2008 New Year's Resolution Review - Don't Look Back in Anger

Our annual American ritual - the New Year's resolution list - is barreling down upon us as I sit here at the computer in my underwear. Not only is it time to decide what you'll resolve to do in 2009, but also, to take a look back at 2008. How successful were you? Did you achieve all of your goals? Most of your goals? Any of your goals?

I admit that I forgot many of this past year's resolutions before January was out. And others were just ridiculous to even consider in the first place (#47 - become king of any African nation).

But if you actually wrote down any of your resolutions, or preserved them for posterity on a website, it's fun to see what the hell you were thinking a year ago. Luckily, I did indeed write down some of my resolutions back in early January - see here. And after reviewing the list, I think it's safe to say that 2008 was only a partial failure.

For example, 2008 resolution #1 was "spend more quality time with my fantasy sports teams." Done and done. This resolution was a rousing success - culminating in this past week's fantasy football championship victory in my "people from work league." I added a football team and a baseball team to my stable - winning said baseball championship in my "people I don't know personally, but definitely know more about baseball than them league."

So I'm giving myself a little pat on the back for resolution #1. Unfortunately, it's pretty much downhill from there.

Did I #9 - "eat more fruit," and #10 - "kick more ass?"

Well yeah. Of course I did. That's the Mill's modus operandi right there. Same thing for 2009 and beyond.

But what about #8 - "more street luge," or #16 - "learn to speak Chinese?"

Those didn't seem to pan out. At all. I didn't even crack a book on the fundamentals of street luge, or listen to a single podcast on how to speak Chinese.

Sure, I guess you could say I was #5 - "courteous to animals," and #6 - "kind to the elderly." Or vice-versa.

I never did get around to #3 - "fix that damn squeaky door hinge."

As you can see, 2008 was truly a mixed bag. But I'm not sure how one can avoid that type of result. My philosophy has always been to resolve to do as many things as you can possibly think of - your chance of at least some modest success is much higher that way, compared with only resolving to solve world hunger.

For example, my #23 - "replace watch battery," was a rather easy one. It took me nearly 10 months, but I was able to check that one off the list before 2008 was history.

Particularly satisfying to check this one off the list in mid-October.

Now it's time to look ahead. I'm compiling an extensive list of resolutions, ranging from the simple (wash hands daily), to the difficult (write a young-adult novel), to the supernatural (speak to the dead). Of course, I'll be posting this in the near future, once I've come up with about 50 more resolutions.

Let me know how your 2008 resolutions ended up. Hopefully, you can make me feel better about myself through tales of your personal failures in 2008.

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Perfect Pushup Update – Week 3: Not Yet Ripped

If you’ve happened to frequent this blog over the past month or so, you may recall that I’m following the Perfect Pushup regimen – in order to get ripped like a zipper, and cut like a razor. And buff like a new car. Or something like that.

Anyway, I’ve been religiously following the handy dandy instructional poster for the first 3 week training period. It features a handsome and muscular man doing variations of the Perfect Pushup.

I'm not sure what advanced move the Perfect Pushup Guy's doing here. It doesn't take much imagination to believe he's flying.

He is my hero. I can only imagine how many Perfect Pushups he’s capable of performing.

Even so, the results thus far have been only modestly encouraging. Actually better than I expected, but I’m not yet in the best shape of my life. I think that occurred when I was 12 years old, and playing tag football in the street every evening.

That being said, I’m definitely stronger than I was 3 weeks ago. At least when it comes to doing pushups. I maxed out at 17 Perfect Pushups when I first opened the box, and took them for the initial test drive. And after my first full course of study, I’m now able to do 23 Perfect Pushups. That’s an increase of about 35%.

That means I’m 35% stronger than before. If I keep this up, I calculate that in 15 weeks, I’ll be able to toss a Volkswagen 50 yards, and lift a tugboat (with full fuel tanks) straight over my head for 15 seconds. These are all rough estimates, of course. At the very least, I should be able to tear a loaf of Wonder Bread in half with my bare hands.

Just like the dude on the Perfect Pushup instructional poster, I will soon be a superhero.

My road to super strength continues on Tuesday, with three 2-minute drills of Perfect Pushups, comprised of 30 pushups each. And if you listen closely, ignoring the creak of my elbows, and the slap-slap-slap of my love handles against the floor, you might just hear the sound of perfection - as a perfect body is forged from a pair of $30 rotating plastic handles.

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The Wedding Registry - What to Choose?

Perhaps the most important aspect of planning a wedding is choosing the right registry – also known as “what gifts besides cash are you going to receive.”

Now, if it were up to me, I’d register at Chase, Wachovia, The U.S. Treasury, Best Buy, and Outback Steakhouse. Cash, cash, cash, big-screen TV’s, and steak. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate a lifetime of commitment to the woman you love.

But, I don’t really have the final say in any of this. And also, apparently we need flatware. Lots and lots of flatware. So we’re registered at Crate and Barrel, Bed, Bath and Beyond, Bloomingdale’s, and probably a couple of other places that sell flatware.

It seems likely that we’ll have 40 place settings once the wedding is over.

So what else – besides plenty of forks, knives, and spoons – is important to include on one’s wedding registry? I’m probably not the right person to ask, really. I’ve already made my opinion known in regards to cash-money, beef, and big-screens.

I also like puppies, cars, and fine Italian men’s suits.

Would any of that please my wife? The one who’s allergic to dogs? And hasn’t driven since she was 17? And is a woman, so never wears men’s suits?

No. I’m being selfish. This day is supposed to be about US. Not about ME. So we need to choose things that we can use together. Such as flatware. Or tandem bicycles.

Linens and towels are good. Kitchen appliances could benefit both of us. Cleaning supplies and a Roomba would be nice. Now I’m thinking as a husband, and not as a self-absorbed bachelor. Boy, am I proud of myself.

But still, all of these things can be purchased with CASH. I can’t help but come back to that again and again. Everything can be bought with cash, whether it’s something selfish or something that both of us can enjoy equally. CASH is the answer.

And consider the fact that most ladies no longer come with a dowry - a few head of cattle, several goats, maybe a few acres of decent farm land – cash can buy all of those things.

So the next time you go to a wedding, think about the happy couple – and what would make them happiest. I’ll give you a hint – it’s greenish, papery, smells a little like old gym clothes, and has pictures of dead white guys on it.

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Dear Santa - I Want a Free Photography Session

(Ever since our recent engagement, Jaimi's been scouring wedding websites and blogs for free stuff. She came across a contest on Always a Blogsmaid, the prize being a $750 gift certificate for a local photographer - Joseph Pessar. I guess he'd be taking pictures of us looking cute together, or something like that.

Anyway, the challenge involved writing something heartwarming or funny - or both - while offering reasons why you should be awarded the free photo session. Also, it had to be in the form of a letter to Santa.

Suffice it to say, I whipped up a quick poem and won the contest. Here is the winning entry in its entirety. I wanted to use many more curse words, but didn't know if that would help or hurt our cause. So I played it pretty safe. Sorry for that.)


Dear Santa,

Greetings to you. We’re Jaimi and Scott.
We just got engaged! Damn, that ring looks hot.
We met through a friend, it was love from the start.
We admit it, we’re Jews, but you must have a heart.

And besides, we’re all humans on this great blue orb.
Your vast loving-kindness will surely absorb.
Jewish or Muslim, Christian or Buddhist.
We’re glad Mario Batali was never a nudist.

What’s that have to do with this letter, you ask?
Not sure – but rhyming’s a difficult task.
We do want something small in return.
To brighten your day, and ease your heartburn.

We have a special request to make.
And we don’t want this to sound very fake.
We’d love some photos of ourselves.
Say “hi!” to all your adorable elves.

As you travel on your sleigh ‘round the world,
Lavishing toys and goodwill on boys and girls.
Barbies for Barbaras, G.I. Joes for the Victors.
Please don’t forget that we want those damn pictures.

Oh my goodness, we’re so sorry to curse.
Wedding plans make us crazy, we’ve never been worse.
Please forgive us dear Santa, we love you the most.
And we’re sure Mrs. Claus makes an excellent host.

On this fine wintry day, may you grant us our wish.
A bowl of thin gruel and a bucket of fish.
No wait, that’s not right! We love Joseph Pessar!
If we can’t have his photos, could we have a new car?

Merry Christmas Santa!

Love,

Jaimi and Scott

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Jewish Male Seeks Non-Christian for Meal in Chinatown on Christmas Eve

(The following personal ad will be going up on Craigslist in a couple of days. Jaimi will be out of town next week (celebrating our recent engagement without me) and ever since we started dating, I've ignored all of my friends - so now I have no one to have dinner with on Christmas Eve. See below - problem solved.)

Location: Chinatown. Restaurant of my choice, but I will take suggestions.
Time: Christmas Eve. Maybe seven-ish?

First off, I just got engaged last week. My fiancée will be away for the holiday.

I’m not looking for a date.

There will be no sex before, during or after the meal.

The only physical contact will be a hearty handshake when we meet, and perhaps a few high-fives during the evening if one of us makes a particularly sweet joke, or finds a twenty-dollar bill on the ground. You may also receive a pat on the back if we end up playing darts and you score a bullseye. Otherwise the only contact will be eye contact. And even that will be intermittent and non-obligatory.

About me: early 30’s, clean-cut, professional. I love my beer and I love my lady. I like the NFL, NBA, and MLB. I also enjoy long walks on the beach, and puppies. Chinese food is my favorite. Obviously, I’m also Jewish.

I’m a fan of the finer things in life – such as Moo-Shu chicken and Shrimp with Lobster Sauce. For me, General Tso’s Chicken is to be considered a delicacy for special occasions – and the night before Christmas falls neatly into that category. I’ll have plenty of money to pay for my dinner, but please don’t ask me where I got my “Bad Motherfucker” wallet from. I had it way before “Pulp Fiction” came out.

I’ve been told that I’m rather easy to get along with. I have a quick rapport with the working class. I’m witty, in a rancorously sarcastic kind of way. It may be unpleasant at first, but you’ll eventually get used it – again, so I’ve been told.

I know a little bit of karate, in case we make a wrong turn down a dark alley. I have no known food allergies. I will try anything once, as long as the restaurant has an up-to-date health inspection. Pig cheeks, fish rectum, squirrel eggs. If it’s deep fried, I’ll eat it.

I DO NOT KEEP KOSHER.

Basically, I’m the perfect non-Christian Christmas Eve dinner buddy.

About you: I don’t really care. Sure, I’ll probably learn more about you during the meal unless you are a mute - but I’m very open-minded when it comes to having dinner with someone on a night when 95% of the country is celebrating the holiday with their loved ones.

You can be male, female, neither, or both. Black, White, Asian, Latino, or French. Hindu, Buddhist, Baha’i, or Muslim.

I guess you could also be Jewish. Like me.

My goal: have a pleasant meal with a stranger on a night when absolutely none of my friends or family are around. I plan to order the soup dumplings, and I don’t want to share those. But otherwise, we could get several dishes and eat family-style. I wouldn’t be against that.

I don’t really need any new friends, and please understand that you are joining me only because I have absolutely no one else to have dinner with. That being said, I promise to be completely courteous and respectful towards you – unless you turn out to be a complete douche bag.

If you’re interested, please let me know. I’ll be accepting applications up until noon on December 24th.

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C.C. and A.J. - One Hell of a Payday

C.C. Sabathia doesn't take his glove off to eat. He uses it as a food shovel. I wouldn't give a shit about table manners either if I made $23 million a year.

So the New York Yankees recently went out and spent a quarter of a billion dollars on two pitchers.

C.C. Sabathia – 7 years, $161 million.
A.J. Burnett – 5 years, $82.5 million.

Think about that for a minute…….

You’re probably thinking that A.J. is pretty goddamn jealous of C.C. right about now. And you’d probably be right. “Is that guy really twice as valuable as I am? I mean, as a human being?”

Now think about the sheer magnitude of these Steinbrenner-esque salaries.

Why should C.C. and A.J. get all that dough? You want that kind of payday too – especially in this economy. With that kind of money, you could scoop up some seriously sweet real estate deals, and probably get some bankrupt small businesses on the cheap. But you also say that you’re too old, or fat, or uncoordinated to throw a baseball 95 mph.

This is all very true. Although I wouldn’t exactly call you fat. You’re more “pleasantly plump.” Don’t be so hard on yourself.

In any case, there is something you can do.

And I’ll tell you exactly what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna start teaching your kid how to throw a baseball. Or start having kids so that you can teach them how to throw a baseball. Or, if you’re one of my youngest readers, start bugging your parents to teach you how to throw a baseball.

The riches that these players reap nowadays compare favorably to winning Mega Millions or Powerball.

Fact: The odds of winning Mega Millions is approximately 1 in 175 million. The odds of making it to the Major Leagues, if you’re a healthy American male who doesn’t totally suck at all sports, is probably around 1 in a million at the worst – and likely quite a bit better than that. That’s at least 175 times better odds than the lottery – and for essentially the same return on your investment.

So don’t waste your energy with dreams of winning the lottery. Have a kid. And if it’s a girl, have another one until you have a boy. And if you already have a boy under the age of 10 or so, then teach him how to throw a baseball. Preferably teach him how to throw left-handed, even if it stunts the growth of his dominant right hand.

On second thought, maybe you should just keep having kids until you have a left-handed boy. All the hard work is likely to pay off, especially if you have a couple hundred thousand male children.

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Auto Bailout a No-Go - Everyone Must Buy a Buick Immediately!!

Folks, it's the only way. A Buick for every man, woman, and child in the USA. That was GM's original goal anyway. Let's make it a reality.

You see, if the government won't bailout GM, Chrysler, or Ford, then we'll have to do it ourselves. Although Ford still claims that they only require access to billions of taxpayer dollars, GM and Chrysler actually need the money like the French need wine - really, really badly.

Yeah, sure Ford, whatever you say. If it smells like bullshit, and it tastes like bullshit, and it looks like bullshit, well then it was probably delivered to your place in a Ford F-150. In other words, Ford is most likely in terrible shape as well.

So take your pick - Buick, Chevy, Dodge, Ford. Buy as many vehicles as you can. And with gas down to $1.50/gallon (at least in New Jersey) we can once again afford to drive SUV's. The Cadillac Escalade is a good choice if you'd really like to help GM. It's massive, massively expensive, and massively profitable for the manufacturer.

GM's most aggressive incentive programs include factory-to-dealer rebates, low financing, and a 25 year-old blonde woman with every Escalade. (Certain restrictions apply. Blonde offer only available in TX, FL, AL, SC, GA, MS, NC, and TN. Not available to creepy, old, rich guys who just want the girl, and don't really want the truck.)

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Rod Blagojevich: Unbelievable Asshole - A Poem

I swear to be a douchebag, and nothing but a douchebag. So help me Zeus.

Whaddya mean? Senate seat's not for sale?
What's all the hubbub? Am I going to jail?
My phone line was tapped? Why, you FBI shit.
Would you mind loosening these handcuffs a bit?

And so, my dear Rod, may I call you Blago?
Your IQ is the same as Rocky IV's Ivan Drago.
Nothing rhymes with Blagojevich, so I will not try.
During ethics class in Governor's school, you were out back getting high.

We won't soon forget the last Illinois Gov.
Fraud and corruption, no legislation of love.
He's in jail now, and you may hear him cryin'.
A douchebag like you, his name is George Ryan.

But you've taken the cake, Rod, with skill and aplomb.
Your gall is astounding. Your words leave me numb.
You allegedly asked for 500 grand.
A powerful seat for a powerful man.

Or maybe some schmuck with plenty of money.
Whose offer's so sweet, it's dripping with honey.
For you and your friends, the holidays would be merry.
If you offered the seat to Refrigerator Perry.

He probably would govern much better than you.
With a 68 waist, and size 22 shoe.
He'd rumble and roll on both sides of the aisle.
He'd do it with grace, and he'd do it with style.

The Fridge, as he's known by all of his fans,
Would sponsor a bill as thick as his hands.
This bill would require that all kids learn to play ball.
And outside Senate chambers, vending machines line the hall.

But now that Senate seat's up in the air.
The Fridge will not get it. The Fridge will not care.
But the rest of the country is glued to the news.
A scandal this big's as addictive as booze.

May your trial be quick, and the judgment decisive.
And may Obama's replacement be not so divisive.
If it weren't for you, the blogs would be quiet.
We'd have nothing to do but pillage and riot.

The next junior senator from Illinois? Maybe if Blago had his way.

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Perfect Pushup - Let the Experiment Commence

With all the incredible online deals out there during this time of year, it’s hard to not buy a few things for yourself while you shop for others. Go ahead, you deserve it. Also, the economy needs your help.

So the other day, as I purchased various wearable, edible, and/or electronical gifts for my friends and family, I decided to treat myself to the gift that keeps on giving.

You’ve probably already guessed it: I bought myself the Perfect Pushup kit, by BodyRev.

Maybe you’ve seen the infomercial. In fact, it’s almost impossibly unlikely that you’ve missed it. By perfecting the cumbersome push-up (one of the simplest and most tedious exercises known to man), the Perfect Pushup practically guarantees that within a few weeks you’ll be ripped like a rhino, and cut like a razor blade.

Results depend upon whether you do man pushups or lady pushups, as illustrated above. Lady pushups may result in body hair loss and an irrational attraction to diamonds. Man pushups may result in making you awesome.

I mean, look at the guy in the commercial. He’s got eight-pack abs, perfectly muscled pectorals, and incredible hair. That could be me in 21 days – if I follow the straightforward instructional video.

But wait, the DVD that was included in the package can’t be read by my DVD player. And my computer can’t seem to make heads or tails of it either. Not a problem, because the Perfect Pushups kit also includes an instructional poster. It’s laminated, in order to withstand splatters of sweat and smatters of protein shakes.

Because I’ve only used my Perfect Pushup once so far, I can’t really attest to its claims of radical alteration of one’s flabby physique. I don’t appear to be one bit altered so far. All I can say, however, is after doing about 15 Perfect Pushups, I can’t lift my arms above my head.

That’s something I used to be able to do with ease, I’m pretty sure. Also, if the numbness in my arms and shoulders doesn’t go away by the time I need to hammer out another set of Perfect Pushups (you alternate one day on, one day off) I’ll likely be asking for a refund.

In any case, if my body can handle it, I’ll be sticking with the routine. And before you know it, this doughy, pale, easily-bruised torso will be transformed into a taut, pale, jacked, ripped, granite-like work of human art.

There will be no before and after photos. I believe the most important changes happen to us on the inside. You know, like stronger tendons and improved circulation. You’d have to cut me open to see that kind if stuff – and that ain’t happening. Unless the results are REALLY amazing.

Stay tuned.

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Hillary Clinton - Secretary of Fun

(From time to time, I like to dabble in poetry. Most of it's ridiculous, but all of it rhymes - which is pretty much the only thing that matters when it comes to poetry, in this poet's opinion. This week, Hillary Clinton is my muse. Last time, it was Sarah Palin. And next time? Probably something to do with fantasy football.)

Photo: AOL News

Hillary, Dillary, Dickery, Dock.
Your husband Bill can't control his....

Wait a minute. Too crude. Let me start that one over.

Here we go:

Hillary Clinton, Obama's new friend.
You'll stick by his side till the bitter end.
But you dream of two-thousand twelve while in bed.
Visions of Presidency still dance in your head.

Barry just named you Secretary of State,
While Bubba Bill was out on a date.
His penis has a mind of its own.
Foreign policy skills, you now must hone.

You'll move to Washington with belongings in tow.
Seeds of worldwide diplomacy you will soon sow.
And as Sean Penn plays the famous Harvey Milk.
You too must portray one of a respectable ilk.

I'm not saying to be the first gay Secretary of State.
But rather to emulate and copy some of the greats.
Like Tommy Jefferson or the first one, John Jay.
And William Henry Steward, or John Milton Hay.

There's Hamilton Fish, who had a funny name.
Or Philander Chase Knox - that first name is a shame.
And many, many others who I may or may not list.
Hill, do you remember the first boy you kissed?

It probably wasn't Bill cause he wasn't no prince.
In high school I could see you with a Chuck or a Vince.
Go back to that time, when you were young and so free.
And enter this new job with the same sense of glee.

Don't forget to emulate Daniel Webster or John Calhoun.
And also find out if we really put a man on the moon.
Conspiracy theorists are making me wonder.
If Armstrong's first steps were false, it will tear my world asunder.

I guess that's my problem, and really not yours.
Maybe I'll see you while on one of those White House tours.
Where's your new office? West Wing or South?
And if you see Dick Cheney, please punch him in the mouth.

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More Florida Fun - Swampland, Gators, and Gambling

For many people, the idea of a Florida vacation involves relaxing on the beach, soaking in some rays, and cooling off in the surf - before retreating to a seaside condo for 10 Miller Lites and a fifth of Jack Daniels. Maybe you're sharing with your friends, and maybe you're not. That depends on whether you're an alcoholic.

But for those of the fair-skinned type (like myself and Jaimi) UV rays - and the terrible damage they can cause - scares the holy shit out of us, especially when exposing the extra-tender, extra-white parts of the body. Of course I'm referring to the back, stomach, and feet.

So when in Florida, we generally avoid the beach. And besides, with a sweet Mercury Grand Marquis at our beck and call (see my last post for more info) how could we not cruise all up and down Florida's Turnpike looking for some fun?

Our first stop worth noting was the Everglades. I've always wanted to ride on an airboat, and because it's very difficult to get a permit for one of those in New York City, it only made sense that we took this opportunity to go for a ride.

It was fun, if not overly adventurous. When I think "airboat" (which happens more often than I care to admit) I envision 2 or 3 people sitting on an aluminum platform with a huge-ass fan raging behind them - flying across wetlands, crushing birds' nests, flattening grasses, and filleting alligators with the rudder. Instead, we rode in a set of high school stadium bleachers:

Floating football bleachers. I think I saw Tim Tebow lurking in the tall grass.

Again, it was fun. But not exactly Indiana Jones fun. I think the 80 year old gentleman to my left was asleep for most of the ride

The captain of the vessel didn't destroy any wildlife, and we didn't come anywhere near capsizing. We did see about 20 alligators though, which is really the whole point of going on one of these rides.

This crappy picture shows an alligator doing what it does best - not moving at all for hours and hours on end. 80% chance it's made out of plastic.

All in all, the airboat ride was a success. And the $40 ticket included a wildlife DVD which I will cherish forever and ever.

Another great, non-beach related activity is a trip to the local Indian reservation. They will invariably have a casino somewhere on the premises. Find it, and start gambling and drinking.

Lucky for me, the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino was kind enough to let the Seminoles use their name and logo. They've built one of the most fantastical casino resorts I've ever seen - on their reservation in Hollywood, FL. Jaimi's brother David showed me the way. This time, instead of riding in my silky-smooth Mercury, we traveled in his super-sweet Lexus. It smelled like style and drove like a true pimp mobile. Or something.

Anyway, the moral of this short story is that I'm not very good at blackjack, and we can just leave it at that. Otherwise, the Seminole Hard Rock Casino is a great place to go for an evening of fun and entertainment.

So you can see that this was a very relaxing, yet very action-packed vacation. A special thanks to Et and Sandy Gaffe for being such marvelous hosts. I'm sorry if I left the refrigerator door open, the toilet seat up, and the front door unlocked.

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Rental Car Review: 2007 Mercury Grand Marquis – Rollin’ Like a Senior

Jaimi and I recently returned from a fabulous Thanksgiving trip to sunny south Florida. We stayed with her parents – they have a beautiful house in a mature, active adult, no walkers or oxygen tanks allowed, 55+ community.

This community is on the more active and lively end of the scale when it comes to Florida’s retirement communities, but as soon as we left the friendly confines of Tivoli Lakes, we found ourselves surrounded by the sunshine state’s Golden Oldies. And surrounded on the road by other massive, slow-moving land boats, just like the Grand Marquis.

In other words, my choice of the full-size Grand Marquis was absolutely brilliant. We operated in perfect stealth mode all week long. Other drivers were shocked to see the beige Merc pass them on the left or the right – traveling at or above the speed limit in most cases.

Super-hot Grand Marquis sparkles in the sunlight. It's trunk can swallow an NBA basketball team, with room left over for their mistresses.

It’s fairly typical to see these things cruising around at 20 miles per hour BELOW the speed limit, with nothing but some curly purplish hair, and a big pair of Amber Vision sunglasses peeking above the steering wheel.

The Grand Marquis also raises little or no suspicion from law enforcement, and seats 8 comfortably.

As for handling dynamics, interior comfort, build quality, and exterior styling, the Grand Marquis kinda sucks. It’s really no wonder that Ford is in massive trouble right now. That being said, I defy you to name one foreign automobile manufacturer who cranks out so many vehicles that appeal to old people.

The Mercury Grand Marquis/Ford Crown Victoria/Lincoln Town Car trifecta - the senior driver’s dream team of vehicles.

And after driving one for a week, I think I know why these cars are so popular with a more mature audience. The large doors and wide bench seats make for easy entry and egress. The extra-large steel frame and mile-long hood lend a high degree of safety - in the event of low-speed parking lot collisions, or driving through the garage door when you thought the car was in reverse but it was actually in drive.

The Mercury Grand Marquis is basically a gigantic suit of armor.

On top of all that, the fuel economy isn’t too bad. I expected the Merc’s beefy V8 to get somewhere around 15-16 mpg highway mileage, especially considering the fact that I like to kick the shit out of my rental cars and hammer the throttle every chance I get.

Mercury claims that the Grand Marquis gets 15 mpg city/23 mpg highway. My experience leaned closer to the highway mileage rating. Not bad for a big, sloppy, Nimitz-class cruiser like this.

At highway speeds (or any speed, for that matter) the Grand Marquis handles just like a mountain cat - a mountain cat that's been sedated and placed on a big gurney, which in turn was placed on top of a grand piano, and then on top of 4 skateboards. In other words, the steering and suspension is rather flaccid.

In conclusion, the Mercury Grand Marquis is a real crowd-pleaser in south Florida. Older folks love the blimp-like driving dynamics, and tank-like safety. Younger folks enjoy driving it because it's funny.

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Guantanamo Guns 'n Roses?

A real screenshot from the New York Times today, cropped as I saw fit. Either a) the Guantanamo detainees are HUGE Guns 'n Roses fans, or b) the detainees are actually part of Axl Rose's band. Maybe Al Qaeda trains its members in improvised explosive devices, hand-to-hand combat, terrorist propaganda, and face-melting guitar solos.

It's funny, because aside from Axl Rose and Dizzy Reed (the two remaining original members of the band) there are five other guys that no one's heard of. The five freed Guantanamo detainees perhaps? Achmad Bin Slash Guitari and four others?

Anyway, I'm sure the tour's gonna be awesome, so long as Axl remains conscious and/or upright. Sober or not, Axl will rock out with his cock out, so to speak.

The infidels will probably be too drunk to know the difference.

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Saved By Zero, Now What?

So there's this Toyota commercial that's been playing recently. It shows the various cars and trucks frenetically skidding to a stop at the front of the screen, one after the other. I'm pretty sure a giant "0%" looms in the background. The point is, Toyota is offering 0% financing on all models - for a limited time only - to qualified buyers only.

Big deal, you might say. GM has been doing that for the past 5 years, and nobody's been buying their vehicles.

Is Toyota just a bunch of assholes, or do they know what they're doing to people with this "saved by zero" commercial?

Well, the evil genius behind Toyota's promotion - and something of which GM, Ford, and Chrysler should probably take note - is that they play a hauntingly memorable jingle in the commercial. So haunting, and so easily burned into the very fabric of one's soul.

"Saaaaavvvveeed byyyy zeeerooooo......Saved by zero!.......Saved by zero!.......Saved by zero!"

You know the one I'm talking about, right? I apologize if you had found some way to forget the song - and now the song torments you once more.


Here it is for your torture and pain:




As it turns out, I'm not the only one who's complained so far. I guess that's comforting to know. Just do a Google search for "toyota saved by zero" and you'll see what I mean.

Many other lives have been impacted by this Toyota commercial - and generally not for the better. Sure, many people have gotten fantastic deals on reliable and fuel-efficient models like the Corolla, Camry and sporty RAV4. But for the rest of us, who have no interest or necessity for a new Toyota - even with amazing 0% financing for up to 60 months for highly qualified customers, and with 11 incredible models to choose from, for a limited time only. Hurry, before these deals disappear.

Shit, I think I just sold myself a Toyota. My Mazda will be very jealous.

So please, Toyota Motors Corp., just go ahead and demand that everyone buy a Toyota before you stop playing the stupid commercial. Times are tough. You need to be ruthless. After this financial crisis has run its course, you could be the lone surviving worldwide auto manufacturer. It's not the customer who's being saved by zero, it's you.

Think about it.

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Why the American Auto Industry is in the Crapper - Exhibit A: The Plymouth Reliant K Car

It's no wonder that the American Auto Industry is looking for a government bailout. That gravy train better make a stop in Detroit, or these guys are toast.

But let's not feel too sorry for them. In this multi-part series, I'll take an up-close and personal look at the reasons why GM, Ford, and Chrysler really suck balls. It's not for lack of spending or number of employees. Rather, it's their extreme allergy to innovation and customer satisfaction. It turns out that pretty much all other car companies in the entire world are better at this than the Big Three.

Case in point #1, a throwback from the 1980's, but you still see a few of them on the road today. They make me nauseous.

The Plymouth Reliant K car.

Standard features included ashtray pre-filled with used butts, and 4 mismatched hubcaps.

Ooh, it comes as a station wagon too. Still looks like shit, though slightly more utilitarian shit.

How dare you Chrysler. How dare you.

It actually turns out that this car was the Motor Trend Car of the Year in 1981. I guess back then there weren't many other vehicles that could travel at highway speeds without bursting into flames. And so, the Plymouth Reliant took home the prize.

But even if the K car was somewhat innovative at the time of its introduction, and represented a sharp departure from the gas guzzling behemoths of the 1960's and early 70's, it still looked like absolute, unadulterated shit. I mean, a child could have come up with this design. In fact, the boxy design appears to be lifted straight out of a Fisher-Price catalog.

Chrysler engineers' original electronic rendering of the Reliant.

So despite the advanced and highly stylized design, the Reliant won some awards and sold a decent number of cars. But the real tragedy of the Plymouth Reliant, is the fact that the damn thing barely changed for almost an entire decade. The car was sold from 1981-89, and looked essentially the same over that entire span - ugly as hell.

Sure, they may have tweaked the engine and improved the performance - 1981 Reliant, 0-60 mph in 3.5 days; 1989 Reliant, 0-60 mph in 36 hours. But this is a perfect example of the American Auto Industry's disease. Freshen up the lines after a few years, Chrysler. I mean, give me a break. When you build the worst looking car in the world, at least add some spoilers or ground effects to make it even more ridiculous.

In any case, the Plymouth Reliant is a terrible, terrible car. And I'd bet all the money in the world that Chrysler executives have recently (within the last 2 years) discussed re-introducing it to the market, with little cosmetic changes. If they do, you can be sure I won't be first in line for a test drive.

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Part Mill, Part Amazing

My sister-in-law gave birth this past weekend to a fine, pristeen young boy named Cole - Cole Gabriel Rathmill.

Little Cole with his Big Daddy.

I’m sure this blog post will be but one of many Google entries that Cole will have during his lifetime. He already has a Facebook page. What’s next, JDate?

This photo serves as an allegory for how small we humans really are, in the grand scheme of the universe. Babies can teach us many things, and I plan to learn a lot from Cole as he grows up - not vice versa.

Being that Cole makes me an uncle for the first time, I need to figure out how to become the coolest, funniest, most toy-giving, and all-around best-loved uncle of them all.

Now, I don’t want to come on too strong and scare him off. So a truckload of toys delivered to his crib probably wouldn’t be prudent at this juncture – he’s only 5 days old., and he doesn’t do much playing yet anyway.

I figure I’ll start out by giving him some valuable keepsakes that he may not be able to use right now, but in a few years will remind him of his big, generous Uncle Mill.

For example: a sterling silver cigarette lighter with his name emblazoned on the case.

Or maybe a tiny set of brass knuckles.

How about a fine bottle of scotch that needs to be aged another five or six years before it’s ready to drink?

Anyway, even though I want so very badly to stand out amongst the other aunts and uncles, I may just stick with the standard stuffed animals and tiny sports outfits. This is all very new to me, after all.

If gifts aren’t enough, I believe another way to win his affection will be to call him by some very cool and awesome nicknames – names that are just too damn clever for his parents or other relatives to conjure. I think the name “Cole” lends itself particularly well to this plan of attack.

Try these on for size. Let me know what you think:

poll by twiigs.com

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New York Chocolate Show 2008 - Sweet Brown Dreams

Jaimi and I went to the Chocolate Show on Saturday. We brought along our friends, Jeff and Candice, who were visiting from Boston.

The show was staged at Pier 94, and featured approximately 60 chocolate-related exhibitors. Many exhibits featured a variety of products for sale and for sampling.

And for the $28 entry fee, we were certainly motivated to take full advantage of all the free samples. This was a chocolate lover’s fantasy dream land. The samples ranged from tiny shards of pulverized chocolate bars and splinters of hacked up chocolate truffles, to full-sized and intact candies. From the clumping of the crowd, you could tell who was giving away whole candies.

For $28, we planned to do serious damage to our digestive tracts.

Now, I’ve known Jeff since college, and he never seemed so organized and focused as he did on Saturday. He laid out the game plan, barking orders like a football coach, but in a softer tone - so as to not piss off Candice. We were to systematically – and without exception – stop at every stand along a z-shaped route. This way, we were sure to wring every last sample out of the show. $28 worth of chocolate? Ha! We were shooting for $228 in each of our bellies before the afternoon was through. None of us really knew what that much chocolate would do to a man's gut, but we were hoping to find out. In the name of science.

Most show-goers were lethargic and pale after consuming large amounts of tiny chocolate samples.

In the end, the game plan worked fairly well. We mostly adhered to the planned route. We ate a bunch of samples, and had a real nice time. But we would have had to purge and keep sampling in order to really get our money’s worth. According to Candice and Jaimi, that was out of the question. In retrospect, it wasn’t a very good idea. But the simple physiological fact of the matter is that the human body begins to reject chocolate after a pound or so has been ingested.

I suppose the generally tiny samples not only save the exhibitors money, but they’re also good for the visitors. If chocolate doesn’t go straight to your ass and hips, then it goes straight to the interior walls of your veins and arteries.

Even so, when I saw the diminutive size of some of these samples, I could almost feel my blood pressure rise, and my clothes ripping under the force of my bulging green muscles. In other words, I was angry.

The worst perpetrators, however, were those who dared to offer no samples at all. They would only sell you pieces of their overpriced, shit-enrobed hot garbage.

These don't look like free samples. Keep moving!!

You think I came to this show to do a little shopping? Hell no! I came here to eat me some chocolate.

Besides, I didn’t have any cash on me.

But enough complaining. Jacques Torres, whose store is right near our apartment in DUMBO, probably did the best job handing out whole, gourmet candies – and not just some ass-flavored crap that they couldn’t sell at the store. No, these were absolutely delightful ginger-flavored dark chocolate truffles.

Thank you Jacques. You win my award for best Chocolate Show sample. You are a true chocolate gentleman. A chocolate man with a chocolate soul – sweet and rich, inside and out. You may have just earned yourself a few new loyal customers due to your Chocolate Show performance.

Congratulations. You won't regret it. Probably.

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Barack Obama’s Fantasy All-Star Cabinet Appointees

What if President-Elect Obama could choose anyone from any time period for any Cabinet position, currently alive, currently fictitious, or currently dead?

You might say, “That would be utterly ridiculous, and a waste of time to even think about.” Or, “Maybe you should spend more time exercising or reading, and less time dreaming up impossible political scenarios.”

Fair enough.

But still, I thought it would be a fun exercise. And as Teddy Roosevelt once said, “Boys just wanna have fun.”


Obama’s Dream Cabinet:

(In order of line of succession in the event of the unfortunate demise of the President, Vice President, Speaker of the House, and leader of the Senate – according to Wikipedia.)

Secretary of State – Hillary Clinton (1947 - ????)
Come on Barry, throw this lady a bone. She was crushed by your Primary victory, and still managed to support you throughout the General Election. She even managed to corral Wild Bill and get him to do some half-hearted campaigning for you. Without her support you may not have won. And give her a raise and a nice corner office while you’re at it.


Secretary of the Treasury – John Jacob Astor (1763-1848)
Astor was the country’s first multimillionaire, when being a millionaire would have been like being a trillionaire rock star/Lebron James/George Clooney/Oprah in today’s terms. Also, Astor amassed much of his fortune in real estate, and it looks like we could use some help in that area right about now. Astor also made money in the fur and opium trades, so hopefully he’d initiate another stimulus package that would give citizens huge discounts on black tar heroin and beaver hats.


Secretary of Defense – Genghis Khan (1162-1227)
This dude was one of the greatest badasses of all time. He kicked ass, took names, and then kicked some more ass. This guy kicked so much ass and killed so many people that just the sound of his name still rings like the call of death itself. What do you think of when you think “Genghis Khan?” Death and destruction. Don’t you think North Korea, Iran, and al Qaeda would roll over and wag their tails for this guy? Also, he made a mean macaroni and cheese - which is one of Sasha and Melia’s favorite meals.


Attorney General – Benjamin Matlock (1986-1995, 9 PM Eastern Time, NBC)
Ben Matlock was one of the greatest crime solvers and legal geniuses of the past century. A Harvard educated widower, his practice consisted of a small legal firm in Atlanta, GA. He frequently solved murder mysteries by dressing up as a woman and hiding a spycam in his parasol. A true Southern Gentleman, Matlock would just as soon help a lady down some slippery stairs as he would challenge a scoundrel to a duel. His sky blue suits are straight out of the “Popular Mechanics Men’s Fashion Special.” Call him Joe the Lawyer. He may be just an imaginary character, portrayed by the brilliant Andy Griffith, but his legal prowess is legendary.

Secretary of Agriculture – George Washington Carver (1864-1943)
A no-brainer for this position - I mean, come on. The father of the peanut, Carver was an accomplished scientist, educator, and inventor. He was well-known for making anything and everything out of peanuts and peanut derivatives. He once constructed an entire automobile out of nothing but peanuts, fueling it with peanut oil, with peanut shell seats and a peanut butter dashboard. Of course, upon ignition, the peanut car almost instantly burst into flames, killing the test driver. But still, Carver was an agricultural genius, especially when it came to peanuts.


Secretary of Commerce – Sam Walton (1918-1992)
The founder of Walmart, Walton grew up during the Great Depression. He sure knew what a tough business environment looked like. Walton built his business from a single five-and-dime, to a worldwide empire of giant stores selling cheap crap. Even now, if you want the cheapest anything – tube socks, plasma TV, artificial limbs – your best bet is to head down to Walmart. With Sam Walton at the helm of American commerce, we can be sure to get some great bargains.

Secretary of Labor – Ayn Rand (1905-1982)
A strong believer in the greatness of man, Ayn Rand was a real spark plug. She could also be a total pain in the ass, and would likely be the kind of Secretary of Labor who would yell at you for taking anything more than a 10 minute lunch break once a week. She wasn’t a big fan of welfare, and tended to ignore panhandlers. She wasn’t a big fan of vacations, but was a huge advocate of hard work. “Hard work equals more money, and is the only true measure of man.” She probably had this phrase tattooed on the inside of her eyelids. Her immutably strong support of capitalism would make her an excellent foil to Obama the Socialist. They would likely get into a lot or arguments and possibly an occasional fistfight. But Ms. Rand would keep people working.


Secretary of Recreation – The Mill (1976 - hopefully a very long time from now)
I’m basically an expert at all things recreational. Whether it be lying on the couch watching football, sitting in a movie theater, tossing a football around in the backyard, playing board games, or even reading a book – I’ve done it all. And I would bring this knowledge and expertise to Barack Obama’s White House. “Sometimes, we just need to chill out and play some Xbox.” That’s what I would tell Obama whenever Putin rears his ugly head, or whenever another major US corporation goes belly up. I’m pretty sure I’d be his favorite Secretary.

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Correction: John McCain Wins Vermont and Massachusetts......

....in this wild dream I had last night, after real-world McCain clearly had his ass handed to him in a handbasket. Dream-world McCain had red hair, even yellower teeth, wore glasses, and was approximately 40 feet tall judging from how easily he could pick up full-size cars and horses and toss them around like toys.

Dream-world Obama was nowhere to be found. Dream-world McCain seemed to be running unopposed. It was a nightmare.

Although Chris Rock was hanging out with me - for comic relief - and I was somehow able to watch most of the election returns from the Space Shuttle. It didn't take very long after I awoke - in the dark, in my bed, in Brooklyn - to realize that I wasn't in orbit around the Earth. And that Jaimi wasn't Chris Rock. Maybe 10-20 minutes, tops.

But back in the real world, before drifting off to dream land, we already knew that Barack Obama was our new President.

Hoots and hollers could be heard in the streets. We toasted the momentous election with some of the finest beer and cupcakes in all of New York City.

I'd now like to take this opportunity to point out that not only did I predict the Philadelphia Phillies would win the World Series several weeks before the actual event, but I also offered my endorsement to Obama in recent days.

Am I psychic?

Perhaps yes.

(You in the blue sweater, look out. You will spill coffee on your shoes today after reading this post. Email me for more spooky predictions.)

I'm 2 for 2 over the past 2 weeks in world-shifting, watershed events. Can I make it 3 for 3 in 3 weeks? Phillies, Obama, and.....?

And the first talking dog will be introduced to the world. But it will only speak French.

You can count on it.

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Halloween 2008 Recap

Jaimi and I dressed as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. I, as you may have expected, was Tinkerbell.

We went to a nice little party in Manhattan for most of the evening. There, we met smurfs, Marilyn Manson, a fat lady, and some guy who was dressed like a box of tissues - I think.

All in all, it was an unmitigated success. A beautiful, disastrous, dreamlike success. Jaimi looked good. I looked ridiculous - which, I'm pretty sure was the entire point. It's not as if I thought I'd actually make a realistic magic fairy. Besides, I left my pixie dust at home.

And still, when I walked the streets with Smurfette and Vanity Smurf (Greg and Dan) everyone knew my name.

"Oh my God! It's Tinkerbell!!"

"Hi Tink!!"

"That's disgusting!!"

"That guy has balls for dressing like that. But I sure as hell would never do it."

And so forth. Even without Peter Pan by my side, the costume still had some relevance in present day New York City.

My sense is that there's a little bit of Tinkerbell in all of us. We all wish we had magical powers and could fly. We wish we were so tiny as to go unnoticed during the morning commute. Furthermore, we wish we didn't have to work, and could instead flutter around and protect our androgenous friends.

So without further ado, here are a few pictures:



Peter Pan and Tinkerbell - completely life-size, mostly anatomically correct.

Me with my smurf friends. Brainy Smurf (not pictured) was the only one smart enough to operate the camera at this point.

Tink likes his beer. Vanity Smurf can be seen moving in on the photo-op, trying to steal Tink's thunder. Who is more beautiful?

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Phillies Win For First Time Since President Madison

Or so it seems. Actually, it's only been 28 years since their last championship. But many historians compare the Jimmy Carter and James Madison Presidencies as nearly identical. Minus the sideburns. And take away the peanut farming. Also, Carter owned an automobile whereas the diminutive Madison rode a pony. And finally, Carter nearly ruined our country, while Madison remains a national hero.

I was only 4 years old at the time - and as I'm told - still in diapers, with a penchant for eating paste and sleeping with a loaf of bread. I thought it was a stuffed animal of some sort.

I don't remember any of that, of course. I recall being rather precocious.

But in any case, the Phillies won in 2008, and did so in very phun phashion.

I'm not gonna say that I predicted this....but I did. And a whole whopping 27 days ago at that. I guess I had a one in six chance, so not too impressive. I guess I'm only able to predict the future about a month in advance. That could still come in handy, and I'm sure I'll have some more predictions for you shortly.

Until then, I'm going to savor the Phillies victory with the rest of Philadelphia. We deserve it, after 28 painful years of excruciating losses and grievous disappointment.

So it's great we that we won. But Phillies fans are demanding. So we better win it again next year.

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At Long Last - My Endorsement

I’m finally prepared to announce my endorsement for President!!

That’s right. With less than a week to go before Election Day, I’m finally ready to offer my endorsement to one or more of the candidates.

Now, the conventional wisdom states that with under a week left in a campaign, it’s almost impossible to move the needle for either candidate, either for or against. If one candidate is ahead in the polls at this point, he’s likely to remain so until the election.

That is, of course, unless a real game changer occurs – either a tremendous blunder, or a magnificent triumph by one of the candidates or their surrogates.

I’m not entirely sure which category my endorsement would fall into. But if I can move the dial just one-tenth of one one-thousandth of a half of one-tenth of a percent, then I’ve done my job. (If you do the math, that’s approximately equivalent to one registered voter’s pinkie toe.)

That being said, I’m only here to help. My endorsement for President is intended to sway some of the undecided voters out there. I don’t expect to change the minds of the far-right, gun-toting, Jesus-dependent voters or the way-left, pinko commie, hippie, non-leg-shaving voters based upon my well written sentences, meticulously crafted logic, and dashing good looks. I could charm a nut from a squirrel.

But this campaign isn’t about me. (At least not until this blog post hits the mainstream liberal media. Headline: "Scott the Blogger Stirs the Electoral Pot With Massively Important Endorsement.")

So without further ado, my friends and my family, I hereby endorse BARACK OBAMA for Prez.

But see, here’s the thing. It’s not that I necessarily like his healthcare policy, or his economic policy, or his foreign policy, or his domestic policy, or his energy policy.

I’ve always found it difficult to like things that I don’t understand.

The real reason for my endorsement? It’s that his wife is so damn cool. And smart (Harvard Law). And frugal (shops at Target).

Don't you understand that his choice of wife has as much to do with judgment as his VP pick? Don't you know that the First Lady pretty much runs the show in the White House anyway? She's not just there to plan parties and tend to Dolly Madison's rose garden.

It's a little known fact that although the President is considered the Commander-in-Chief of all the Armed Forces, the First Lady is usually given the Navy and Air Force to play around with. She'll be deciding which carrier groups will be deployed to the Persian Gulf, and which cruise missiles to fire into Pakistan.

Michelle will be one of the two most powerful Obamas in the world.

Michelle Obama understands how to properly deploy our aircraft carriers - because she danced with Oprah, and is great at giving speeches.

But seriously, can you really imagine Cindy McCain dancing with Oprah? Or Putin? And her speeches put everyone to sleep. Give this lady an espresso I.V., stat! And her hair? Give me a break. What a terrible dye job.

Otherwise, Cindy seems like a nice enough lady.

So my real point is not that Michelle Obama is a military genius. I don't really know that for a fact. But I do believe that she could serve as a great ambassador at home and abroad. She's able to relate to a wide variety of people, and hopefully her coolness and style will rub off on Barney Frank. Someone get that guy a comb!!

Remember to vote on November 4th. And know that when you vote for Barack Obama, you also get another totally cool Obama. It's a package deal. Two for one. Why vote twice for McCain, when you can vote once for Obama?

My fellow Americans, we can't afford another 4 years of having a non totally awesome and cool First Lady in the White House. We need a friendly, personable, dynamic woman as our First Lady. Someone to greet foreign leaders and dignitaries, and serve as an example to all young women across the country. It's time to put the "Hi!" back into the White House.

So barring a surprise wife-swap by the candidates, my vote is, and will remain for Barack/Michelle Obama for President/First Lady of the United States.

Vote on November 4th!! Or earlier in Colorado, North Carolina, Ohio, Florida, Nevada, New Mexico, and Virginia!!

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Mill Goes to the Series

I'm a Phillies fan. I write about them from time to time, but usually only when they make it to the World Series - which means I've only written about them a couple of times in the last 15 years. Anyway, I'm still a big fan of theirs, through good times and bad.

So when my new best friend Dan offered me a free ticket to Game 4 of the 2008 World Series in Philadelphia, I accepted with great verve and vigor. My acceptance of the ticket was very, very vigorous. Unlike last time though, my shirt stayed on and the body paint didn't make it out of the closet.

Not bad for free seats to the World Series. Shitty picture, but you get the idea.

You may have guessed that the ticket was sourced through a friend of friend of a friend of Chase Utley's wife or something like that.

Well, you'd be wrong. And no, I didn't have to sell my body or my soul. The tickets were from a friend of friend of Dan's friend who works for a Japanese media company. That's about all the info I received, and that's about 100% more info than I needed. You could have told me that the seat owner just died, and that the ticket and/or seat itself was probably cursed. Would have been fine with me. This is the World Series after all, and I'd be willing to take that risk.

The game itself was fantastic - if you're a Phillies fan. They mauled the Rays with an onslaught of unadulterated power. Even the pitcher hit a home run, for God's sake.

A few other observations:

- Bathrooms were WAY too crowded. The queue for each individual urinal was 5 men deep. Five, drunk, Phillies fans deep. It was ridiculous. I don't know if it was just that everyone was drinking much more beer than normal, and therefore urinating much more frequently, or if the stadium is seriously under-urinaled. In any case, there appeared to be no such line for the Ladies' room. You can only imagine how tempting that was.

- Phillies fans LOVE their cheesesteaks. There are a few cheesesteak-slinging stands at the stadium. And each of them had a line from here until next week. It was crazy. Almost as crazy as the line for the bathroom.

- Ryan Howard is AWESOME. He could probably hit a home run with a mop handle in hurricane-force winds - and instead of a baseball he'd be hitting a Volkswagen out of the park. He is the world's strongest man.

The Phils have a chance to win it all tonight, and I'll be watching - albeit from the comfort of my own home. I better go limber up.

Go Phillies!!

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2008 World Series Game 1 Live Blogging Continued

9:42PM - So what if the Dow was DOWN over 500 points today. The Phillies are UP by 3 runs!! In my book, that makes up for the millions upon millions of dollars of disappearing wealth.

9:45PM - I'm hungry.

9:52PM - Cole Hamels, the Phillies starter for this game, looks like a real veteran.

9:53PM - He just gave up a solo home run. No joke. As I was writing that last entry, Carl Crawford hit a home run off of Hamels. I have to be careful with this live blogging. It's some powerful shit.

9:55PM - Phillies are out of the inning after giving up only one run. I wonder what the weather's going to be like tomorrow. Should I wear a sweater? In case you hadn't noticed, my live blogging has no internal filter. It's like a window into my mind. Grab some popcorn, pull up a chair, and enjoy - if you dare. Boy, my fingernails are long.

9:58PM - Fingernails are short now.

10:02PM - I feel like Ryan Howard should hit a home run right about now. He is such a big, strong man. The ball is afraid of him.

10:05PM - Ryan Howard walked. They say a walk is as good as a home run - or something like that.

10:06PM - Pat Burrell is up to bat. Big Pat. Pat the Bat. My Mom thinks he's, arguably, the cutest Phillie. I'm can't disagree with her right now. And if he hits a home run now, I will officially label him the cutest Philadelphia Phillies player ever. I believe strongly - and this will be the first place you'll hear this - that the Phillies' success in the World Series rests on Pat Burrell's mighty shoulders. As Pat goes, so go the Phillies. Mark my words.

10:09PM - Pat Burrell did not hit a home run. But somehow, some way he just got the first infield hit of his career.

10:10PM - Not an infield hit for Pat. It was ruled an error. Pat is as slow as molasses, and never beats out a groundball. Jury's still out on Pat Burrell's cuteness.

10:12PM - I can't stop eating these gummy worms.

10:16PM - It may be dangerous for me to continue eating these gummy worms. They're not even fresh.

10:18PM - I think Swedish fish are my favorite, but have you ever had gummy peaches? They're pretty good too.

10:19PM - Okay, game back on. No more candy until the Phillies score again. Or until one of the players adjusts their crotch, or spits on the ground.

10:19PM - 5 seconds elapsed before spitting or crotch grabbing occurred.

10:22PM - No more gummy worms left. They are all in me.

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