The Mill's New Mayoral Fan

The Mill's new biggest fan?

(It's rare that a single man wields such tremendous power over both what we perceive as reality, and the many worlds of our imagination. But this week is gigantically important for the NFL and for fantasy football teams - and Mayor Michael Nutter is the most powerful man in both realms. I decided to write him a letter thanking him for pretty much winning me my fantasy league this year. And for being an all-around nice guy.)

Dear Mr. Mayor,

You are obviously a huge Philadelphia Eagles fan. I’m pretty sure it’s stipulated in the city charter. But I had no idea that you were also such a big fan of my fantasy football team, “Vick and the Underdogs.” You see, your decision to postpone this week’s game against the Minnesota Vikings will most likely guarantee us another fantasy championship.

Please allow me to explain.

My team consists of a bunch of players (see Schedule A attached), including - but not limited to - Mike Vick and DeSean Jackson. The original game time, 8:30pm on Sunday night, would have coincided with a ferocious blizzard of biblical proportions. These are not conditions typically conducive to Vick’s and D-Jax’s field stretching deep game. Instead of watching the dynamic duo make TD passes fall like rain on an overmatched Vikings secondary, we were more likely to see handoff after handoff to some running back who is not on my fantasy team - WhoSean McSomething, or whatever - as the teams slowly battled across a frozen tundra of shattered fantasy dreams and broken make-believe promises.

But thanks to you and your so-called concern for public safety, we can now see Vick and the Eagles run and throw unencumbered by blinding snow and 6-foot snowdrifts. There will also be less risk of an avalanche burying the goalposts, which would confuse David Akers enough to possibly kick the ball the wrong way - which he hardly ever does. (Note: Akers is also on my fantasy team).

Consider the fact that the NFL has not postponed a game due to snow (not including the Metrodome’s recent roof collapse) since some time right before the War of 1812. This can only lead me to believe - and since my fantasy football team has only been around since some time AFTER 1812 - that you postponed the game to virtually assure my fantasy team of victory. No other logical explanation exists.

So instead of waiting for your imminent fan mail to me - soon after I capture my crown as repeat champion of our fantasy league - I decided to beat you to the punch and send a quick note to you - not only thanking you for your patronage, but also providing some answers to a couple of questions that you were probably wondering about.

Question: Mill, how do you do it year after year?

Answer: I’ll assume you’re asking about my rampant success with fantasy football, and not the fact that my waist size hasn’t changed since college. Well, it all comes down to being smarter than everyone else. And/or having a faster internet connection so that you can pick up free agent players like Michael Vick before anyone else in the league gets their dirty little paws on them.

In fantasy football, as in like, you need to “take it one day at a time.” Like the Marines, you need to be “Always Ready.” And as General George S. Patton said, “A man is not a baby or a woman. So quit crying, take off those pantyhose, and get back to shooting some Nazi bastards!.....Seriously, they’re headed this way.”

As a fantasy football manager, these are all words to live by, and sometimes you just have to hope that the other managers in your league are not Nazis.

Question: What’s your prediction for the game tonight?

Answer: Thanks for that question. Of course, the Eagles are going to win big. 48-10 would be my most conservative guess. Vick throws for over 400 yards, and rushes for another 80. DeSean catches 9 passes for 196 yards and 3 TD’s. Akers kicks 6 extra points and two 40-yard field goals. I win my fantasy league by, like, a gazillion points or so.

So, Mr. Mayor, thanks again for being such an all around nice guy in both fantasy and reality.


Warmest Possible Regards During This Coldest Possible Weather,

- Mill

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Handy Homeowner

My wife and I joined the elite, highly-stressed, constantly worried about being foreclosed, risk-taking club of first-time homebuyers about two months ago.

At the time, it just seemed to make sense. And I don’t think either one of us regrets the decision (even if I did recently lose my job a few weeks after settlement - which is an entirely different story for an entirely different day.)

Ostensibly, we bought a house because we plan to settle down in the neighborhood - and need a bit more space than our 2-bedroom rental could offer. Plus, mortgage rates were historically low, and the entire market has been in the shitter for a couple of years now. I mean really, how much lower could prices possibly fall? Famous last words, I realize.

In any case, 2 months in and so far, so good. The house has good bones, as they say. But I wait, vice grips in hand, anxiously anticipating the day when one of those bones breaks.

Because for me, buying a house isn’t just about the opportunity to settle down, or build a nest, or have a place for little Mills to roam free and play. It means the chance to become something I’ve never been before. To assume an alter ego of sorts, even more mysterious and alluring than that afforded by a Blogger account.

That’s right. I now have the opportunity to prove to the world (my wife) that I am, in fact HANDY. Because this house is great in many ways, but it sure as hell isn’t perfect. And there are enough minor problems - structural, cosmetic, electrical, plumbing, HVAC, creaking doors, out-of-whack windows, and dead or dying plant life - to offer almost unlimited chances to be handy.

Why, just the other day I replaced a missing vent in the dining room. Kinda handy.

I patched a big-ass hole in the ceiling of the garage. Pretty handy.

I resealed the cap flashing on all 5 dormers on the third floor facade, and replaced all the windows with energy-efficient, triple-paned, double-hung Andersen windows. Extremely handy.

Of course, this is all incredibly great and you’re probably thinking I’m so super-handy. Except that I’m lying about that last one. We pay professionals to do that kind of shit. In reality, anyone with a screwdriver and some scrap drywall could do what I’ve done. But this is just the beginning of my jaunt down a very handy road. And without a home of our own, I’d never be able to take this journey.

I’m sure the trip will include some missteps - that’s why I’m forbidden from undertaking any projects that feature live electrical circuits. There will likely be a hammer blow to this thumb, and a cabinet dropped on that foot. Shoes and shirts will be ruined with paint, and rickety ladders will be used without a spotter. I may even try to get up on the roof through the bathroom skylight, but only when there are no thunderstorms in the area.

I hereby pledge to never use a pneumatic nail gun (too many possible horror movie scenarios), and will try my best to avoid the temptations of using a circular saw (I REALLY like having all ten fingers). I promise that I will not fix it if it ain’t broke. And I will keep all of my bits with my drill - if you know what I mean.

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I'm a lot Like Michael Vick

We are both in our 30’s.
We both (currently) like dogs.
We both really like the Eagles.
We are approximately the same height.
We throw things primarily with our left hands.
We run faster than many of the people around us (for him: linemen and linebackers; for me: my wife and my parents).
We are both responsibly repaying our debts to creditors (me: $20k in student loans; Vick: $20 million in jewelry, cars, mansions, solid gold toilets, and champagne dreams).
We both hate folding our socks and underwear.

I’m sure I could go on and on.

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Ikea: The Nordic God of Frustration

Ikea, the bastard offspring of Odin and a giant boar, is a mighty magical being of incredible strength. Ikea has the ability to control the Earth’s tides, as well as the power to turn sawdust and leftover Styrofoam into delicious – and affordable – little meatballs.

Just as his cousin Loki is known as a rascal trickster, so too does Ikea play games with the puny, weak-minded humans who worship at his particle-board altar. Many well-known myths demonstrate Ikea’s masterful trickery – but none so famous as “The Tale of the Seventy Misaligned Pre-Drilled Screw Holes.” I will not go into the details of this extraordinary story, as the yarn has been spun thousands of times over the ages – to the horror of children and adults alike.

Suffice it to say, Ikea is a brilliant rogue.

There is, however, a lesser known Ikea myth which (I believe) merits much greater distribution throughout the Ikea-worshipping world (aka, the internet).

Have you heard of the story of “The Shoe Maker and the Furniture Labyrinth”? I thought not. This fable involves one stubborn, silly human – Sven Magnusson – who dares to flout Ikea’s omnipotence, and has the audacity to doubt the great god’s cleverness.

As revenge for Sven’s indolence, Ikea tricks him into entering what appears to be a large barn - with the promise of a fantastic collection of magical hex-wrenches. But instead, Sven finds himself wandering through a never-ending maze of furniture, none of which is comfortable enough to sit on for more than 5 minutes at a time. He is relegated to this personal hell for all of eternity, aimlessly browsing well-staged groupings of sleek sofas and chairs, lighting and accessories.

But the legend speaks of Sven’s chance for redemption, as described by the Lord Ikea himself:

“And upon that holy day dost thou finally accept defeat at my hands, I shall allow thy release from this brilliant labyrinthine prison. And only on that day, as it is promised, thou shalt be rewarded with unlimited, sleekly-designed Nordic-style furnishings of every shape and size – so that thou may distribute these gifts to all of mankind, at ridiculously low, low prices.

However, in order to get these gifts to pass from this world to the next, most of the items will need to be disassembled. Thou shalt pack them flat for ease of transport. I shall include simple instructions for reassembly, of which thine youngest and simplest child shall translate into all the languages of the world – so that all men may enjoy the value I hath provided, whilst accepting mostly minor difficulties due to shoddy craftsmanship. And all the Earth shall praise my name for ever and ever. And so it is written, and so it shall be. Amen.”

The clear morals of the story are “might makes right” and “it’s better to look good than to feel good.” And, as I’m sure you’ve figured out, Sven did indeed make it out of that frightful maze, to fill the world with inexpensive, difficult to assemble furniture.

Sven Magnusson, I salute you as I write this - even though my Ikea desk chair just fell apart because it was missing several screws.

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Ode To Vick

Your legs are like jets, your arm is a rocket.
Bad Michael Vick - doggie’s tail in a socket.
Better Mike Vick – he’s kind and humane.
Best Michael Vick – throwing touchdowns like rain.

Lurie gave you a chance, Fat Andy did too.
One chunky Mormon, one well-dressed Jew.
Now you’re together, three peas in a pod.
On the NFC East you’ll trample and trod.

I remember the game that you played in the cold.
And you threw for four touchdowns, let the legend unfold.
You ran for two more, and I heard the dogs cheer.
I was so goddamn happy, I spilled a whole beer.

The problem with that is we have wooden floors.
And wood in the walls, and thick wooden doors.
With beer seeping in, and without too much time.
I couldn’t keep on with the theme of this rhyme.

So I leapt to my feet and rushed to the kitchen.
Grabbing some towels and warm woolen mittens.
The mittens – mistake - I returned them real fast.
And grabbed some more towels, what a pain in my ass.

I sopped up the beer like a bat out of hell.
A little too late, the floorboards did swell.
They buckled and broke, and twisted and cracked.
My wife’s gonna kill me, I better buy her a present

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Ways to Cap The Gulf Oil Spill

If the job was all mine, and thankful it’s not,
And BP allowed me to give it a shot,
I’d dive down so deep, stuff that billowing pit,
With golf balls and golf clubs and all kinds of shit.

If that didn’t work, I’d use heavier things.
Anvils, and airplanes, and thick leaden rings.
It just seems to me if you crammed it all in,
There’s no way that oil could soil more fins.

I’d pile on tractors and pieces of trash.
I’d jam in old cars and cigarette ash.
I’m sure before long the flow would slow down.
The king of well-plugging, I’d wear the gold crown.

And speaking of gold - of course, the black kind.
The amount that it’s spewing is blowing my mind.
Thousands of gallons of crude every day.
The poor, stupid sea life just gets in its way.

It’s heading for shore with no visible slowdown.
Sea birds, sea monkeys, and fish it will mow down.
Covered in goo, like a small newborn child.
The slick, you might say, is going buck wild.

Subsea dispersants and huge concrete caps.
Those fine BP douchebags have still left huge gaps.
So back to my plan, how I’d cap that well’s ass.
I’d use crazy glue and some balls made of brass.

Force it all down there, far out of reach.
The oil stays put, we can all hit the beach.
And BP will pay for the havoc they wreak.
A well clogged with golf balls and dirt will still leak.

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The King James Bible - an excerpt

The river will burn, the people will die.
Dogs will run wild, kids will get high.
Fans will stay home, the mayor will cry.
The Browns will still suck, they won’t even try.

The state’s a disaster, they soon will declare.
The National Guard by sea and by air.
Tax revenues plummet, I don’t really care.
I’m not the one living way over there.

He’s now in Miami, which has some hot ladies.
Which leads to one thing: illegitimate babies.
I’m sure before long he’ll come down with scabies.
Or maybe his dog will fall victim to rabies.

I actually hope that his dog is okay.
In South Beach some places are totally gay.
Not a thing wrong with that, as I always say.
I’ve heard that the Heat provide pretty good pay.

So now that it’s over, the decision’s been made.
Plans for the future, for one, have been laid.
A city in ruins, they wish he had stayed.
At least one guy’s happy. His name? Dwyane Wade.

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Jayson Werth's Big Ol' Beard

Jayson’s beard has a life of its own.
It covers his cheeks, his chin, and jawbone.
He usually shaves to keep the team winning.
But his beard has grown back before the 5th inning.

His coaches get mad when his beard stays out late.
Whether drinking, or dancing, or out on a date.
But Jayson himself has such little control,
Over what his beard does - it has its own soul.

You’d think that its name might be Nathan or Nick.
Or Oscar, or Reggie, or Wallace, or Rick.
Or even Miguel, or Dylan, or Bruce.
Well actually, no, its friends call it Zeus.

Zeus was a god - the god of them all.
Upon Mt. Olympus, a great marble hall.
Pillars of granite, and floors solid stone.
A lap pool, a hot tub, and of course a huge throne.

The mighty of mighties, the all-seeing eyes.
Huge big-ass arms, well-muscled thighs.
Lightning from Heaven and flames from below.
A mortal’s life lost with each thunderbolt throw.

His thick thatch of growth, like stone to a mason.
Mysteries told, fitful children are chastened.
We all know to fear the unknown as from birth.
The beard or the man - Is Zeus Jayson Werth?

He’s big and he’s strong and throws bolts from the field.
His prodigious blasts, as if tree trunks he wields.
And back to the beard, whether mortal or not.
When it’s 102 on the field, that shit must get hot.

Go Phillies!

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A WIFE - Part 1

pretty
lady-like
size 9 shoes
elastic hairbands
low blood pressure
expensive handbags
enamored of diamonds
voted for barack h. obama

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Snow-mageddon 2010

(My revised forecast/weather advisory below. This one's gonna be a doozy!)


NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE: UPTON, NY
10:38 PM EST, TUESDAY FEBRUARY 9, 2010

WINTER STORM WARNING

A WINTER STORM WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT UNTIL NEXT CHRISTMAS.

SNOW ACCUMULATES LATE THIS EVENING....WITH ACCUMULATIONS OF 2 TO 4 INCHES BY THE MORNING RUSH HOUR. THE SNOW MAY MIX WITH SLEET, ICE, AND ANGEL PISS...PISS MAY BE HEAVY AT TIMES.

SNOW WILL CONTINUE THROUGHOUT THE DAY WITH ACCUMULATION RATES OF UP TO 2 INCHES PER HOUR THROUGH MID-AFTERNOON. THIS WOULD BE THE PERFECT TIME TO BAKE COOKIES.

AS THE STORM INTENSIFIES OFF THE NEW JERSEY COAST AND SOUTHERN LONG ISLAND, A STRONG ANTI-CYCLONIC ACTION WILL CAUSE SUSTAINED CATEGORY FIVE HURRICANE-FORCE WINDS AND FREQUENT GUSTS EASILY EXCEEDING 275 MPH. TO FIND WORSE WEATHER, YOU'LL NEED TO TRAVEL TO THE GREAT RED SPOT ON JUPITER.

JUST KIDDING. THE WINDS WILL BE MUCH LESS THAN THAT, BUT YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS OURS, TRUTH BE TOLD.

ALONG WITH BLIZZARD CONDITIONS, POWER OUTAGES ARE LIKELY THROUGHOUT THE AREA. IF POWER OUTAGE OCCURS IN YOUR AREA, A GOOD TIP IS TO SOAK SOME RAGS IN KEROSENE AND DUMP THEM IN AN OLD TRASH CAN, THEN SET FIRE TO THE RAGS. ALL OF THIS CAN BE DONE IN YOUR LIVING ROOM TO CREATE BOTH HEAT AND LIGHT. YOU MAY ALSO WANT TO CRACK A WINDOW IN CASE YOUR DOUCHEBAG BROTHER-IN-LAW WHO'S STAYING WITH YOU THIS WEEK FORGOT TO DO SO.

A WINTER STORM WARNING MEANS SEVERE WINTER CONDITIONS ARE EXPECTED OR OCCURRING. HEAVY SNOWFALL WILL CAUSE INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS TRAVEL CONDITIONS ON THE ROADWAYS. IF YOU DECIDE TO DRIVE, YOU WILL PROBABLY DIE. HEED OUR WARNING. ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO DISREGARD THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE. WE ARE GOD'S MOUTHPIECE. WORD TO YOUR MOTHER.

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The iPad - When and Why Will I Get One?

How is Steve Jobs going to convince me to buy an iPad? I know it’s going to happen, but how the hell is he going to do it? I can’t quite figure it out just yet.

It’s as if I committed a robbery, and I forgot to get the surveillance tape. I know the cops are looking at it, and they’ll be able to track me down quickly because of my unusual gait and distinctive style of dress - just ask around town. It’s only a question of when they’ll find me.

And so I wait for the knock on the door, “Mr. Mill, please open up. It’s the police. As soon as you open the door we will taser you regardless of whether you resist us. We will also most likely sodomize you with a baton.”

So I sit on the sofa and wait for my door to be busted down, and my ass to be tasered and/or batoned.

In many ways, this is what I’m waiting for Steve Jobs and the Apple Gestapo to do. Except they’ll be gentler. But also much more expensive.

“You have the right to remain silent. You also have the right to pay for your new iPad with Visa, Mastercard, or American Express. Hell, we even accept Discover!!”

So it’s going to happen. It’s only a matter of time. But let’s be honest: the thing looks like a giant, joke iPhone. Now, I think giant, joke everyday items are as hilarious as all get-out, but would I spend upwards of $600 to get one? Maybe for a giant, joke gold watch, or a giant, joke plasma TV. But do I really need a giant, joke cell phone in order to check my email and download movies, music, and eBooks?

The answer, of course, is yes. The logic, however, is not so patently obvious.

Why do I need the iPad? Maybe it will repel unsavory women, now that I’m married. Perhaps it will keep me from being bored, and thus prevent me from drunk eBaying.

Steve Jobs says it’s the best way to surf the internet, and when you watch movies or TV shows (downloaded only from iTunes, of course) it’s like sticking an HDTV right in your stupid Apple-loving face.

This all sounds great to me, and I’m already much closer to being convinced. My wallet’s out. It’s on the table. I can see one of several valid credit cards from here. If only it was 60 days from now, I’d actually be able to buy one.

Does the iPad also feature a Time Machine function? If so, I’ll buy one last week.

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Hawaii Honeymoon Review Part 1: A Visit to the Volcano

Our rental jeep. Operative word being "rental." Perfect for trying to drive through blindingly-hot lava.

Sure, Hawaii is a beautiful place. Lush, tropical forests greener than the greenest country club golf course. Crystal clear waters, teeming with ocean life – and just a little bit of medical waste here and there. Soaring mountains and majestic canyons.

Going into it, we knew we’d see some pretty cool nature-type shit. And we did.

But we also expected one of the highlights would be our visit to Kilauea on the Big Island Hawaii – perhaps the most active volcano on the planet. Maybe the most active in the whole goddamn galaxy. It’s basically been continuously erupting since 1983.

Seriously. It’s crazy.

That mountain belches millions and millions of tons of red-hot lava every year. I wanted to see that lava up close. Witness the miracle of birth – of new rock, fresh from Mother Earth’s blazing hot uterus – firsthand. Feel the heat on my face, and the crunch of freshly cooled magma under my boot heel.

Also, I wanted to see if I could dip my pinky in there for just a second. Come on – how hot could it really be? And I bet it tastes like cherry Jolly Ranchers. Or maybe cinnamon Bubble Tape.

Well guess what? We get to the stupid volcano only to learn that the stupid lava stopped flowing the day before.

We did get to take a great hike across the Kilauea Iki crater, and traipse across some months old lava on the southeastern edge of the island. But nothing even remotely red-hot and flowing was anywhere to be found.

Gazing across the moonscape of Kilauea Iki crater. Kinda looks like a huge, shitty, abandoned parking lot.

Lava shelf on southeastern edge of the island. Danger: 85-degree, year-old lava ahead, below, and all around.

Across five-thousand miles, and through five time zones we traveled. All we wanted was a little live lava action. And what do we get? Zilch.

The fire goddess Pele is a stupid bitch. No offense to any Hawaiian polytheists out there. It’s just that I’m disappointed we didn’t see any lava.

And Pele, if you’re reading this post (not sure fire goddesses can even read), hopefully it will anger you enough to put on a nice lava show for the current tourists.

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A Revelation on Traffic

I’ve always marveled at the magic of New York City traffic. It’s mysterious, unexplainable, and infuriating.

I should know. I spend at least 2-3 hours each day in the thick of it.

Every time I try to shed light on its secrets, a new twist emerges. When I least expect it – wide open highway. At 2am on a Tuesday – bumper to bumper gridlock.

Traffic knows not reason nor logic. Traffic knows not what it does to me.

Traffic, why dost thou mock me? Why hath thou repeatedly bitch-slappethed me?

Something else I’ve consciously noticed just this week, but had subconsciously occurred to me long ago: Invariably, whenever it’s clear sailing most of the way home, and it looks like I’ll be back in record time, I hit the worst traffic I’ve ever seen. Sometimes an hour to travel the last 5 miles of my commute.

Fucking BQE.

But there’s really only one explanation. And it ties in directly with an upcoming event, on February 2nd of this year. No, I’m not referring to my friend Alex’s birthday, although I wish him the best for his big 3-4.

I’m referring to the season premiere of “Lost.” And it’s taken until now - the show’s final season - for me to piece the puzzle together.

It’s all about me. It’s all about traffic.

The Island won’t let me get home in less than one hour and twenty minutes.

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I'm Back From the Honeymoon!!!

Back from the Honeymoon, with a whole lot to write about. Here are just a few things you can expect to hear about during the upcoming days and weeks:

1) I have observations from Hawaii - our honeymoon destination. It’s the most remote island chain in the world. Yet, you can easily find Costco, Burger King, and Macaroni Grill. But Hawaii is so much more than strip malls in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. More to follow on this.

2) Wedding facts and figures – it all went off without a hitch. I can tell it actually happened because I got some kind of metal circle around my finger now. The damn thing won’t come off, no matter how hard I try. I’ve used soap, butter, and lasers – but to no avail.

3) Sports scores and predictions – the Eagles will NOT win the Super Bowl this year.

4) Recipes and fashion tips. I learned a lot from my wife over the past 2 weeks - being that we pretty much didn’t interact with anyone else during that time. Like how to crochet, and which shoe designers are the hottest this season.

5) What it’s like to be married!!! It’s pretty cool so far. I own her, and I’m waiting for the dowry to arrive by freight train – 40 head of sheep, 2 dozen goats, and 500 cubits of papyrus

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