Good-Bye's of 2007

People close to me know of my somewhat bizarre fascination with celebrity deaths. Every time I sit down to watch the Oscars, Emmy's, ESPY's, or other random award show, the memorial tribute montage is the part I most greatly anticipate. I think it has to do with a genuine interest in human nature. We often have difficulty letting go of the past, from events that changed or entertained us, and people we admired for their accomplishments. I'm always interested in who will draw the loudest applause amongst the deceased. Are they the people who lived the lives we wanted to, those who conducted themselves with the most class, or those who were simply the most popular among their fans? As I ponder these questions, I bid adieu to a few people and events that meant something to me in 2007.

Brad Delp (55): The lead singer of Boston, Delp's voice was instrumental in preserving my sanity on several lengthy flights and road trips over the years. "More Than a Feeling" remains one of my 10 favorite rock songs, and the band's self-titled debut album still receives regular airplay on WZLX and other local stations. And no band had a better name.

Frankie (?): The long-time host at Charley's Eating & Drinking Saloon in Chestnut Hill, MA, never seemed to age. Frankie was always friendly and respectful towards my family, taking care of us on even the busiest of Friday nights, much to the chagrin of other customers. I can safely say he was one of two Friday night mainstays throughout my childhood, the other being Charlie's nachos. Frankie always made us feel welcome in a time when most restaurants are growing more and more impersonal. I'll remember him as a kind man with a firm handshake and a smile on his face. "Good-bye buddy."

Merv Griffin (82): One of television's most prolific personalities, Griffin was a game show host, talk show host (whose self-titled The Merv Griffin Show won 11 Emmy Awards), and late-night host. Creator of the hugely successful game shows Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune, Griffin arguably left his greatest contribution in the hands of Jerry Seinfeld, who used his famed talk show set in one of Seinfeld's funniest episodes, in which Kramer reconstructed the set in his apartment, complete with theme music. Although I'm not Griffin ever mixed up his cue cards.

David Halberstam (73): The American Pulitzer Prize winning author was among the most accomplished writers of the later-half of the 20th century. While his work on Vietnam and politics first brought him fame, it was his sports writing that endeared him to a younger generation of readers. Among those he published were Summer of '49 (about the Yankees & Red Sox), Playing for Keeps (about Michael Jordan), and The Education of a Coach (about Bill Belichick).

Harry Potter (1997-2007): The boy who saved reading. Created by J.K. Rowling, the 7-part fantasy series was THE pop-culture event of our time, obliterating sales records at a time when books seemed to lag far behind the internet, movies, television, and video games as means of entertainment for younger audiences. This year's final entry The Deathly Hallows did not disappoint, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione survived, Voldemort was destroyed, and readers bid a final farewell to Hogwarts. More symbolic, it marked the end of an era, and a phenomenon that rivaled both Star Wars and The Beatles. Not bad for a penniless writer who got creative on a delayed train to London.

Dennis Johnson (52): One of the most underrated athletes of his era, D.J. stunned the basketball world when he collapsed from a heart-attack in February. One of the great defensive guards of all-time, Johnson was a vital contributor to 3 NBA championship teams, the first with Seattle in 1979, for which he won finals MVP. The latter 2 came as point guard for the Celtics in 1984 and 1986. D.J. earned a reputation as one the most clutch players of his generation, and no less an authority than Larry Bird called him the best player he ever played with. Johnson, a 5-time All-Star and member of 9 straight All-Defensive 1st or 2nd teams, will likely be inducted posthumously into the Basketball Hall-of-Fame in Springfield, though that honor should've come much, much sooner.

The Naked Gun Villains:
In 1991's The Smell of Fear (2 1/2), Robert Goulet (73) terrorized the world as Quentin Hapsburg, who's inept plan to destroy the environment was foiled when Leslie Nielsen's Lt. Frank Drebin accidentally tripped over a chord that unplugged his nuclear bomb. Goulet found greater success on stage in 1960's Camelot, in which he played Sir Lancelot, and later won a Tony award for 1968's The Happy Time. Goulet also won a Grammy Award (1962) as best new artist.
In 1993's The Final Insult (33 1/3), Anna Nicole Smith (39) made an impression as Tanya Peters, Rocco Dillon's flirtatious girlfriend who had her eye on Lt. Drebin (It's a movie). Of course, Drebin lost interest when he discovered Ms. Peters was as "well-equipped" as he was. Smith's personal life sparked controversy, from her marriage at 17 to an 80 year-old billionaire oil tycoon to the mysterious death of her son. But Smith gained the most fame as the 1993 Playboy Playmate of the Year, decorating the bedroom walls of adolescent males across America.

The O.C. (2003-2007): Californiaaaaaaa, Californiaaaaaa . . . Critics be damned. The O.C., created by Josh Schwartz, was the single most entertaining teen drama since the early years of Beverly Hills 90210. Unlike 90210 however, The O.C. wisely invested as much time in the adult Cohens and Coopers as their kids. While the show burned through way too much story in season 1 (one of my 5 favorite t.v. seasons of all-time), it still had enough juice to sustain 4 seasons of lust, fights, betrayals, pools, surfers, beaches, burritos, chinese food, comic-books, lesbians, and some of most clever one-liners this side of White Men Can't Jump. Every young adult male deserves a cradle robbing neighbor like Julie Cooper. And I still wish I was from Chino.

Pirates of the Carribean (2003, 2006, 2007): For pure entertainment value, one of my favorite trilogies since Indiana Jones. Director Gore Verbinski helped keep the tone light, the humor strong, and the action fierce. And that score kicks ass! While many felt the sequels didn't live up to the original, I enjoyed each entry more than it's predecessor, culminating in this summer's thrilling At World's End. Despite that title, I wouldn't be surprised to see a 4th entry in this cash-cow franchise if Johnny Depp signs on again as Captain Jack Sparrow, who ranks among the most original, iconic characters to emerge in film during the past decade.

Chip Reese (56): Winner of 3 World Series of Poker bracelets, Reese earned the respect of his peers over a hugely successful career highlighted by stellar play and consumate professionalism. Among the most accomplished cash game players of all-time, Reese was the youngest living player to be inducted into the Poker Hall of Fame (1991). At a recent poker conference at Harvard Law School, Mike Sexton (host of The World Poker Tour) described his early days playing poker in Ohio, where 1 player always broke him at the tables. Sexton doubted his ability until he got to college, where he began cleaning up in cash games. It wasn't until years later that he discovered the player who dominated him years earlier was Chip Reese. A fitting tribute to a man Doyle Brunson recently called, "the best poker player that ever lived."

The Sopranos (1999-2007): Tony, Carmela, Meadow, A.J., Melfi, Junior, Paulie, Silvio, Pussy, Christopher, Janice, Livia . . . characters readily identifiable by a single name. I never thought we'd see a mob family rival the Corleones in stature, pop-culture relevance, and name recognition. But David Chase's New Jersey based clan accomplished just that. Among the most critically acclaimed television dramas of all-time, The Sopranos was also the most financially successful cable series in the medium's history. At the show's center was James Gandolfini's Tony, trapped in a constant psychological struggle between his responsibilities to his family and his "family." Though I missed much of the series when it was new, the magic of on-demand has provided me the opportunity to immerse myself in Tony's world, which features some of the strongest writing and acting I've ever seen.

Other Departures:

Ingmar Bergman (89): One of the most influential names in cinema, the Swedish filmmaker directed 62 films, many of which he wrote. Among his most notable were The Seventh Seal and Wild Strawberries (both 1957), Persona (1966), and Cries and Whispers (1972).

Joey Bishop (89): The former stand-up comedian guest hosted Johnny Carson's The Tonight Show more times than any other man. But he was best known as the last living member of the famed Rat Pack, with Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Peter Lawford, and Sammy Davis Jr.

The Bourne Trilogy (2002, 2004, 2007): The new millenium's answer to James Bond, only with superior action, editing, and stunt work. Matt Damon embodied Jason Bourne with a vulnerability rarely seen in the genre, which the trilogy helped to re-invent. Doug Liman (Identity) and Paul Greengrass (Supremacy & Ultimatum) directed.

Marquise Hill (24): Drafted in the 2nd round of the 2004 NFL draft by the New England Patriots, Hill died tragically in an accident while jet skiing in his native New Orleans. The former standout defensive end helped LSU win a BCS title game (2003), and was a member of the Patriots Super Bowl winning team his rookie year. He also donated much of his time and money to help rebuild New Orleans in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.

Richard Jeni (50): Likeable with a somewhat goofy demeanor, Jeni had a successful career as a stand-up comedian, with multiple comedy specials on both HBO and Showtime. He appeared frequently on The Tonight Show and starred in a handful of films, most notably as Jim Carrey's sidekick in The Mask (1994).

Deborah Kerr (86): One of Hollywood's most respected actresses, Kerr received an Honorary Academy Award in 1994. She was nominated for 6 oscars, all in the Best Actress category for the films Edward, My Son (1949), From Here to Eternity (1953), The King and I (1956), Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison (1957), Separate Tables (1958), and The Sundowners (1960).

The King of Queens (1998-2007): One of the most underrated, consistently funny sitcoms to emerge during the 90s, the story of tubby postal-worker Doug Heffernan and his wife Carrie earned many fans over the years. This was primarily due to the engaging performances of it's likeable, talented cast, especially Kevin James, Leah Remini, and the invaluable Jerry Stiller.

Phil Rizzuto (89): "The Scooter" was among the most popular Yankees of all-time. Rizzuto spent his entire career in New York, helping the team win 7 World Series, while cementing his legacy as one of the greatest defensive shortstops in history. The American League M.V.P in 1950, "Rizzuto" also made Billy Madison run out of class crying when he couldn't write his name in script.

Joel Siegel (63): After spending much of his early career working in the civil movement, Siegel gained fame as film critic for ABC's Good Morning America, a job he held for more than 25 years. While it seemed he almost never gave a negative review, that was his appeal. He was a movie fan above all else.

Bill Walsh (75): Widely regarded as one of the finest football coaches of all-time, Walsh is often credited with inventing the famed West Coast Offense. The NFL's coach of the year in both 1981 and 1984, Walsh won 3 Super Bowls as head coach of the San Francisco 49ers, compiling a record of 102-63-1 over that stretch.

Roger's Legacy

Deny 'Til You Die. Apparantly Roger Clemens has chosen to adopt Ari Gold's business philosophy with regard to his recent inclusion in the much publicized Mitchell Report. While the report doesn't indicate a conclusive determinent of guilt, it can certainly tarnish one's reputation in the public's eye. This is the area I suspect Rocket is most concerned about. Until recently he was being praised by writers, fans, and sportscenter anchors as the greatest pitcher who ever lived. With over 300 wins, 4000 strikeouts, 7 Cy Youngs (a record), an MVP, 11 all-star games, a pair of 20 strikeout games, and 2 world series rings, who's to argue?

Well, now many people choose to argue, much the way they did when the incomparable Barry Bonds became widely suspected of steroid use. Humans may be an ignorant bunch, but we aren't to blame. We accept the realities the world presents to us, and if the media doesn't report wrong-doings, we simply don't know about them. Major league baseball, from the higher-ups (Bud Selig) to the owners conveniently turned a blind eye when hallowed records started to fall. They were thrilled by the popularity boom baseball experienced during the summer of 1998, when Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa both broke Roger Maris' single-season homerun record. Jaws dropped when Bonds hit 73 homeruns just 3 years later. Did nobody think it was a little strange that a record which had stood for 37 years was shattered by 3 different men in a span in the span of as many years? And yet the visual evidence was there. Don't believe me? Visit your old shoeboxes filled with baseball cards and dig out the rookie cards. Skinny McGwire evolved into a Hulk Hogan clone, while the practically anorexic Bonds most closely came to resemble Ken Griffey Jr. after chugging the bottle of nerve tonic on the Simpsons. History has shown that production begins to decline, that bodies begin to breakdown once players hit their mid-late 30s. And yet, guys like Bonds and Clemens are hitting their peak at 40?

Clemens isn't an idiot. He's seen how reviled many of the 1990s superstars now are in the eyes of the fans. He knows that many athletes once considered first-ballot locks for the hall-of-fame now have zero chance of induction. Too many cynical sportswriters have already made up their minds for guys like McGwire, Sosa, and Raphael Palmero to come anywhere near the 75% needed for induction. He's seen what's happened to Bonds, how so many now want nothing to do with him. Remember those old debates about who was baseball's greatest, Bonds or Griffey Jr.? The results are in and Griffey's won in a landslide, self-induced animated head expansion aside. With no connection to BALCO and no subpoenas, Clemens is going with the old adage, "It's my word against their's." Unfortunately, too many precedents have been set for his word to hold much weight with the public. Afterall, Palmero sternly denied ever taking steroids on Capitol Hill, pointing an unwavering finger at anyone who claimed otherwise. That seemed to be good enough, until he became the highest profile player to test positive.

I seriously doubt Clemens will ever slip up like that, for many reasons. His career is winding down and he doesn't ever need to step on a pitcher's mound again. He wouldn't possibly risk alienating the few supporters he has left. He has a lot of pride and seems genuinely concerned about his legacy. His records and achievements alone would seem to indicate a spot on baseball's Mt. Rushmore (a really cool idea that needs to happen some day) were they not considered tainted. Additionally he has 4 sons, the oldest of whom Koby, plays in the minor leagues. I imagine he prays his sons don't think less of him nor does he want these allegations to follow Koby as he pursues his own career.

But the truth is Clemens has been the ultimate "me-first" guy for a long time. After a hugely successful tenure with the Red Sox, the Rocket posted back to back to back to back subpar seasons from 1993-1996, eventually convincing GM Dan Duquette that he was finished (some accused him of tanking). Clemens had already been pitching for 13 years and it became evident that his best was behind him. But leave it to Roger to finish his spinach (cue Popeye theme song) and off he went to Toronto, picking up 2 Cy Youngs in a short stint with the Blue Jays. Self-serving, disloyal publicity hound that he was, Clemen's next stop was the big apple for 5 years. It didn't hurt that they were throwing money at him like confetti. He won his rings and perhaps his highest acclaim, ironic since these are now the years most in question since his former trained revealed that Clemens likes to bend over and take it up the ass (pun intended). Prepared to go out on top, Clemens stopped in every major league city for choruses of rousing ovations on his endless farewell tour. But marvel that he was, he decided that he wasn't through. His body was stronger than ever and age is only a matter of mind anyway, so why not fool everyone again and join the Astros? He even had the nerve to do a second retirement tour while in Houston, soaking up the applause from Oakland to Beantown (I was never among the participants). And just as it was time to quit for good, Steinbrenner and Cashman came calling with the most insane pro-rated salary ever concocted.

Much to my pleasure, Clemen's final stay with New York backfired. But regardless of where he ended up, I take issue with the luxuries afforded him that fly in the face of of everything it means to be part of a team. Forget the money, ludicrous as it was. Clemens didn't have to travel with the team. He didn't even have to show up unless he was pitching! If Roger so desparately wanted to spend extra time with his family, couldn't he simply have retired? To my knowledge Clemens is the only player to buck the trend that you can't have it both ways. Ego and money drove Clemens to return, not that he needed more of either. But if you choose to be part of a team, than be part of that team. As a friend of mine once said in response to my telling him there's no "I" in team, "yah, but there's a me." Truer words were never spoken.

And alas we've come to the end of Roger Clemens. Was he a great pitcher? Absolutely. Did he cheat the game of baseball? Probably, though no more than several other major leaguers who chose to bend the rules to benefit themselves. And the truth of it all is that I don't care that much about the steroid issue anymore. Maybe it's because I'm sick of hearing about it. Perhaps it's because baseball could've stopped it at anytime, so I don't hold the players entirely responsible. I don't know how I'd vote if given a hall-of-fame ballot, but I do know this. If Bonds is going to be doubted by fans and sports reporters, his records accompanied by large black asterisks for the rest of time, than Clemens warrants the same fate. Roger, you've always wanted to be the center of attention. Mission accomplished.

Summer Movie Awards 2007

Maybe it’s the withdrawal that comes from not seeing a truly great film in at least 6 months. Perhaps it’s the popcorn and soda I’ve been digesting in bulk since early May within the confines of my local theatre. Maybe my brain has been so successfully assaulted by superheroes, ogres, pirates, giant explosions, dueling wizards, and mega-robots that I can now think of nothing better to do. Whatever compelled me to sum up the summer movie season, from the handful of original comedies to the numerous money-driven sequels and threequels, here is one filmgoer’s expert analysis.

Breakout Star of the Summer: Seth Rogan: After a handful of humorous, small roles in a few cancelled sitcoms and The 40 Year Old Virgin, Rogan emerged as a comedic star as Ben, a bumbling 20-something struggling with maturity and an unexpected pregnancy in Knocked Up. The film’s ultimate success rested on his convincing audiences that Katharine Heigl’s Allison could fall in love with him. It worked. Rogan also co-wrote the late summer sleeper hit Superbad, and took a very funny supporting role as an inept cop who with his partner took the inexperienced McLovin under his wing.

Runner-up: Shia LaBeouf: He brought humility and humor to his leading role in Michael Bay’s mega-blockbuster Transformers, keeping the film grounded as chaos ensued around him. He also headlined the sleeper hit Disturbia. I have little doubt he will hold his own in next summers fourth Indiana Jones installment.

Best Animated Feature: Ratatouille: A smart and involving story about a rat named Remi who’s unlikely cooking exploits in a Paris restaurant show us that anyone can succeed with a little luck and perseverance. Peter O’toole voiced a snooty acclaimed food critic in one of the summer’s most unexpectedly mature films. Few, if any animated films, have ever looked better. And the script provided as much for adults as for children. In the race for summer’s biggest animated film, Shrek the Third may have won financially, but Ratatouille was the one people will still be talking about in 5 years.

Runner-up: The Simpson’s Movie: Though not quite up the long-running series’ best episodes, this big-screen Simpson’s adventure was worth the wait. Though it lost some steam near the end, the first half was remarkably funny, mixing unexpected site gags with clever dialogue as Homer attempted to save his family from his worst screw-up ever. Also nice to see Homer finally give someone the “finger,” which you know he’s been itching to do for years.

Sexiest Female Lead: Megan Fox: It was a toss-up between Fox and Heigl. Though Heigl displayed infinitely more charisma and warmth in Knocked Up, Fox’s reluctant girlfriend to Lebouf’s geeky hero helped make Transformers the non-sequel king of the summer. And any guy whose says his favorite image of the summer wasn’t Fox working under the hood of that car is either lying or likes men.

Runner-up: Heigl: A natural stunner, she’s docked a few points for consistently wearing more clothes than Fox. It matters.

Best Action Sequence: Pirates of the Carribean: At World’s End: A touch choice. Live Free or Die Hard and The Bourne Ultimatum boasted superior chase sequences. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix gave us a thrilling wizard showdown, while Transformers showcased a mammoth Decepticon spinning out of the desert sand from underground. Spiderman 3’s finale was a visual stunner with a 2-on-2 tag-team effort, even though it didn’t make much sense. But I’m going with At World’s End, in no small part for it’s thrilling final 45 minutes, which featured booming explosions, three massive ships, hundreds of extras, a typhoon, an indestructible woman who turned into a giant, dueling undead pirates, a scramble for a live beating heart, and a massive whirlpool in the middle of the sea. Over the top? Of course, but it knew it was, with Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack winking at the audience every step of the way.

Runner-up: The Bourne Ultimatum: A throwback type of action film, in which stunt work and editing played a far more crucial role than any special effects. Director Paul Greengrass deserves credit for making building jumping and street chases exciting again.

Best Villain: Imelda Staunton: As the new defense against the dark arts teacher at Hogwarts, Staunton’s Dolores Umbridge was every student’s worst nightmare. Her demeaning glares and rigid upholding of her private set of rules recalled Nurse Ratched. Tormenting opposing faculty and torturing Harry Potter, she was all the more terrifying because we didn’t see this coming. An oscar nomination is warranted, though I’d bet 1000 to 1 she won’t receive one.

Runner-up: Government Officials: America’s cinematic punching bag, reflecting an ever-growing dissatisfaction with the current administration. They were portrayed as corrupt (Sicko, The Bourne Ultimatum), ignorant (Transformers, Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer), and in one case, hilariously indifferent (The Simpson Movie’s President Schwarzenegger, who was “elected to lead, not to read”).

Note: I really should’ve given the runner-up spot to Kevin Costner’s Mr. Brooks (one of summer’s underrated thrillers), but the idea of awarding Costner the title “Best” of anything was a little too much to stomach.

Most Thought-Provoking: Sicko: It didn’t have the hype or box-office of Michael Moore’s earlier hits Bowling for Columbine or Fahrenheit 9/11, but his latest film was actually the most accomplished. Focusing more on the stories of his subjects than himself this time, Moore contrasted the health care programs offered in America with seemingly more competent programs in Canada, England, France, and Cuba. Health care exists as a fundamental “right” elsewhere in the world, not as a business industry that allows its citizens to die if they aren’t properly covered. If they can do it, why can’t we?

Runner-up: I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry: Actually, the only thought-provoking thing about this film was in making us wonder how such a simplistic, ignorant view of homosexual life could get on-screen in the first place. Every scene seemed taken from an early 90’s sitcom, with simplified caricatures, but no real characters. The half-dozen or so laughs in the movie belonged to Kevin James. I like Adam Sandler, but since he began straining to add “messages” to his comedies, we’ve been treated to steadily decreasing comic results. Chuck and Larry also contained the season’s most ridiculous ending.

Biggest Disappointment: Ocean’s 13: The latest star-studded caper film had me leaving the theatre wondering, “That was it?” Ocean’s 11 was a complete entertainment, with a clever heist and a witty script. Ocean’s 12, while inferior, was basically more of the same, with plenty of winks from its star studded cast. But in unlucky 13, the fun was gone. The plot and heist were lame, with hardly any memorable dialogue as the crew basically rehashed the original. I never thought Al Pacino would be wasted to the extent he was here. Andy Garcia had a lot more bite as the heavy in the original. And with no Julia Roberts or Catherine Zeta-Jones this time around, our biggest stars (Clooney and Pitt) our left with little to humanize them other than an episode of Oprah.

Runner-up: Spiderman 3: Plenty of choices here, including a mediocre third Shrek (a few solid laughs, but the inventiveness was gone) and a ridiculous sequel to Fantastic Four (which was actually a step-up from the original). But in part because its immediate predecessor was so good, Spiderman 3 had more to live up to than the others. 2007’s highest grossing blockbuster pitted Peter Parker’s alter-ego against no less than 4 villains; Harry Osborne’s new goblin, Flint Marko’s shape-changing Sandman, and the mysterious substance “venom,” which first attaches itself to Peter and later to rival photographer Eddie Brock. That’s enough story for two sequels, but it’s all crammed here into a film that either needed to run a lot longer (to flesh out its villains) or shorter (cut two of them out all together). While there are many enjoyable scenes scattered throughout, director Sam Raimi never found a consistent tone as the audience was jerked from one plot to the next. Kirsten Dunst’s MJ was more an irritation than anything else.

Biggest Surprise: Live Free or Die Hard: Despite owning the year’s worst title, the fourth Die Hard adventure emerged like a breath of fresh air in late June. Relying more on stunts and explosions than CGI, the film gave John McClane a partner, a daughter, and pitted him against a cyber terrorist with financial motivations. This film won’t win any Oscars, but the winning combination of Bruce Willis in civilian hero mode, top-flight action, and a few clever one-liners was enough to make any male between the ages of 12 and 60 leave with a smile.

Runner-up: Lucky You: The film’s title must’ve been aimed to me, because I among the 8 people who actually saw it. Opening against Spiderman 3 (nice job executives), this tale of addiction and redemption deserved a larger audience. Director Curtis Hansen, a reported poker nut, got everything about the game, including the grind and psychology involved, exactly right. If Texas Hold’em doesn’t match your criteria of a fun evening out, it was still worth seeing for Robert Duvall’s best performance in years, as poker legend L.C. Cheever, estranged father of our hero (played by Eric Bana).

Best On-Screen Duo: Jonah Hill & Michael Cera: The most likeable pair of high school best buds since Bill and Ted, they turned Superbad into one of the year’s biggest and funniest comedies. Seen as geeks by the masses, Seth and Evan use a student wimpier than even them to aid in their quest for beer and women. That character was Fogel (Christopher Mintz-Plasse), who ends up with the best name ever put on a fake I.D., “McLuvin.” Though it didn’t have the heart of Knocked Up (Apatow produced, Rogan co-wrote), it nearly matched the earlier hit laugh for laugh, on a slightly more juvenile scale.

Runner-up: Jackie Chan & Chris Tucker: Who would’ve thought a third film with Detectives Lee and Carter could prove so enjoyable? The last big threequel of summer, Rush Hour 3 was probably the lightest and most briskly-paced of them all, though it was also by far the least ambitious. Still, it basically offered what its predecessors did; some action, some humor, and lots of chemistry between the two leads. More importantly, it required almost no thought on behalf of the viewer, exactly the way a summer movie season should end.

The ABC's of Boston Sport's, October 2007

October is perhaps the best month on the calendar. New Englander's stop sweating and experience their 31 days of fall. Oscar contenders begin filling the local multiplexes. Sam Adam's re-relases Octoberfest. It marks the beginning of the year's longest period between mandatory visits to synogauge. And Larry David is screaming obscenities and shouting racial slurs at everyone from surgeon's to pharmacists. But nowhere is this month more significant than in the world of sports. The N.F.L. season is in full swing, B.C.S. rankings become more conclusive, the N.B.A. pre-season has fans drooling, and the M.L.B. finds it's champion. Here then is a toast to the hero's and donkeys of October, 2007, Beantown style.

(A)lex Rodriguez, who after years of struggle finally managed to make headlines in the playoffs. Could this guy be more self-centered? Of all the athletes I never want to see in a Boston uniform, A-Rod has always been a top 5 guy since the bush-league slap on Bronson Arroyo. After Sunday, he stands alone at the top of the list.

(B)ill Belichick, the mastermind and "cheater" behind the N.F.L.'s dominant franchise. The early season controversy seems to be about the best thing that could've happened to the typically emotionless coach. The defense has been dominant, while the offense has been unstoppable, never more so than in last week's 52-7 thrashing of the hapless Washington Redskins. I mean, 52-7? That's a Madden 2000 score!

(C)harles Barkley, for providing a year's worth of quotes in a single evening on Conan O'Brien. The best: "Guys who play football, they were guys who wasn't good enough to play basketball." The runnerup, while describing the 1986 Celtics: "They were probably, other than the Lakers, the second best team I ever played against, but they was not pretty people."

(D)ustin Pedroia, who should be a unanimous pick for A.L. Rookie of the Year. Years of searching for a second baseman are officially over, despite the fact that Pedroia couldn't beat Cecil Fielder in a foot-race. It's always great to root for the little guy.

(E)agles of Boston College. They are playing so well that for the first time ever, about 20% of New England residents are showing a steady interest in the B.C.S. Defying the naysayers week after week, would it still surprise you if this bunch took down Ohio St. or LSU? (Ok, it still would, but we can hope).

(F)rancona (Terry), the single most underrated manager in the game. The man exhibits more class than anyone, while simultaneously regulating Schilling's ego and Manny's unstable cranium. With 2 world series rings in 4 years, Tito has proven that it's time for the morons clogging up WEEI's phone lines to shut up and take a hike.

(G)eneral manager Theo Epstein, for showing guts and savvy time and time again in spite of being kicked in the nuts repeatedly by on-air personalities and fans. Theo is the man who traded 2-time batting champ Nomar Garciaparra and brought in Orlando Cabrera, Dave Roberts, and that first baseman who ran away with the 2004 world series ball as if he won the series. Theo is the guy who had the foresight to hold off throwing millions at aging stars Pedro Martinez and Johnny Damon who were nearing the end of their primes. Theo is the G.M. who sent Hanley Ramirez to the N.L. in exchange for the team's best regular season player (Mike Lowell) and their best post-season player (Josh Beckett). Theo has earned the right to stroll into Abe and Louies in ripped jeans and a tee-shirt at 8pm on a Saturday night and say "Give me the entire back room, 3 bottles of wine, the grilled swordfish and the filet mignon, and makes sure it's on the house." That's the kind of respect that you earn by winning.

(H)ideki Okajima, because his name is fun to say, and because he turned out to be a better pitcher in 2007 than his heavily hyped brother from another mother, Dice-K, who to be fair had a pretty good season. But Okajima was sensational in the early-going, proving to be a reliable middle-reliever while posting a phenomenal 2.22 e.r.a.

(I)nsects of Cleveland, who God sent down to Jacobs Field in the 8th inning of game 2 of the A.L.C.S. to swarm and attack all Yankee fielders and pithcers who dared try and get in the way of the Red Sox winning the world series. I bet Jeter is still rubbing afterbite all over himself. Too bad Clemens wasn't on the mound.

(J)osh Beckett, who won 20 regular season games as the ace of the Red Sox pitching staff. But his legend expanded in the playoffs, when he went 4-0 while saving the bullpen in his 30 innings of work. He victimized an assortment of Angels, Indians, and Rockies with 35 strikeouts, while lowering his career playoff e.r.a to 1.73. Now hurry up and get to Abe and Louies, because Theo's waiting for you.

(K)evin Garnett, for finally turning Boston into a 3 team sports town again (sorry Bruins). On the cover of every sports magazine in the country, KG is the new centerpiece of a team that just may be good enough to reach the N.B.A. finals. Nobody is happier about this than captain Paul Pierce, who now has the option of passing in the closing seconds rather than shooting fall-away jumpers over triple teams.

(L)ester (Jon), who's success must make even the most cynical of grouches smile. It was quite a year for the 23 year old, who overcame the struggle of his life by besting cancer, then for an encore threw 5 2/3 innings of 3 hit, shutout ball and picked up the victory in the world series clinching game 4. The Rockies' Garrett Atkins said it best, ". . . . His whole story is amazing. If you had to get beat by someone you have to be happy for that guy."

(M)att Ryan, the senior quarterback of an Eagle's squad that is making a legitimate run at the national title game. Showing strong leadership and poise under pressure, the Heisman candidate is the best B.C. quarterback since Doug Flutie.

(N)umber 6, or the amount of former Celtics now playing for the Minnesota Timberwolves. Kevin McHale must've seen something he liked about Boston's roster of misfits over the past 5 years. Certainly Sebastian Telfair brings a positive influence to the clubhouse, while Theo Ratliff will provide durability. The number would actually be 7, but McHale just acquired wiggling machine Antoine Walker from Miami in exchange for Ricky Davis and Mark Blount.

(O)rtiz and Ramirez, no first names needed. Yes, I am cheating including both of them here because I ran out of letters. No, it doesn't matter because 29 managers approach them as a 2-headed monster, each of whom must be planned for with the other in mind. Though not either's finest statistical season, there is no 3-4 combination in the majors that strikes such fear into opposing pithcers and fans. Manny's already punched his ticket to Cooperstown. Papi just needs to stay healthy.

(P)apelbon (Jonathan), whose competitive nature and undeterred focus have made him so good we may one day be telling our grandchildren about watching the most dominant closer of all-time. He throws like Ricky Vaughn and dances like Elaine Benes. We'll let the second part slide, because he's one of the most charasmatic athletes to come through this city in years.

(Q)uote machine Curt Schilling, who has probably pitched his final game as a member of the Red Sox. He is brash and arrogant with an opinion on everything, but few are better prepared. He doesn't make excuses and he always come to compete. At the end of the day, a team with Schilling, among the most clutch post-season pitchers in history, is better off than a team without him.

(R)ay Allen, whose arrival paved the way for an even bigger fish (Garnett) to land in Boston. It's been fairly quiet around Allen, which is just fine for the 7-time all-star, who has always been a team guy first, superstar second. Few players were genuinely excited about playing for the Celtics in June and July. Fewer still can shoot the ball like the former Jesus Shuttlesworth.

(S)tojakovic (Peja), the former Sacramento King 3-point shooting phenom, whose game has diminished to the point that he was recently described by a friend of mine as "fantasy herpes," while drafting teams for the upcoming fantasy basketball season. With a foundation of KG and Pierce, as well as Bosh, Boozer, and T-Mac, "McHaleRocks" is looking like a winner.

(T)om Brady, who is inching closer and closer to turning Boston's all-time fab four (Ted Williams, Bill Russell, Bobby Orr, & Larry Bird) into a fab five. His numbers (30 touchdown passes and only 2 interceptions) have been astounding in leading the Patriots to an undefeated 1st half of the season. Barring injury, Brady is likely to shatter multiple single-season records.

(U)nbelievably good fortune, which seems to carry over from season to season, team to team. Once the initial euphoria caused by Boston's most recent champion wears off, local fans will need to sit down, take a deep breath, and let it all sink in. Because it doesn't get much better than this.

(V)rabel (Mike), the powerful linebacker in his 7th season with the Patriots, has somehow turned into the team's best tight end. He has 8 offensive touchdowns under Belichick, and a combined 11 yards receiving! Are you paying attention coaches? The man has averaged 1.4 yards per catch. He goes into the game with the Pats on the 1 or 2 yard line and somehow everyone becomes perplexed when the whistle blows and Vrabel's holding the ball in the endzone. One of football's greatest unexplained mysteries that this continues to work.

(W)akefield (Tim), for proving his value time and time. The longest tenured member of the Red Sox (I was 14 when I first saw him pitch at Fenway), he does whatever the team needs, whether it's going 8 innings from the get-go, bailing out struggling pitchers in relief, sitting out the world series, or leading the pack in community service hours. I bet he'd even sell hot-dogs on off-days if they asked him to. You're the man Tim and if anyone says otherwise, throw a ball at their head and laugh aloud when it hits their balls.

(X)-Factor Randy Moss, who I confess has turned me. Moss used to be on my annual shit-list of athletes who got by on natural talent, but never seemed to go all-out for the losing squads they didn't care about (Vince Carter is still a charter member). But Moss seems reborn in New England, is producing at a higher level than anyone, and genuinely seems happy and motivated. He's a huge reason the Patriots haven't won a game by fewer than 17 points.

(Y)ouk. Kevin Youkilis worked as hard as anyone in 2007, consistently providing game-changing hits, while playing nearly flawless at first base. He didn't commit a single error all year, making it tough to justify sitting him for games 3 and 4 in Colorodo. But he didn't complain. He just chugged champagne.

(Z)elasko (Jeanne), for the most pathetic and insensitive post-game reporting this side of Jim Gray. Seriously, would anyone have blamed free-agent to be Mike Lowell for cracking her skull with his M.V.P. trophy? Let the guy enjoy the moment without having to endure idiotic questions like, "Is your heart still in Boston?" just minutes after having swept the Rockies on baseball's greatest stage. I suspect his heart will always be in Boston, regardless of where he chooses to play in 2008.

Congratulations to the 2007 World Series Champion Boston Red Sox. May you continue your winning ways, and may the Yankees not win another title until 2086. See you Friday night at the Garden and Sunday in Indianapolis.

To Protect and To Serve?

I used to think the police existed to help people. That’s it, nothing fancy. Through my 6 year old eyes I saw their blue and white vehicles, the walkie-talkies they held close to call for help, and the guns in their holsters in case bad guys tried to get me. They circled neighborhood blocks wearing the proud emblem “To Protect and To Serve.” Unfortunately, whoever originated that tag line left out a few choice words. I suppose I understand the reasoning. Police cars with “To Protect the Cities Budget and To Serve Parking Tickets” written on the door wouldn’t instill much confidence in its citizens. In fact, they’d probably run from the police as they would from a street gang. The parallels between these 2 groups are uncanny. They both have weapons, they usually work in teams, and they’ve come to steal our money.

Now if I sound a little harsh, allow me to clarify that I don’t blame the police entirely. They didn’t make these rules, they just abide by them. Luca Brasi never went out and killed anybody ‘because he was looking for kicks on a Friday night. He waited until he was sent for by Don Corleone, who then instructed him accordingly. Police officers get their assignments from their superiors, just like anyone who works in an office building, movie theatre, or restaurant. You aren’t allowed to make independent decisions, and if you are you must do so within a certain set of guidelines. One’s moral values or conscience don’t typically factor into the equation. When you decide you can no longer work under these restrictions, that’s the day you quit your job.

Unfortunately, most if not all decisions made by owners, business leaders, politicians, and state officials are about money. I used to think police officers were different. Like firefighters, they are revered in our culture as those who help people. Regrettably, I’ve seen, heard and experienced far too many situations in recent years that make me doubt their integrity. About 2 weeks ago, a girl and her friends were lost around 3 am in a part of the city so sketchy they couldn’t even get a cab to stop. They approached a near-by police car with 2 men chatting and sipping their coffee. The girl asked them if it would be possible to take them where they needed to go, only about a 5 minute drive. They said no. They must have been very busy at this time of night. The girl next asked them nervously if she and her friends would be safe standing where they were in this neighborhood. The driver shrugged his shoulders and responded indifferently, “you should be aright.” Translation: ‘It’s not my job to worry about you. I’m paid to sit right here.’ If this tale doesn't inspire your confidence in our police-force, maybe this one will.

A different friend, someone who is about as responsible as they come, parked overnight on a busy downtown street. On the way to move his car at 7:30am the next morning (parking meters activate at 8am), he discovered that virtually all cars had disappeared on his side of the street. He scrambled to find a sign other than the legitimate resident parking one in front of where his car had been parked. He walked a full city block to find a smaller sign, covered by leaves, which read “Street Cleaning, 5am-7am” for that particular day. Speaking of which, has anybody ever actually seen a city street being cleaned? Am I crazy or do the streets always look the same? Could the whole business of street cleaning be a myth perpetuated for the purpose of ticketing?

Anyway, my friend ran back to his apartment, searching for the names of towing companies (since nobody is ever notified where their car is taken) until he found the bastards who had it. He eventually got a ride from a friend whom he subsequently made late for work. Upon arriving and paying a ludicrous $110 towing fee, he asked the pawn at the cashier window if they’ve always towed cars for parking in a street cleaning area. She answered no, they used to merely ticket, but this was kind of a new trend as police were cracking down. After making his way to his car, my friend found that awful orange rectangle stuck in his windshield wiper. What the hell was this? He got a $40 ticket in addition to the original $110! He went back to the window perplexed and was dismayed to discover that this $40 was separate. To add insult to injury, the woman explained that the city contacted their towing company only weeks earlier and told them to tour that very street weekly and take any cars "in the wrong" without warning. They never used to tow unless they were called, but now they were supposed to go out of their way to look for cars parked illegally? My friend decided to contest the ticket for multiple reasons, though his appeal will undoubtedly be read once, laughed at, and responded to in the most perfunctory fashion without justification. “Your appeal was denied. Please pay an egregious sum of money to the city of Boston.”

Is the primary goal of trained police men and women to make money for the city? To ticket it’s hard working citizens and make life as inconvenient as possible? An acquaintance of a friend of mine who used to be a cop said he had been expected to meet or at least approach a certain monthly quota for number of tickets given. Typing that last sentence nearly made me vomit. What do they do with these thousands and thousands of dollars that come in every day? Does the police chief fly to Vegas and throw $300,000 down on red 19 at the roulette table? Do all the cops in the city meet in an abandoned warehouse and throw a party, drinking champagne and laughing at the average Joe’s who paid for it?

“Good evening Officer Smith, would you like steak or lobster tonight?”

“It feels like a surf-n-turf night captain.”

I suppose joking about these situations is my way of coping and preventing me from becoming angrier than I already am. Was it always this way? I’d like to think not. The 9 year-old version of me didn’t read any books entitled “Officer Johnson Tickets a Buick” or “The Berenstein Bears Visit the Office of the Parking Clerk.” But watching my youthful exuberance slowly deteriorate, maturing (God, I hate that word!) into the somewhat resentful 26 year old I am now, I have to wonder. To quote Jerry Maguire, “We live in a cynical world.” However, I don’t think people are inherently cynical. Rather, we conduct our lives, develop our personalities, and form our opinions as a result of the society we live in. And unfortunately, ours continues to reinforce a slogan we'd all be better off without; "It's all about the money."

Idiots in High Places: The Hassles of Moving

Anyone who's ever moved knows my pain. Over Labor Day weekend, my girlfriend and I moved out of an apartment in Brighton and into our new apartment in the South End. It was an overwhemling experience. While I love our new building and especially it's location, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel was easier said than done. Over the course of 5 exhausting days, I planned and packed, drove multiple trips through the worst traffic I've ever experienced, and sweated profusely as I lugged heavy boxes and massive pieces of furniture up and down twisting stair-wells. There's really nothing quite like it. Still, at the end of the day, these inconveniences come with the territory. What I hadn't counted on was the lack of help and utter indifference on behalf of the morons we encountered along the way.

In Boston, if you decide not to pay for a monthly parking space, you have no choice but to get a resident parking permit. This magical sticker allows you to park in the general area you are moving to (assumming you can find a spot), and is one of the few remaining things in this world that one can have free of charge. On Friday August 31st, we both made sure to leave work a few hours early so that we could pick up our aptartment keys and drive to city hall to get our new stickers. In a perfect world, they would simply mail them to us, but you have to pick your battles. We took every precaution that we could before-hand, including calling city hall days earlier to find out exactly what we need to bring with us; a signed copy of our lease, official moving forms, and a bill for our new address. I immediately took issue with the last requirement, since not yet living in our new apt. clearly prevents us from having any bills sent there. I was told we could instead bring copies of our updated car registration. Fair enough.

After our 10 minute drive to city hall turned into a 45 minute trek down a series of 1-way streets, weaving around dozens of giant moving trucks, we finally arrived to find no parking. After circling for 30 minutes, we finally found a spot, and were excitedly prepared to park when the father of the car leaving held up the dreaded "1-minute" finger. We rolled our eyes as he let his youngest boy out of the backseat. Our jaws dropped as the boy proceeded to urinate next to the car right in the middle of Fanuel Hall for what seemed like an eternity. This was obviously this family's first day on our planet having never heard of a bathroom.

Once inside city hell, I mean hall, we observed the formality of watching our cell phones and wallets take a ride along the security table as both security guards chatted away, failing to glance at our possessions even once. From there we took our places at the back of the world's longest line, people coming from all angles to eventually speak face-to-face with one of four women behind glass windows holding the keys to our happiness. The last time I waited in a line like this was at Splash Mountain. With each passing minute, we nervously checked the clock, knowing full well that the building closes promptly at 4:30pm. But as we got closer to our destination, I began to feel a sense of relief. It would all be over soon.

When we got to the window, we proudly began to pass our materials under the window. "Where's your old stickers?", she barked rudely. "Nobody told us to bring those." She shook her head and I knew we were in trouble. "We don't give out new stickers without having the old stickers returned." One would think this information might have been valuable when I called the parking clerk days before. When I told her we didn't know that, she asked us for the I.D. number of the person we spoke to. What kind of bullshit question is that? I wasn't aware I should be asking for a personal identification number in the rare chance the idiot on the phone didn't know what the hell she was talking about. The last time I had gone for a parking permit, the woman I spoke with had been considerably more helpful, even subtly telling me to forge my landlord's signature on my lease when I hadn't been able to have it signed ahead of time. That woman had understood that this process is merely a silly formality, and that she gained nothing by giving an honest kid a hard time. Not so this time around. After pleading our case over and over, we finally gave up, and I left city hell cursing the woman aloud like a rambling tourette syndrome patient. While a major pain-in-the-ass, this experience would've been easier to accept if we had another chance to get parking stickers the next day. But since city hell is closed on weekends and holidays, we would have to wait until Tuesday to take our second shot.

On Saturday the 1st, we moved some smaller items and cleaned our new apartment all day until it looked brand new. We would've liked to get our rental truck from U-Haul on that day, but being September 1st, apparantly that was out of the question. The earliest we could get a truck was Sunday the 2nd, although we caught a break because we knew the person moving into our old apartment in Brighton. This afforded us some flexibility in terms of when we had to move out. We got reasonable sleep that night, knowing we had to be at the U-Haul in Medford (is there a more Boston sounding town?) early the next morning. Our reservation was from 9am to 3pm, shorter than we would've liked, so we made sure to get there at 8:30am, so we'd at least be near the front of the line. Despite being 4th, it took us half an hour to reach the power hungry snob who'd already warned customers not to break the rules at "her" store. To our disgust, she couldn't find our reservation, until checking another location, U-Haul of Medford, which was located in Sommerville. What? Apparantly, there are 2 U-Hauls of Medford, but the one we need is located in Sommerville. Are a team of retarted monkeys running this company? Of course the woman couldn't answer our question as to why the Sommerville location also carried the name of Medford. We asked if upon going there we could at least go to the front of the line. Nope, we'd have to wait again. By that time it would've been almost Noon, leaving us no way to finish our move, since a later reservation demanded our truck be returned by 3pm. Once I decided it would not be in our best interest to start shooting U-Haul employees, I called the other location and arranged for a pick-up the following morning, Labor Day, a point we'd hoped to have been long finished by. Frustrated, we spent the afternoon loading and unloading our cars with everything that would fit. But upon arriving at our apt., we heard some people inside, leading to the following exchange . . .

"Can I help you?"
"We are here to clean the apartment."
"What are you talking about?"
"Didn't anyone tell you we were coming?"

At this point I am practically foaming at the mouth. What the hell kind of favor is it to send in a cleaning team 2 full days after our lease begins? What if U-Haul hadn't screwed us and we already had everything moved in? Had anyone from the rental company or the landlord notified us to this "service," wouldn't we have found a more productive way to spend Saturday, rather than cleaning every inch of our apartment. Having only arrived a few minutes before us, we thanked the cleaners anyway, but told them we'd already cleaned everything. They apologized and told us we should call the company and let them know what happened, which I did in a clear, though undeniably pissed-off sounding voicemail. The Beef must lay down the law from time to time.

Monday, the 3rd, more or less went off without a hitch. About time! We picked up the truck from U-haul in Sommerville (where the employees were far more intelligent), loaded all morning and unloaded all afternoon. The guy in charge of this location felt bad about the screwup, and basically gave us as long as we needed. After returning the monster truck, we had lunch with our old roomate, and finally settled in to our South End apt. Falling asleep that night was a relief, as we could finally put the weekend behind us (so we thought).

The next morning, (Tuesday, the 4th) I received a wake-up text message from U-haul saying they had no record of us having returned our truck. I ignored this, figuring one of the 3,000 morons employed at the company would sort this mess out. Only an hour later I got the same repeat message. I called them, but couldn't get through. In the mean-time I went outside to start scraping the old resident parking sticker off my car, only to find a ticket for having the wrong sticker. And I thought this was gonna be a good day. I considered using this ticket as toilet paper, but then realized if I did that the chance of having this ticket appealed would be considerably diminshed (I have since successfully appealed it and had it dropped like a bad habit). Anyway, my old sticker wasn't coming off at all. I called city hell and told them it wouldn't come off. The woman told me to use water and a towel, like this was some revolutionary approach I hadn't already thought of. When I told her it didn't work, she said try again and that it does work. It was like talking to a fucking robot! My girlfriend made the same call an hour later and was given the same response. She had been scraping it off, but found that miniscule bits of paper were coming off, and it was completely illegible. Before hanging up, she made sure that it was ok to bring in whatever we had, even if it was these paper scraps on a washcloth. And as a last resort, she took down the woman's I.D. number. If she was gonna duck out of work early again as she had on Friday, she wasn't taking any chances.

A few hours passed until we were once again on our way to the parking clerk office, this time loaded with large ziplock bags filled with damp washcloths upon which our final hope of obtaining new stickers fell. Stuck again in traffic, I finally reached a U-haul representitive on the phone, who told me to ignore the earlier text message, because it was computerized and they were just really behind on updating their information. As we arrived, we again found no parking spot, and began to get very nervous as we circled the area for the 5th time. While she drove, I called to see if it would be possible for just one of us to go in and get the stickers, so she could double-park somewhere.

"Why of course you can."

Remember that scene in American Beauty when Annette Benning realizes her life is falling apart and screams at the top of her lungs holding her head while "All Right Now" begins blasting in the background? That was me. How did nobody have the foresight to let us know that only one person needed to be present for this debacle? Why is it not on any of their information forms? Why did none of the people on the phone notify us of this? They must all be related to the rental group that sent the cleaning people to our apartment, but forgot to tell us.

By some miracle, we did find a spot, walked to the building, waited in line, where we confronted a woman who was also in this awful line for the second time. By the way, I must've looked like an absolute nut-ball walking around everywhere with this wet washcloth in a see-through bag, covered in littered paper. How did security not stop me to inquire whether this was a bomb? Regardless, the other woman in front of us was complaining to a supervisor about a problem, and since she seemed sympathetic, we told her our story. She told us to cut the rest of the line and go to "that" window. "That" window turned out to be home to the viscious, unholy bitch who had caused this mess in the first place. We looked at the supervisor, sook our heads, and pointed out the demon lady as the one who'd rejected us previously. We were assured it'd be fine and we sighed as she disappeared to the back. About 3 minutes later we were called to the bench. We approached her window with the confidence of 2 terrified kids who'd just broken a window in their abusive father's brand new Lexus. We handed her all the paper work and signed a couple of forms. Much to the woman's disgust, I think the supervisor had said something to her about helping us out. It was all that could explain her unexpected compliance. Then came the washcloths.

"And your old stickers?" We handed over the wet bags, said briefly what we'd been told to bring and looked away. She rolled her eyes and began recording something in her computer. She handed us back 1 bag and then gave us our new stickers. "Can I have my bag back?" I asked. "No, we need to keep it." What????? We watched in amazement as she placed the bag into a file cabinet. Was she insane? We walked away, too tired to argue anymore with this spiteful little woman. We couldn't help but laugh. I wish we could've been there to see her explain to her supervisor at the end of the week why there was a soggy, damp, black washcloth mixed in with all the forms, stickers, and tickets. If there is any justice in the world, her boss walked away and came back with a mop and a plunger, before informing her that the city hall shitters were backed up. Oh well, I suppose in hindsight for the cost of 1 good washcloth this woman was out of our lives forever.

We we practically singing on the way back to the car. After stopping to have a late-lunch at HardRock Cafe (home of the world's most senselessly overpriced burger), we headed home. Parking a car legally never felt so good. After placing my new resident parking sticker on the back windshield, I leaned over and kissed it. I felt like Kevin Costner discovering dry land in Waterworld. As we walked up the steps of our brownstone building, a great calm overtook me. I would no longer have to speak or hear the words; city hall, parking at city hall, incompetent city hall employees, resident parking sticker, resident parking tickets, U-Haul, Medford, Medford in Sommerville, unwanted cleaning crew, window D, Labor Day traffic, and most importantly, moving, again. At least, that is, until next September.

Celtic's Land Garnett!

Ecstatic. If I were asked for a single word to describe my mood after hearing Danny Ainge had traded for Kevin Garnett, "ecstatic" is the word I would choose. There have been some great moments in Boston sports during the past decade. The Red Sox signing Pedro Martinez and watching him become the most dominant pitcher in baseball. Tom Brady replacing the injured Drew Bledsoe and leading the Patriots to an improbable superbowl victory over the heavily favored Rams in New Orleans. We saw Adam Vinateri become the greatest crunch-time kicker in NFL history, while Big Papi became the most feared slugger in the majors, with game winning hits time and time again. Bill Belichick, the defensive genius, kept the Pats focused on their way to winning an NFL record 21 straight games. And in between their 2nd and 3rd superbowl triumphs, the Red Sox decided the time was right to snap their impressive 86 year losing streak and sweep the world series, embarassing the hated N.Y. Yankees in the process.

Anyone noticing a trend? As remarkable as recent times have been to the Patriots and Red Sox, Boston's most legendary franchise, the one with 16 championship banners, was going through the most embarassing stretch in their otherwise immaculate history. The Celtic's misfortune had extended relentlessly over a stretch of 20 years. The drug overdose of future star Len Bias. The brittle back of Larry Bird and the ankle injuries to Kevin Mchale, both of which caused their early retirements. The shocking death of team captain Reggie Lewis. The hiring of M.L. Carr and the 15 win season. Throwing 50 million at Rick Pitino and losing the Tim Duncan lottery. Years and years of bad trades, inept management, and poor draft picks. Picking Ron Mercer ahead of Tracy McGrady. Trading Antoine Walker for Raef Lafrentz. The Vin Baker fiasco. Losing to a pathetic Pacers team in game 7 at home. Danny Ainge and Doc Rivers. Brandon Roy for Sebastain Telfair. Missing out on Oden and Durant. The list went on and on and on.

I must admit however, admist all these disasters, there were at least 4 positive memories. Chief among these was the C's remarkable 21 point 4th quarter comeback in game 3 of the eastern conference finals against New Jersey. Paul Pierce played out of his mind, while Walker ignited the team. Though they eventually lost to NJ in 6, that game was special. Unfortunately, none of the other 3 memories have anything to do with winning ball games. One such memory was "the floater," courtesy of Sherman Douglas. I never saw such a consistently, effective shot from such a mediocre performer. Second was the crunch-n-munch guy at the fleetcenter. Of course, dumb-ass Pitino felt he was too distracting and promptly had him canned. This maniac ran down 20 plus rows of seats at full speed, yelling "crunch-n-munch!" at the top of his lungs, before shoving his boxed snack in some poor guy's face. In those years, he was more entertaining than the team. Last though certainly not least was Gino, the fruity, disco-dancing hipster who would appear on the jumbo-tron anytime the Celtics were trailing by double-digits. Sporting a giant beard and flaming pink tee-shirt that was at least 3 sizes too small, Gino would shake those hips and for the briefest of moments, every last fan in the building felt like a winner.

But on Tuesday July, 31st 2007, an event occurred that easily eclipsed all previous experiences. Danny Ainge pulled the trigger on the deal of the decade, sending roughly half of the stagnant squad to Minnesota in exchange for the most selfless superstar in sports, Kevin Garnett. A 7- footer who runs the floor like a small forward, KG brings an incomparable work-ethic and passion for the game to a team desparately lacking in both. The leagues leading rebounder 4 years running, KG is an all-defensive team mainstay, as well as that rare star who does not need the ball in his hands to impact the final score. While you can pencil him in for 23 points a night, he will do whatever is required to win, a sports cliche that is far overused and even less frequently true. Though 31 years old, Garnett has more than enough great years left to justify his new extension, which will keep in Boston through the 2011-2012 season.

In all fairness, Ainge didn't give up peanuts for the "Big Ticket." Feeling pressure from star Paul Pierce as well as local media and fans to win, Ainge basically abandoned his personally initiated youth movement in one fell swoop. Does this make him a hypocrite? A little bit. However, part of the reason for stockpiling so much young talent was to accumulate players who would bring substantial trade value should the right opportunity present itself. When Garnett became available, Ainge knew that this was the time to strike. One could make a compelling case that KG is no worse than the 4th best player of his generation, trailing only Shaq, Tim Duncan, and Kobe Bryant.

So who did the C's give up? The centerpiece of the deal was Al Jefferson, a talented 22 year-old with great post-moves and a knack for rebounding. I would not be surprised if he becomes an all-star within 2 years. The second key to the deal was Theo Ratliff's expiring contract, which will free up lots of cap space for the T'Wolves when his deal expires at year's end. Gerald Green and Ryan Gomes are valuable commodities who could have solid careers down the road. Gomes possesses the smarts and versatility to be a strong asset on a contender, while the wildly inconsistent Green has the greater upside and may help sell tickets. In a move that can only be considered addition by subtraction, Ainge also unloaded malcontent Sebastian Telfair. I'd bet my life savings that he shoots a civilian in the back before he averages 8 assists a game for a full season. A pair of additional future (lottery protected) draft picks were thrown in to seal the deal. Jefferson and Gomes in particular should join Randy Foye and Corey Brewer to form a solid young nucleus for Minnesota to build around. Still, history has typically shown that when 3 or more players are traded in exchange for 1 bonafide superstar, the team landing said star has been the primary beneficiary. Apparantly, Kevin McHale didn't do his homework.


Garnett joins Pierce and newly acquired Ray Allen to form the conference's most dominant three-some. All 3 players are among the top 5 at their positions, a claim no other current team can make (with the possible exception of Phoenix). The Allen trade has almost flown completely under the radar in recent weeks, but should not be overlooked. One could make the case that the former 'Jesus Shuttlesworth' has been the best shooter in the N.B.A. over the past 10 years. He's automatic from the line and hits better than 40% from the 3-point line. While not quite as explosve as he once was, he can still slash his way to the basket with ease and last year averaged a career best 26 pts a game. He is also a very good passer and ball-handler. And fortunately for Boston, he's only the team's third best player.


Pierce, the captain, has been with the team since being drafted in 1998. Over that time he has become a dominant scorer in the league. One of the strongest small forwards in basketball, Pierce is as comfortable on the low block as he is coming off the dribble from the top of the key. An excellent rebounder and above average passer, Pierce also has a terrific knack for sinking difficult shots with the game on the line. In crunch time, he will remain the primary option, although with Garnett and Allen on the floor, he may finally avoid the constant double-teams he's been dealing with for the better part of his career.


While it may take some time for the 3 stars to gel comfortably on offense, there is little doubt that they will make it work. Garnett, Pierce, and Allen are all at a point in their careers in which winning has become the most important goal. They've compiled their stats, earned their millions, and been selected to multiple all-star games. However, none of them have reached the N.B.A. finals. Each has lead a flawed team to the semi-finals, but never before have they had the talent surrounding them that they will now. With KG and Allen in their 30s and Pierce nearly there himself, all understand that their window to win the big one has just been kicked wide-open, but will likely close in 4 or 5 years. This should create a sense of urgency and focus as they lead what's left of the team towards this common goal.


The team still needs more help to strengthen the ultra-thin roster. Having given up 5 players in the Garnett deal, they are short on bodies, the recent acquisitions of guard Eddie House and forward Scot Pollard not-withstanding. The latter will join Kendrick Perkins, Leon Powe, and the often verbally assaulted Brian Scalabrine in the paint. Actually, Scalabrine could end up as the biggest beneficiary of the KG deal. He hustles, plays defense, and can shoot the occasional 3, and will be an afterthought as opposing defenses focus on Garnett. Rajon Rondo will run the offense, though here's hoping Ainge finds a veteran point guard to split time with him. Rondo has proven to be a pretty good decision maker, is extremely quick, and causes havoc on defense. Still, he can't shoot to save his life and is very young. This season could go a long way in determining what kind of point guard Rondo will eventually become. Tony Allen, who has shown flashes of brilliance, but is injury-prone, rounds out the backcourt and should return by December. Rookies Glen Davis from LSU and Gabe Pruitt from USC complete the roster.


Though lacking a deep bench, having Garnett, Pierce, and Allen together could very well be enough to get the Celtics back to the finals, a stage they haven't visited since 1987. Last year, Lebron James almost single-handedly lead Cleveland through a depleted eastern conference on their way to being swept by the superior San Antonio Spurs. Should the Celtics make it that far, they would likely fare better, unless Doc does something stupid. Rivers has done a lousy job since taking over as head coach, repeatedly making terrible late-game decisions, while failing to develop the youngsters in a timely manner. Though a likeable guy and great interview, Rivers didn't have the toughness or ability to keep Boston from losing a pathetic 18 straight games last season when Pierce went down. I suppose one could've called them the anti-Patriots.


With 3 established stars now at his disposal, it is inevitable that Boston will at least double their win total from last season. However, I fear Rivers' coaching flaws will become hidden beneath the hype that will undoutedly surround the team's newfound success. Should this group somehow fail to win the Atlantic division or falter in the first round of the playoffs, Rivers should be sent packing. Unfortunately, he and Ainge seem to have formed a bond of 'Brokeback Mountain' proportions, so for the time being, it's unlikely that either will be going anywhere.

Even though the Celtics are not yet on the same level as San Antonio, Dallas, or Phoenix, they are at least as good as anyone else in the east. Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, and possibly Miami will be the toughest threats, though all have significant flaws. Boston will create matchup problems for opponents on a nightly basis, who will be scrambling to cover all 3 stars on the court together. And KG should help instill a motivation to play defense that has been absent since Jim O'Brien roamed the sidelines.

But in truth, whether this Celtic team can reach the finals or not, this is a time to celebrate. For the first time in years, Boston's hallowed basketball franchise is on the minds of fans again. Garnett is a future hall-of-famer and the best player to wear the Celtic green since Larry Legend. Come February, the C's will be the team sparking water-cooler discussion at the office, the team dominating the airwaves on WEEI-850, and the team that will be heading to their best record since Mr. Ainge wore number 44 on his back.

Somewhere, Red Auerbach is smiling.

Quasi-Celebrity Sightings - David Wesley

Have you ever run into a B-list celebrity? You know, someone whose autograph you would've sought 10 years ago, but who now is just another citizen, living like (gulp) you? I have bumped into or met celebrities before, whether by accident or at a planned event. These names include Adam Sandler, Woody Harrelson, The Smothers Brothers, Artie Lange, Phil Helmuth, Tommy Davison, Shannon Elizabeth, and some reality t.v. stars whose names I forget. But as a sport's enthusiast, I feel different when it's an athlete. I have seen David Ortiz eating lunch in South Beach, seen Derek Jeter walking down Newbury St., met Walter McCarty twice, saw Eric Snow and some Sixers teammates in Vegas, and have been stuck behind Jason Varitek in post-game traffic. This rarity occurred again last week, when I met the unhearalded former Boston Celtic, David Wesley.

I was sitting with my buddy in a cheap corner breakfast spot on Commonwealth Ave. in Brighton. As we sat there enjoying our $5 feasts and coffee, we engaged in stimulating Tuesday morning conversation. We contemplated why this seemingly All-American diner was fully operated by short, Asian women. Isn't it weird how in a chinese restaurant, you can't go more than 10 seconds without having a waiter re-fill your water to the very top, almost to the point of spilling, whereas here we practically had to throw silverware at them to get a coffee re-fill? Next, we discussed how such a popular venue for hung-over college kids on the weekends could exist without a bathroom. Seriously, I'm sure at least twice a Sunday someone unexpectedly needs to puke or develops violent diarrea after a full plate of chocolate-chip pancakes.

Suddenly, my friend sees a tall, black man standing outside. "Is that David Wesley?" he asks excitedly. I turn, and immediately notice his bald head and trademark oversized ears. "That is David Wesley!" I excitedly respond. An event this large doesn't happen to normal guys like us. When I've seen public figures in the past, I usually avoided conversation, but I felt different. Maybe this was due to the fact that only a dozen or so people were within shouting distance of the restaurant. I turned and jogged outside before he could get away. "David Wesley?" I inquire. He nodded, while the younger girl he was with, a blonde with gigantic boobs, sort of rolled her eyes, as if this happened all the time. Did she think she was dating Mick Jagger? "Sorry to bother you," I continued, "big fan." "Nice to meet you" he responded, as he politely smiled and shook my hand.

As if he smelled the fine aroma from my feta, spinach, and bacon omelette, he lead his girlfriend inside, and promptly asked the hostess where the bathroom was. My friend and I started convulsing with laughter, having just finished discussing how stupid it was that they didn't have one. Wesley inquired aloud, "No bathroom?", before choosing an open table by the window where he could stretch out his abnormally long legs. My friend asked, "When you coming back to the Celtics?", while Wesley chuckled and announced, "I'm retired." "They could use you," I noted, though half-heartedly since it was sad to admit that my beloved Celtics would actually benefit from having a solid, though unspectacular 36 year-old point guard running their offense. "Nah, they don't need me," he said with a smile.

With his relatively short responses, we figured it was probably time to end the conversation. You generally get about a 20 second window to make small-talk with someone famous before you become an intrusion in their lives. So we finished our meal, asked for the check, and left. In the car on the way back home, we laughed until it hurt, in large part because this entire event was so random. What was David Wesley doing not only at that restaurant, but in Brighton no-less? Though officially part of Boston, the Allston/Brighton area is basically populated by students who can find some decent bars and cheap apartments. Was a $5 breakfast all a professional athlete could afford? Was his girlfriend a student who lived in the area? I know he wasn't going there for the service. I wonder if he lived in our building?

For two guys in their mid-twenties, this was a wake-up call. Often, the things that matter most to you when you are a teenager aren't really important in the grand scheme of things. If this event happened when I was 10, I probably would've excitedly asked my dad to go get Wesley's autograph, while I ducked my head and avoided eye-contact at all costs. Now an older and wiser being, it's easier to understand that people are ultimately, just that, people. Maybe not exactly like me, being they were for a time, rich and famous (at least locally). But once your career is over, once your name is no longer in the newspaper, once people are no longer cheering your name in the closing seconds of a ball-game, all that matters really is how you conduct yourself and what kind of person you are.

To this end, Wesley passed the test. In the brief seconds we spoke with him, he was engaging and respectful, and even smiled a couple of times. I'm sure there are plenty of former athletes who wouldn't have. And while Wesley has undoutedly already forgotten our encounter, my friend and I are left with a good story to tell our friends. Even at the ripe-old age of 26, a chance meeting such as this can prove to be a significant experience.

The First Post - Getting to Know Me

Why did I use 'my girlfriend's sleeping' as a title for my blog? Well, it took some thought, but this made sense for a couple of reasons . . .

1. It's kind of catchy, admit it. I see that headline and I want to know what's going on while some guy's girlfriend is sleeping. Now where your mind goes with this is your business and not for me to judge. I take it there are guys out there who will see this title and expect a blog devoted to kinky sex stories. You know, "My girlfriend was sleeping, so I called so-and-so to hang out and one thing lead to another . . ." Sorry to disappoint, but that's not me. I have less game than Peter Parker. So if I am lucky enough to meet a girl who's as cool, funny, pretty, sexy, intelligent, and witty as my girlfriend, not to mention a girl who can tolerate all my weird attributes for more than 5 minutes, I'm not gonna risk losing her.

2. It's a problem far too many guys can relate to. You're lying down with your girlfriend on a Wednesday night. She's been working all day, came home a little bit cranky, isn't thrilled you didn't take the initiative to arrange for dinner (even dialing for take-out would've been appreciated), and is in need of some quiet time. Meanwhile, you're thinking, I haven't seen her all day, it's 11 pm, and it's time to fool around. Some people are morning people, others are night owls. I am a long-standing, distinguished member of the latter group. So I get horny right around the time she decides to end her day. Better luck tomorrow.

3. I swear, I am most productive after my girlfriend's asleep. But in truth it's not just her, it's everyone and everything; family, roomates, dogs, Letterman, Sportscenter, friends who might be drunk-dialing . . . I don't seem to get anything done until I am all alone in the middle of the night. Some people prefer the hustle and bustle of a busy work day. It keeps them focused and energized. Not me. Being productive is a wishful thought, one I am ill-equipped to handle until the rest of the world has said good-night. That's when the wheels start spinning in my brain. This is nothing new to me. As an avid supporter of procrastination, I never began my assignments until well past the point when others had finished. This was true of term papers or studying for mid-terms. Friends used to think I was nuts. Their popular question "You haven't even started?" was typically followed by something along the lines of "I'll get going at 2, once Cocktail is over." I would rather watch the final hour of a mediocre 80's Tom Cruise flick for the 67th time on TBS than start something that requires my undivided attention and is, afterall, important!

So why start this blog at all? Why not sit on the couch with my hand down my pants and watch the 100th re-run of The Soup Nazi episode, hoping to win the lottery? Well, much to my dismay I've discovered that winning the lottery is somewhat less than a sure thing. I have lots of friends who work and seem to be making good money, if not fully enjoying their jobs. While I am not dying to join the club, I am self-aware enough to realize that sharing the same aspirations as Office Space's Peter Gibbons is not the wisest way to go through life. I am 26 yers old, a full 4 years removed from a very good college, and am slowly piecing together what I hope will be a fullfilling and successful adventure. I have tried a little bit. I worked at J.Crew for about a year, which I will undoubtedly mention as the worst job I've ever had when I am one day interviewed by Barbara Walters. For the last few years I have been teaching on-and-off at a pre-school, or molding young minds as I like to say. The job is not without it's perks, most of which involve feeling good at the end of the day knowing I have done something beneficial for another person. I seem to have an amazing bond with children, perhaps because I am at the same maturity level. But ultimately, there was far too much beaurocratic non-sense at the school for me to take it seriously anymore. The woman in charge of the program understood less about children than Bush does about politics. There were days I wondered aloud if she had won the job through some sort of public contest.

One thing I have always loved to do is write. People tell me I am creative and entertaining. I wrote a screenplay in college and would love to see it become a film one day. Apparantly that involves a lot more work on my end, so I will let it go for now. I majored in psychology, mainly because my school didn't offer a film major. I learned a lot with psychology, and found behavioral studies fascinating. Exploring why humans dream, why we act out in certain situtations, the effects of certain drugs on one's psyche, what attracts one person to another . . . . these elements have meaning. However, after discovering that I would be required to take some heavy research labs, not to mention spend hours studying the insignificant, yet overwhelming texts that accompany biology and psychobiology, I knew it wasn't for me. Seriously, what attracts people to science? They must love the smell of plants or something. All I know is that if I ever have to look at a cell through a microscope again, I may be arrested for setting a lab on fire.

I love movies, which are probably my favorite past-time. If time and money were no object, I'd probably see 4 a week. I also love sport's, but only the "real" sports. I'm talking about baseball, football, and basketball. I will likely enrage readers by claiming other "sports" are not really sports at all. One of which is poker, ironically my other favorite hobby. If a few days have gone by without my posting a message or article, it probably means I am in Connecticut at Foxwoods playing no-limit texas hold'em with hundreds of degenerates with nothing better to do. I am passionate about poker, but nobody will ever convince me it's a sport. A sport by my estimation involves moving quickly and sweating (sorry Golfers) and in this regard, poker is no more a sport than bowling or chess. Additionally, sports are games contested by real people, not machines, so anyone who tries to convince me that auto-racing qualifies will be smacked upside the head and laughed at. Nascar in on the same level as playstation Madden.

I grew up in the suburbs outside of Boston and still live in the area. I really like it here, though as someone not too big on change, I wonder if there are other places I'd enjoy more. I could definitely see myself moving to NYC, L.A., San Francisco (insert almost any heavily-populated city with plenty of Jews so I don't feel like an outcast). The one exception I'd make is Las Vegas, which I am convinced is the most exciting city in the world. It's worth noting I have never left the country however, with the exception of a 4 day camp trip to Montreal when I was 15. Seeing the world is something I would love to do, but I am taking baby-steps to get there. After graduation I drove cross-country with my best friend and took my first initiative toward discovering what else was out there. Free advice; There is nothing worth seeing between New Orleans and Colorado unless you enjoy driving through a desolate wasteland with more cows than humans.

So that's me 'in a nutshell' (who invented this strange phrase anyway?). I hope you enjoy what I have to say. I have strong opinions about topics that interest me, and welcome your comments and feedback. Please visit and know that your mindless web surfing is keeping me busy. To my people, that's called a Mitzvah.

Enjoy,
Pavs