Sunday, February 03, 2008

Yep, I'm weird.

1. I am a woman who actually gives a fuck about the Super Bowl.
2. I am a woman who never got the fuss about Tom Brady. Dude has a butt chin, and his facial features take up a small spot on his very spacious face.

Let's go Giants!

Friday, February 01, 2008

Mmmmm, Kiwi.

So. Maroon 5 has performed "Kiwi" live in Europe. What, do they think European fans are more mature? Probably!

I found this in "the official download thread" at the Maroon 5 boards (so much batshittery, so little time). It's from their Dec. 15 concert in Munich, and it's amazingly good quality for a boot.

Enjoy!

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Seeing hatred on my way to work

There are several houses along and above Route 3 westbound in Secaucus, just before the bridge over the Hackensack River leading to Giants Stadium (GO BLUE!!!) and that Xanadu thing they're building.

From one of those houses hangs a strange flag, in clear view to the drivers on the busy highway below. It's black and white and red, and sort of creepy looking. My gut tells me it could be a neo-Nazi symbol.

A visit to the Anti-Defamation League's site (which has an entire section documenting the many symbols of hate), confirms my suspicions.

It is the Reichskriegflagge - the war flag of Imperial Germany. Use of this particular design ceased in 1919 (thus before the rise of the Nazis), but it has been co-opted by the neo-Nazis, as display of the symbols and flags associated with the Nazi regime is now illegal in Germany.

Here's more on the flag from Wikipedia, though no mention is made of it as a contemporary hate symbol.

So, we have this blatantly inappropriate flag flying five miles from New York Fucking City, and right in perhaps the nation's most diverse state. Obviously, this is free speech, so nothing can be done about it. Still, every time I see it I am reminded that vile, vile people are among us; it makes me angry, and definitely is not what I need before I head to work.

Counting the signs on the New Jersey Turnpike

The Outreach Center is presumably some sort of charity that implores people to donate their cars. And if you're in the New York Metropolitan Area(tm), you've definitely seen their billboards, which look something like this.



I saw at least four billboards between the Lincoln Tunnel and New Brunswick Sunday, including two right across the highway from each other. The week before, I saw a purple-trimmed tow truck, complete with that ugly kid on the door, zooming down the Turnpike right near one of those billboards.

I ask myself repeatedly, "They sure spend a lot of money for advertising; how much are they really helping the kids?" Practically the only neutral source on the billboard deluge was from a blogger called Maurice - I probably missed some other blogs, since "Outreach Center" is a pretty frigging ambiguous name.

Thankfully, The Record answered my question on Sunday. As the "Outreach Center" is religiously affiliated, they don't have to submit detailed breakdowns of where the money they raise goes. And so they don't.

Also, type in "Outreach Center" into Charity Navigator, and you don't get anything on this particular group. Should raise some alarm bells.

Yes, Maurice was onto something. That girl with the pigtails is the face of evil.

Monday, January 21, 2008

Believe in blue!

Well, I'm beyond thrilled the Giants are going to the Super Bowl. Last night's game was insane and made me realize that yes, football is growing on me like a fungus.

(By the way people, Super Bowl is two words. Every time I see it spelled "Superbowl," I kill a hamster.)




I really don't give a fuck about Cloverfield, although I hope the Gucci little piggies the film centers on were all eaten by the monster.



I always wondered who lived along the river, really. It seems as though people are there, and yet, they don't exist. I've never seen them online. And if you're not on The Internets, you don't exist.

I've been cleaning out my home computer's inbox today and came across a link I sent to myself months ago that I intended to post here. It is about all the condo developments popping up on the New Jersey banks of the Hudson River, between the Holland Tunnel and George Washington Bridge.

I remember how it was more than 20 years ago. At 0:06 into the video for Blondie's "Union City Blue," you can see how the area looked - it pretty much consisted of forgotten docks wasting away.



I don't want to live on the "Gold Coast" because it was a Superfund site. Granted, basically all of New Jersey is a Superfund site, but I have a feeling the developers' cleanup of the riverbanks wasn't thorough.

This article from the New York Times adds fuel to my paranoia.

The real reason why I saved the link to post here is for this doozy of a quote.

Indeed, says broker Michele Kleier, being so-close-yet-so-far may actually be a liability. "You’re always going to see those views and be frustrated you’re not in the city," she says. "It's like being on a diet and walking past ice-cream stores constantly."


I know it's a stupid comment, and obviously, it's not to her benefit if people look to live outside New York City limits.

But what she says still hits me in the gut. There is so much in what she says that embodies obsessions with image and prestige, and above all, Manhattanite snobbery.

And maybe that's the reason why I so badly want to live in Manhattan - so I could feel superior to everyone who didn't. Plus, I can get away with saying stupid things like "I don't have a living room, because the whole city is a living room" - even though I'd rather go on the Internet or knit on a big couch.

Never mind that were I to live in Manhattan, I would be living amid people far more superior than me, thus making me feel inadequate.

I can never win.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Who are those guys?

Forget the goalie - I think I cursed the whole fucking team. Either that, or Stars center Joel Lundqvist came in from Dallas and strapped on his brother's goalie gear. This is no time for twin-switching hijinks!

Then again, there's no way the hijinks could be pulled off.

This is Joel.



This is Henrik.



And here they are together, chatting with MSG's Al Trautwig in 2006.



And yet Joel's official bio states that they are identical twins.

Then again, Joel, who is a forward, has taken more pucks to the face and, as he is based in Dallas and/or Des Moines, doesn't have access to the services of whoever does Henke's hair. Never underestimate the power of a haircut.

And certainly they did look the same when they were drafted into the league in 2000 (a photo is shown 40 seconds into the video).

Really, they're the Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield of the NHL. Henke would be Jessica since he obviously spends time on his appearance; Joel is Elizabeth by defaulalike t.

As for the people who play in front of Henke, it's gotten to the point that putting Jagr on waivers doesn't seem so bad. And I don't give a fuck if he's a future Hall of Famer.

But hey, frustration is what being a Ranger fan is all about. Is it a coincidence that if you take away the first and last letters of "Rangers" you get "anger"? (Do the same with the Devils and you get "evil"; with the Islanders, you get "slander.")

I take solace in the fact that today's Rangers only embarrass themselves during games, although Ryan Hollweg comes close here. Once upon a time, long before I could remember shit, they (well, not the current crew) peddled skin-tight designer jeans.



That's Dave Maloney, Anders Hedberg, Phil Esposito and Ron Duguay. And yes, these four appeared in a TV ad. Singing. And it goes downhill from there.



Apparently, the ads were such a success that Espo and Hedberg came back for more. However, the sequel had another Maloney (Don) and another modelizing Ron (Greschner). It also proves that puck fucks are not a recent phenomenon.



That's right - fucking jazz hands.

Ranger fans blame Denis Potvin for the team's loss in the 1979 Stanley Cup finals (for they believe Ulf Nilsson in the lineup would have made the drought 39 years long, instead of 54). "Potvin Sucks" makes a great chant, and shockingly, the Garden condoned it for a time (I would like to blame the Dolans for putting the kibbosh on it, since the Dolans provide me with cable service and therefore suck). You can also buy the T-shirt (not sanctioned by the New York Rangers, Madison Square Garden, Cablevision, or the National Hockey League).

Potvin may suck, but I'm growing more and more convinced that the Rangers lost the Cup in 1979 because they were spending too much time at Studio 54 in their Sasson jeans and possibly snorting coke there (of course, it would be libel to state that they actually were; however, they'd had to have been on something to agree to do those ads).

Why do I get hung up on the Rangers' slump? I've got another blue-clad team to get excited about! If the Giants can defeat the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field, they'll be in the Super Bowl. And if not, well, I've got Brett Favre to cheer for. He's hot! And he's a goofball! He has no strategy when he throws! And most of all, he is not Tom Brady! That's right, I don't find Tom Brady attractive, and while I don't hate the Pats as much as I do the Red Sox, I really would like Boston to lose something big.

Edited on Jan. 23 - Lundqvist twins video added

Thursday, January 10, 2008

God save The King, because I think I cursed him.

For Christmas, I got The Boy tickets to see the Rangers play the Habs on Dec. 30. Tickets came to about $160 each for the 300 level. Going to see a show on Broadway is cheaper.

As it turned out, we were on the side of the Garden where the visiting team shoots at twice. So we had a good view of the suckitude that was the Rangers' second period.

But for the other two periods, the King of New York - and I'm not talking about Christopher Walken, although that also would be awesome - was sitting before us.

The King is the Rangers' top goalie, Henrik Lundqvist, winner of The Golden CD With A Ribbon Strung Through It, and a Most Beautiful Person.


Left: "This does not look like an Olympic gold medal. But I'll take it!" Right: " I'm beautiful, bitches." Click on the images for full-size yumminess.

There's no chance of ogling during the game, given his position mandates he cover his pretty, pretty face. That's fine with me, since he's (generally) amazing to watch in the crease.



Martin Brodeur said, and I quote, "Lundqvist is weird." And so am I - we're like, OMG, so totally perfect for each other!!!1!

Seriously, even if Henke looked like Brent Sopel, he'd still be my favorite Ranger. He's the reason why the Rangers made the playoffs the last two seasons.

And I love the fact that arguably the most popular guy on the team wasn't an established star acquired via trade or free agency like so many Rangers are, but was drafted into the organization ... in the 7th round!

The Boy insists The King had a couple of good saves at the game we went to, but I heard the arena erupt in the "HEN-RIK! HEN-RIK!" chant (which to me sounded more like "HEN-RY! HEN-RY!") just once. I did the "We're not worthy" move - which I picked up at BU - a few times. It baffles me why that hasn't caught on at the Garden, given how it was the faithful who dubbed Lundqvist "The King." Wouldn't they be all about bowing down before him?

Then again, it really wasn't a good game for him. Three goals allowed, 18 saves, and a save percentage of .857 (a good save percentage for him is at least .900, with 1.000 representing a shutout). Ah well, at least he didn't lose.

Since that game, he has gone from merely unspectacular to 100 percent pan-fried ass.

I then realized something. I cursed Henrik Lundqvist. It was my presence in the same (vast, vast) room with him that did it.

I didn't think I would have cursed the guy, since I didn't let The Boy get me his jersey. It's the four words athletes fear most: "BRU HAS YOUR JERSEY."

Before the game, we stopped into Cosby's - the sporting goods store right outside the Garden entrance - and The Boy was pressuring me to have him buy me a jersey. Those are fucking expensive - at least $230 for a pro-quality version with the lettering and numbers stitched on.

I didn't want The Boy to splurge on me so impulsively, given that he spent too much on me for Christmas. As for replicas - no fucking way. They look like ass!

And what would I do with a jersey? It's not like I go see the Rangers constantly, what with my working at night and my lack of money.

I do have an Adam Graves pro jersey I got the summer before I left for college (fight strap and all!); I wore it the few times I went to see the Rangers visiting the Bruins, and had it hanging from a wall in my dorm room. I don't wear it anymore. The man himself signed the 9 at the team's 2000 toy drive. I'm thinking of framing it, perhaps when I finally move so I can design a room around it. I don't think I'll go so far as to use the officially licensed Glidden paints, though.

A T-shirt would have been a better buy, since it wouldn't fit like a burlap sack on me, and I can use it all year. The only ones I like resemble the Ranger uniforms, with the diagonal RANGERS wording in the front and the player name and number in the back. They were out of Lundqvist's. Not a surprise, given how he's probably the current fan favorite (although things may have changed after tonight's dreadful game against the Flyers).

The Boy then eyed a keychain with a photo of Henke in his crease. I told him I already have a Henrik Lundqvist keychain. Tigger gave me this for Christmas, but in black. Before The Boy came to my house for New Year's Eve, I printed out a photo of Henke doing his job from the Internet and put it in the keychain. Ta-da!

So, The Boy and I walked out of Cosby's empty handed, and throughout the game he kept ribbing me about my refusal to let him buy a jersey.

"Those girls in those jerseys over there are so hot."

"I wish I could rest my head on a Lundqvist jersey."

"I want to have sex with Dancing Granny." (She wears an away Lundqvist jersey.)

The Boy still teases me about the jersey. Every time Henke has been in net and lost - and it's been FOUR times since the game we went to - I send The Boy a text message asking him if now he's glad he didn't get me the jersey. He always answers "no."

I don't think it helped Henke when I posted his page from People's "Most Beautiful 2006" at Oh No They Didn't. The eye candy was much appreciated, but the next night he let four goals in (thankfully, the last one came after he was pulled).

But then, it has been revealed that Henke's father recently had brain surgery. He refuses to blame his recent play on that, but it's clear that's been on his mind. Even if he's picked for the All-Star Game, he really should go see his dad during the break. Actually, I wish the team would force him to go to Sweden now (since he's the type of person who will force himself to play even when he feels like ass).

I better stop before I blame myself for Papa Lundqvist's aneurysm.

Still, maybe I should remove Henke's photo from my keychain before Saturday. It couldn't hurt.

Finally, some belated thoughts about the game we went to, the last game the Rangers have won.

It went into overtime after a more entertaining third period. The game-tying goal was scored by Chris Drury, whom The Boy and I saw play at our college. We both shrieked "Go BU!"

Brendan Shanahan scored the goal in OT. The video they show of him on Gardenvision (the jumbotron) when he scores is amusing - it's a clip of him in uniform and off ice (I think black and white)? All the players have one, but they just sit there or move their heads. Shanny, meanwhile, does this thing with his hands - I think he starts out with his palms flat and facing the floor, then he pushes his arms out a bit and does a smirk.

Cute. Almost makes me want to have him cheat on his wife (who he poached from his linemate in St. Louis) with me. My boyfriend teased me about his posing, and the fact that as we were leaving, the TVs in the Garden lobby were showing him being interviewed, his jersey still on but his pants off. Yay for black shorts!

But the real highlight of the game (other than than perhaps the last stick salute for a while) was that as we were leaving, a Canadiens fan was engaged in a shouting fight in the corridor with another fan. Said fighting was in French. Awesome.

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

I say goodbye to the way of life I thought I had designed for me

Another post with a theme song - this time, it's Nelly Furtado's "Try."



No, he hasn't proposed. But it's pretty much the same shit, without the ring.

He told me Sunday that he wants to buy a place with me.

And another goal of mine - that I would live by myself before settling down with a man - may have to fall by the wayside.

You know the script I had for my life - I was going to move to NYC after graduating, first with roommates and then on my own, then I'd live with a guy, and then I'd marry him - or some other guy. Or maybe I wouldn't get married at all. But I'd have still been staying in NYC.

Work kept me in Jersey, and so did love. The city has a better image, but this side of the Hudson is the strangest place in the world. That's actually a good thing, but it can be frustrating as well. After all, the cost of living comfortably here may be even more expensive than living in the city (there are the property taxes, and the need for a car) - and it's still an international joke! You know I give too much of a fuck about image, so of course I'd rather be living in the city. But who am I to question Fate?

So, Fate kept me in Jersey. But I still wanted to live on my own for a couple of years. But with my salary not enough to comfortably do so, I'm going to need to rely on someone else. I suppose life is all about giving up on dreams, but too many of my dreams have been cast off.

Well, The Boy says home prices in Jersey will be going down soon, and that we CAN afford to buy.

Of course, given the fact I read njrereport.com, I am confident he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about.

He tells me to look into various areas in the state, but he won't tell me how much he makes, or give me price ranges. I mean, the fuck?

And I believe he's going about this the wrong way. The jump from (figurative) basement-dweller to homeowner is akin to jumping to college from grammar school. But The Boy refuses to rent - even if it's just for a year to see if we can, you know, actually live with each other. To my shock, my dad - he whom I had to lie to for years when I would go away for weekends with The Boy - WANTS us to live together before we get married. He suspects I need to audition The Boy before making a legal commitment with him. And it's hard for me to disagree that maybe The Boy is difficult to live with.

Everyone can tell that I'm not confident. I slump in my chair, I get distracted, I'll stare into space. I sell my insecurities well, which is why I often wind up trapped.

No, he's confident in me. He's confident I will agree to everything he proposes, even if at first I refuse. I've kept telling him I don't want kids, but he thinks he can change my mind. And I fear he probably will; he's good at persuasion, and I have horrible self esteem. He tends to believe he's always right, and I do tend to give into his ideas.

And yet, I can't even get him to lose weight or pluck the random hairs growing on his back.

I love him, and while I know no one is ever perfect (Henke played like shit last night!), there are all those various levels of imperfect. Few people could ever understand me, and if they do, they're still not good for me.