until pete rose wanted to write a book

seems to me that the commisioners office has been making a lot of deals with pete rose and thats why i dont believe this quote unquote confession.

when baseballs greatest hitter was given a lifetime ban he didnt fight it because he worked out a deal with then-commisioner bart giamatti that he would be allowed a review 2-3 years later. little did pete know that the commish’s incredibly bad karma of banning baseballs best hitter ever would kill him within a week.

and now apparently rose had a deal with selig that he would say he bet on baseball as long as there were some terms attached

and it looked like one of the terms was that selig wouldnt tell anyone about the “confession” until pete had finished his book.

so what were the other terms that selig made with rose regarding this alleged revelation?

could it be that bud told pete that If he confessed Then he would be allowed on the hall of fame ballot?

is that too much of a reach?

if more than one commisioner is capable of making any deals with pete rose regarding the 17 time all-star’s alleged gambling behavoir, isnt it possible that the sitting commisioner was capable of persuading rose to say what everyone thought was true regardless of if it actually was true?

i think so.

commissioners are all about power and bud selig is no exeption.

bud selig the former owner of the milwaukee brewers who had no business being commissioner has flexed his powers in nearly every way possible. he allowed the world series to be cancelled, he stopped the all star game, he instigated interleague play, he even tried to eliminate the minnesota twins and montreal expos.

now he wants to not only be the good guy who allows pete into the hall of fame

but he also wants to be the badass who brings him to his knees.

i do not think it is beyond the scope of bud selig to be involved in a dirty deal thats less interested in the “truth” or in repentance, as it is in powerplays, legacies, and pissing contests.

fuck bud selig

free pete rose

if you think hes been lying for 14 years why do you think hes telling the truth about this?

and on top of it, who the hell cares if he bet on his team

if i owned a team id want every single one of my players betting on their team.

since when did betting on your team become the same thing as betting against your team?

huge difference, by the way.

ask any bookie.

speaking of books, bet on the fact that on thursday i get rose’s

tina + tiffany + leah

it was 128k, had a monochrome monitor (nerf green), and one 5 1/4 floppy disc drive.

my mother co-signed my computerland line of credit and i walked out of there paying a little more than $1,500.

the $250 black and white dot matrix printer, the applewriter, i wrote a check for.

separately.

you will never hear me say that a computer is running slowly.

years later i found myself the proud owner of my first mac, a performa 6300cd.

100 mhz, with a 1 gig harddrive, and a built-in 28.8 modem.

$1,200 and my mom didnt have to cosign for it. i put it on my computer city credit that i had just opened.

i bought an hp 600 dpi scanner to go with it for $450. i also got a motorola isdn modem.

i learned photoshop on that thing, i learned html on it, i surfed the web for days and days and nights and nights and nights and nights.

it wasnt the greatest computer, but i was a loyal apple user.

and then napster showed up.

and then napster got huge.

and napster at that time didnt work on macs.

and i could get a 400 mhz p2 computer for $899

and dsl.

and i havent owned an apple product since.

everyone has a soft spot for the underdog, for the innovator, for the creators of cool.

as much as i love music, and as many mp3s that i have, youd think id have an iPod, but i dont. i like to read when im on the bus. and when im flying chopper one i have to listen to the command post.

if apple was smart theyd take the mini technology that theyre developing for their new mini iPods and put that into the back of a cell phone or digital camera.

i dont mind if my phone is a little bigger.

and my digital camera already uses the flash memory cards that will be in the new iPod and i’ll tell you, i NEVER get close to using even half of the 256mb memory.

instead of putting bad cameras on decent phones, why not put little ipods in good cameras.

click different.

marc brown is at macworld