World Series Game 3: FML Edition

I'm the Giants' number 5 hitter. I'm supposed to be a big power hitter guy but I suck. I swing at everything like I'm Ike and the ball is Tina. Everybody talks about how awesome I am but no one has seen anyone throw a World Series performance this bad since the Black Sox. I should probably have a timeout for the next game and think about what I've done. FML.

I'm Jonathan Sanchez. I didn't freak out and go crazy eyes on anyone like I did to Chase Utley in the NLDS and I lasted more than 2 innings. Unfortunately, I gave up a 3-run homer to Mitch Moreland that was the deciding score in the game. That was muy malo. FML.

I'm Pablo Sandoval. People in SF loved me so much they started wearing all kinds of Panda shit and everything. Unfortunately, this year I didn't hit any better than Rickie Weeks and I only had 13 home runs. That's not going to make anyone forget Barry Bonds. Last night I went 0 for 3 as the DH. But I have a great personality. FML.

I'm a Giants fan. They could have swept in 4 and I'd still bitch about why it took so long. For me, every Cody Ross home run is kind of a failure if the bases aren't loaded. We are all going to die. FML.

Given this season, did you expect something different? Did you think it was going to be easy? You gotta be kidding me. But as Olu pointed out, they really only need to win 1 of 3 in Texas. I think it's a safe bet that they can then win 1 of 2 back here. I hope I'm not jinxing anything by saying that. Oh, wait, that's right, I just remembered, things I say or do have no effect on the outcomes of the games.

Except they do. You know it as well as I do. And I'm not wearing the shirt I wore last night for any more WS games.

(Also, man, that was one white-ass crowd at the Rangers' ballpark last night. Did you see any black people who weren't carrying a tray of candy?)

(Also, if you don't give a shit about baseball, the end is in sight. It's only a few more days. Then I promise I will write about - fuck, think about - something else.)

World Series Game 2: Are you fucking kidding me?

What the fucking fuck???

Remember your San Francisco Giants? They're the plucky, gritty, grind-em-out team of nobodies and castoffs. They scrape for every run, barely pulling out 1-0 and 2-1 wins. Their only hope is to keep games close and maybe pull it out due to their superior pitching.

So who the fuck are these guys? Yeah, the superior pitching is there, but HOLY SHIT WHAT'S GOING ON WITH ALL THE RUNS?

I've never been to a World Series game before last night. Here are my observations:

1. It's very crowded. VERY crowded. The listed capacity of AT&T is 41,000-something, and they announced that last night's attendance was 43K plus. All those people gotta pee at the same time. I waited in the bathroom line for a whole inning. Needless to say, I held it the rest of the game. Interestingly, The Wife reports that she cruised right into the Ladies'. At most Giants games, the M/F ratio is close to 50/50. It did seem like it was more 60/40 last night.

2. It's very fucking loud.


3. As you can see, our seats weren't anything to write home about, but they did have one specific feature I was looking for: they were inside the park during a World Series game.

4. There's a lot more standing up than in regular season games. Every time one of the Giants batted with anyone on base, everyone stood up. Any time Matt Cain had 2 outs, everyone stood up. And so on. Oh, and for God Bless America, natch. This Army chick sang it like she wanted to get dirty with America. After her come-to-me rendition, America must have been fanning itself and saying "DAMN, GIRL."

4. They didn't jack up the prices of any concessions, which is nice. The souvenir stands were fucking mobbed, though. Don't you guys know you can get all that shit at the Dugout Store any day of the week? Don't spend your WS waiting in line.

5. The scene outside afterward was crazy. Woo girls sticking out of the tops of limos, people yelling and jumping around, mandatory high-fiving, the whole 9. We took one look at the Muni stop and said "Fuck that" and walked up to Thirsty Bear and had a couple of drinks and some apps and then got on Muni around 9:30. I would recommend that procedure to others in the future.

You can read about the game itself in any number of reputable media outlets. All I will say is that it seemed like it was going to be one of those classic Giants nailbiters until that unbelievable, crazy fucking 8th inning with the walks and the walks and the walks and then AARON FUCKING ROWAND, who has been showing up in the playoffs, no doubt, doubling in 2. These big innings are a new thing for the Giants but I could learn to like them.

On to Arlington, where Bushes I and II will throw out the first pitch Sunday. Oh, Rangers, well-played. You know just how to fuck with us.

World Series Game 1: Cliff Lee shits the bed

Isn't that, like, the most digusting expression you've ever heard? One of my coworkers used that and I was like "Who says that? Who shits the bed?" and he was like "You don't have kids, do you?" and I was all "Kids actually take a shit in the bed??" and he just looked all smug and said "Yep," and now I'm not 100% sure if I want to hve kids any more. I can't have people shitting in bed, whether or not they're my relations.

ANYWAY.

So yesterday we were told:

Cliff Lee is the most ungodly pitiching talent you will ever see. He throws 105 miles per hour and strikes out the guy selling churros in the stands, that's how good he is. If the Giants somehow manage to cobble together one run by cheating or divine intervention, it will truly be a Fatima-level miracle. This kid makes Sandy Koufax look like Salomon Torres after a three-day bender. Plus, he's from Arkansas, so he's a Real American.

Well then. This should be a tough game, no? Maybe Lincecum can just keep the Giants close. If they can just get to the Rangers' bullpen, maybe they have half a shot at something.

Started out worryingly, 2-0, after some shaky pitching and even shakier fielding by Tim Lincecum. I was all settled for a big disappointment. Then the Giants tied it on an error and a HBP and a couple of hits. So now it's 2-2 and I'm all maybe Cliff Lee does not, in fact, wake up every morning and touch the face of God as we've been led to believe.

Then comes the 5th inning. HOLY SHIT. Double, double, walk, single, and CLIFF LEE HAS TO LEAVE THE FUCKING GAME. Some other guy comes in and Uribe goes all jazz hands on him and all of a sudden it's 8-2.

Manos del jazz

This was the first time this postseason that I haven't been shallow-breathing and making crescents in my palms with my nails. What is this strange feeling? Why am I not rigid and sweating and Hurt Lockering all over the room? Oh, because the Giants have a 6-run lead. I'm not sure when the last time the Giants had a 6-run lead was, but it might have been September 23 when they beat the Cubs 13-0. A LONG TIME AGO.

But this is the Giants, so you know it's not going to be easy. 8-2 turns into 11-4 going into the 9th. Single, error, walk, wild pitch, walk. Now the bases are loaded and the guy at the plate could make it 11-8. So here comes Brian Wilson. Brian Wilson specializes in inducing heart attacks and strokes. That is his gift. So with the bases loaded, he gives up a pop fly (run) and a double (2 runs) and FINALLY gets the last out. 11-7 final. THANK GOD.

I don't want to get all negative here but I'm a Giants fan and that's what we do. (In fact, after Jonathan Sanchez's no-hitter, one of my fellow Giants fans said, "That's great, but he could have had a perfect game." If there's a better example of what being a Giants fan is all about, I don't know it.) There is NO WAY this team is going to score 11 runs every game, and if they make a habit of giving up 7 runs every game, they're going to be in deep shit.

See you at the game tonight.

(Also, I don't want to name names, but a Chronicle columnist whose name rhymes with Buck Devious is out there STEALING MY IDEAS!!!! Come on, man!)

Travel Tips for Visiting Rangers Fans!

Welcome, Texas people! We are happy to have you in our Fair City. Please allow me to give you a few tips that will enhance your stay here:

1. Remember - gay people always want to have sex with you and will pursue you relentlessly. Also, they are everywhere. 9 out of 10 men in San Francisco are gay. How can you spot a gay person? They are wearing ascots and carrying small dogs in Vuitton carriers. They also lisp and faint if startled. BE CAREFUL.

2. We're all stoned out on The Pot 24/7. That's because we're all hippies, just like you read about! Groovy, man. If someone offers you The Pot, you can just say "I don't have glaucoma" and they'll leave you alone.

3. Everything is very expensive! That's because we don't have any oil wells here in the city limits.

4. Enjoy our colorful hobos! It's fun to dangle a dollar bill in midair and ask them to do a trick. This is normal and they expect you to do that.

5. For an authentic San Francisco Experience, make sure to visit Fisherman's Wharf! That's where real San Franciscans go for fun and for great, freshly-caught seafood.

6. Did you rent a car? Good move! You'll find plenty of convenient free parking all over the city. Just look for curbs painted blue and marked with a guy in a chair. This is Tourist Parking, and the guy in the chair is a lazy tourist who just wants to sit down. Like you!

7. The Transamerica Pyramid is where the Illuminati meet. When the light on top is flashing, they're having a meeting and Socialism is Coming Soon! Watch Glenn Beck for more details.

Illuminati meeting in progress. Expect your guns and/or Bible to be taken away soon. (Thx Wiggum03 for the pic.)

8. Those guys on the corner of Golden Gate and Hyde sell delicious rock candy, the Real San Francisco Treat! It's $20 for two rocks, but boy is it worth it. Just chew and enjoy! Your mouth might get a little numb, but that's totally normal!

9. Going to the game? Make sure and ask for your free chardonnay and cheese sampler!

What's that? You say there's some kind of baseball-related event in the offing?

This blog is going to be pretty baseball-centric for the next week or so. We are sorry if we are not providing the level of service to which you have become accustomed. Please be assured that we are taking all necessary steps to address this situation.

(Courtesy The Daily What)

Yes, friends, the World Series has returned to San Francisco again for the first time since 2002. I couldn't go to any games that time because I was married to a deadbeat who didn't work and we were pretty much broke. Now I've got a newer, better wife and we're actually going to a game. I don't want to tell you how much I spent to get these tickets because it feels silly but it's more than a 1998 Chevy Astro cargo van with a BLOWN HEAD GASKET. Whatever, it's a once-in-a-lifetime, or maybe once-every-eight-years situation and dammit I deserve to go to one of these games to make up for the Tuesday nights at Candlestick when it was 56 degrees with 40 mph winds and they were 18 games out of first and Steve Scarsone was coming up to bat with the bases empty.

Check this out:

Are the Giants ever going to be favored to win anything? Whatever, being the underdog is better.

(In case you're not familiar with money line bets, the above means that you put down $145 on the Rangers to win $100, and if you put $100 on the Giants you in $125. In other words, the Rangers are favored to win the series.)

WE'LL SEE.

(I realize this post is refreshingly content-free, but it's been a busy few days.)

It's not the end of the world.

Look, it was extremely unlikely that the Giants would win 3 in a row over the Phillies. EXTREMELY. NOBODY PANIC. Let's go back to Philly and take care of business.

Zooey Deschanel singing "God Bless America" has caused me to have a number of feelings, not all of them positive

Zooey Deschanel singing "God Bless America" at yesterday's Giants-Phillies NLCS game:



I have a lot of feelings about this. But first, let's hear from The Sister, via her actual text messages sent to me just minutes after this happened:

Ugh she is horrible

That bitch cant sing. But she pretty.

Here are my thoughts:

1. She's not that bad. Her voice has that wobbly reedy quality that you associate with country singers from the 50's. It's just that, because of (a) Mariah Carey and (b) American Idol, we are now acculturated to expect explosive, trilly diva-wailing instead of just, y'know, singing.

2. The Mehserle boat. In case you're not up on this, some supporter of Johannes Mehserle, the cop who killed a BART passenger on New Year's Eve a couple of years ago, has been sailing a boat in McCovey Cove behind the ballpark with a big "Free Johannes Mehserle" banner. Thanks, I guess, to the American flag on top, they got some good airtime on Fox. A complete discussion of the Mehserle case is beyond the scope of this post.

3. Is Zooey giving up some hipster cred here? I mean, you can't get much more unhip than singing "God Bless America" at an organized sporting event.

4. You hear the announcer say "Please rise and remove your caps blahdeddy blah" before she sings? This is my big peeve with GBA: It's not the National Anthem. Now, I'm as patriotic as the next guy, and before every game, I dutifully rise and put my hand over my heart and then listen to the Willow Glen Eighth Grade Boys Chorus warble their way through the Star-Spangled Banner or whatever and I think it's great. But we only have one National Anthem, and that's it. I don't even like GBA as a song, and I like even less the forced patriotism of being told to treat it like some secret national anthem. I guess this took off after 9/11 and then just stuck, like permanent war and the TSA. Go ahead and call me un-American if you must, but I'm happy with the one national anthem we already have.

5. Do you think Zooey Deschanel has ever been to a professional sporting event before?

Mad Men #13: FMK

Ummmmmmm, OK, how about: Faye, Meghan, and Dr. Rape.

Friends, we are here. We have reached the End of Our Journey and it has been a strange one, what with the Chocolate Bunnies and the slapping and all the trips to California and whatnot. Now I can finally stop taking notes while watching the TV.

Let’s kick things off with Faye over at Don’s place. He’s got a “sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.” Maybe he read the spoilers on Twitter, too! Faye’s the one who should have the sick feeling, speaking of spoilers. OH SNAP.

Don’s taking a meeting with the American Cancer Society. For the first time ever on this show, there’s a meeting where everyone’s not smoking. Looks like ACS has the same offices as the Susan Ross Foundation on “Seinfeld.” Back at the office, Ken won’t play ball and ask his Father in Law to join a foursome. I think they’re talking about golf. God, I hope so.

Did you know that Creeper Glen is played by Matthew Weiner’s son? It’s a good thing Dad runs the show, because that kid cannot fucking act. I mean, I’m sorry and it feels bad to criticize a 12-year-old or however old he is, but it’s really apparent when he does all these scenes with Kiernan Shipka and she’s basically Meryl Streeping his Keanu all over the floor. ANYWAY Creeper Glen shows up at Chez Bets to say goodbye to Sally since they’re moving to Rye and CG says “I say goodbye to people all the time” in his creepy Children of the Corn way and Betty comes home and he is so BUSTED and then she gets mad and fucking FIRES CARLA!?! BITCH! You can’t go around firing Carla! She was cool and plus now the show is whiter than the Brady Bunch.

So Don’s off to Cali again and needs some help with the kids. Maybe Megan wants to come! That’s a good audition for the Mrs. Draper role that’s currently open. As a matter of fact, she does want to come! To California, I mean. Nudge nudge. So off they go and they are in the COOLEST HOTEL ROOM OF ALL TIME and Megan is teaching the kids some weird-ass foreign songs and generally being cool. Meanwhile, Don goes over to visit Stephanie, who looks like she could have just walked out of Pop's. I guess hipsters always look like hipsters. She gives him Anna’s old engagement ring. HMMMM MAYBE FORESHADOWING?????

Back at the hotel, Don’s having a High Life and reading some Le Carre. He goes next door to see Meg. She was told she can never become an actress with teeth like that. She is a little horsey, to be fair. But cute enough! Time to get it on like Donkey Kong. These two. Always with the sexing. Then the next day she’s got the kids at the Super Cool Diner and one of them knocks over a milkshake and Megs is just cool as a cucumber and we’re supposed to think that Betty would be FREAKING OUT and going “FUCK YOU, YOU LITTLE MONSTERS, YOU’RE GETTING MILKSHAKE ON MY BEAUTY” and instead Meg is all “I got this,” and Don’s like “Whoa.”

Hey, what’s this now? Peggy’s drumming up some bidness with Topaz pantyhose! No one’s very excited. I’m not that excited either. “Topaz, it is a brand of pantyhose.” They’re going to have to come up with something catchier than that!

Then we get to the big moment. Don proposes to Megan! “Megan, will you accept this dead chick’s ring? Hopefully whatever she had isn’t contagious.” And she’s all “I don’t know what to say.” It’s fucking Don Draper, figure it out. Later Peggy comes in and she’s like “Are you going to fuck or marry every chick in this office but me?” She’s got a point! Don calls Faye to dump her. I don’t know, man, I think they’ve been on 5 dates and the rule is that you have to dump someone in person if it’s been 5 dates. But she doesn’t want to meet up. Oh well. Bye, Faye!

So Joan’s on the phone with Dr. Very Short Lifespan. I’m kind of amazed he doesn’t get blown up during their conversation. Wait, he knows she’s pregnant? I guess she’s keeping the baby. Honestly, can you ever hear that phrase without “Papa Don’t Preach” popping into your head? Anyway, he’s just as slimy as ever. He’s gonna look good in a casket, though!

I hope next season starts in 1976. I want Don in a leisure suit, hot-tubbing with a couple of stewardesses.

The 5-minute campaign: A proposal

Is everyone else as sick of political ads and campaigning in general as I am? I've got fucking Rafael Mandelman knocking on my door at 10 a.m. on a Sunday which is still Early Time at my house and leaving me mash notes that say "SORRY I MISSED YOU!! LOVE U LOTS!!! XXOO RAFFI" or something like that and every 30 seconds on TV I have to see an ad about Texas oil companies funding Prop Something and Carly Fiorina shipping jobs overseas and GOD SO MANY MEG WHITMAN ADS MAKE IT STOP.

Last Saturday we gave up and put a sign at the bottom of our stairs that said "No Canvassers Please" and you know what? It was SO NICE not having anyone knock on our door and our dog FREAK OUT and lose his shit for one day.

I have an idea for political ads, and here it is. All politicians running for office get ONE, 5-minute ad, and THAT'S IT. You can do whatever you want with your 5 minutes, but you better make it count, because that's all you get. You can gaze meaningfully at the Bright Future or you can spend the whole time talking about what a shitpile your opponent is, but at the end of 5 minutes, YOU ARE FUCKING DONE.

Wouldn't that be nice? Don't give me any First Amendment crap about how this violates free speech either. The First Amendment says "Congress shall make no law . . . abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press," but guess what? The freedom of speech and of the press is abridged all over the place every day. Want proof? Try putting a show called "Fucking Orgies" on ABC during primetime and see what happens. The FCC fined Fox $25,000 for a horse ejaculation joke, so you can guess what would happen to our new show "Fucking Orgies."

ANYWAY. I'll do the Mad Men recap later. I'm in the middle of something here.

It was 20 years ago today

Well, yesterday, actually, but that doesn't sound as good. Anyway, 20 years ago, October 14, 1990, I moved to San Francisco. Tempus fugit! Here's my Personal Creation Myth:

I drove across the country with the chick I was with at the time. The night before we stayed in Reno and we got SCHWASTED at some casino and then I drove back to our hotel. Stupid, I know. So I was hungover like a motherfucker for that Reno-SF drive. But you know how you get that glimpse of the city by Berkeley on I-80 on your way to the Bay Bridge? I was fucking psyched.

Cross the bridge and we're approaching SF and the directions break down because I got them from the woman who runs the building where we're going to be living and she never left North Beach and didn't know that the exit she'd given us had been destroyed in the Loma Prieta earthquake the year before. So we just take the first available exit and pull into a parking lot on Fremont and try to figure out where to go. Thank God it was a Sunday and there was no traffic downtown. I was looking at a map because there are no cell phones or anything. IMAGINE a world without cell phones, kids. Then I speared a mastodon and cooked it over an open flame so we could eat. Not really. I figured out how to get to the building. Here it is:

350 Union Street. Furnished studio, $685 a month. That seemed like a lot.

I don't remember much else except going across the street to the truly awesome (and now, sadly, gone) Speedy's New Union Grocery and buying beer and a Chronicle. I was kind of in a daze and still a little hungover and also fucking on top of the world.

That night we went to Gino and Carlo and also Columbus Cafe, I think. Both of those establishments would go on to receive a large portion of my income over the next few years. Along with the North End Caffe (which is now Church Key), the Lost and Found (which is now Maggie something or other's), Grant & Green (which is still, amazingly, Grant & Green), the hotel-bar-named-but-not-a-hotel-bar Silhouettes (which was, for a while, an Irish bar called The Field and which you can now rent if you're so inclined.)

(Shit, we should totally rent that space! $7850 a month! Let's start a bar! This is the kind of thing I think about on Fridays!)

(I could do a whole post on Bars I Used To Go To That No Longer Exist. Maybe someday, kids!)

(Apropos of nothing, I came across this whilst searching to see if The Field was remembered on the Internet anywhere: "Cultural Factors Related to Smoking in San Francisco's Irish Bars." Fascinating.)

OK, I've gotten pretty far afield of where I started here. Have a good weekend! VAMANOS LOS GIGANTES!

I am troubled by Fox Sports. Here's how.

As you may have heard, the San Francisco Giants have earned the right to advance in the post-season tournament. This is a positive for the team and the city. But wait, even amidst this wonderful development, there is, as there must be, a Dark Note.

[SIDE NOTE: If you're not interested in baseball, feel free to stop reading now. I'm afraid that there will be a lot of baseball-related content herein until the Giants either (a) win the World Series or (b) are eliminated. This could be a while yet. Sorry. One positive note: This post is going to be very snarky, so if you like that, maybe stick around.]

The problem is that the National League Championship Series is on the Fox Network, and while I don't expect stories about how the Giants are forcing socialism on America!!! or Lower taxes for millionaire ballplayers will help you out, Mr. Unemployed Pipefitter!!!, Fox Sports' baseball coverage has two enormous problems. I'll list them below.

1. Joe Buck
2. Tim McCarver

This is the face of annoyance in America today.

The problem with this Duo From Hell is that, together, they are the worst Baseball Announcing Team in recorded history. Joe Buck doesn't really care about baseball and calls the games with all the passion of a man picking up dry cleaning. Meanwhile, Tim McCarver is borderline functionally retarded and points out things like "The pitcher, he's the one that throws the ball," or "He has gotten a hit. Now he can take first base." (For more real-life Tim McC gems, look here.)

Tim McCarver on the Chilean miners: "They were trapped in a mine, but now they are at the surface. This is different from being trapped in a mine. In a mine, you are underground, but at the surface, you are above ground. They are above ground now."

I'm going to try and work out some way of syncing up KNBR's radio coverage with the TV box, but if that doesn't work, I guess I'm fucked. Take it away, Tim! "Now, TK, he's going to keep drinking just to drown out our voices. That's what the drinking's good for. Drinking."

On the very odd case of Alvin Greene

I don't know if you've been following this unbelievably weird Alvin Greene Senate campaign in South Carolina, but the nutshell is that an unemployed, not very articulate guy somehow got on the ballot and won the Democratic primary without campaigning at all and therefore won the right to get annihilated by ornery oddball Jim DeMint in November. The whole thing is deserving of a book of its own which I don't have the time to write, but there's one thing about it that keeps bugging me.

You see, in addition to all the other weirdness, Candidate Greene is currently facing charges of "communicating and disseminating obscene materials," because he apparently showed a female college student some online porn in a computer lab.

Here's what I don't get: IT'S ILLEGAL IN SOUTH CAROLINA TO SHOW PORN TO A COLLEGE STUDENT?!?!! Holy fuck, it's a good thing I didn't go to college in South Carolina.

Seriously, I'm sure it's creepy if there's some guy hanging around the computer lab and he goes "Hey, check this out" and it's some streaming donkey midget porn or whatever, but the appropriate response is to kick the guy out of the computer lab, not charge him with a crime. Jesus. This is going in the "absurd overreaction" file. (And yes, I would say the same if it were the Republican candidate. Republicans just know better. They do their kink in private.)

Mad Men #12: Why I'm Quitting Tobacco. Not personally, I mean.

Man, this whole operation is going down the tubes. Don's trying to scare up some Bean Business with Mr. Heinz, but they won't commit because SCDP might not be around in 6 mos.! That's some bullshit! But he's right about one thing. Pickles are funny.

The business consultant guy or whoever he is who looks like Dr. Bunsen Honeydew says SCDP should stick with what they know: delicious cigarettes. There's gonna be a new brand of Chick Smokes. Are we seeing the birth of Virginia Slims? Awesome.

HEY SWEET CREEPER GLEN IS BACK. He's chatting up Sally while wearing an Arizona Cardinals uniform. They talk a lot about Bets. WONDER WHY. But hey, any excuse to get Creeper Glen back in the mix. Later we see Sally playing Go Fish with Dr. Edna. My shrink never played Go Fish with me! Fuck, for $125 an hour I should have gotten fucking Baccarat. Then later Bets catches Sally hanging out with Glen and Glen bolts even though they're not doing anything. YET, anyway.

Don runs into Midge from the Village. Remember her? She was that boho chick he was banging in season 1 or 2 or thereabouts and smoking The Pot and reading Frank O'Hara and all that jazz. LITERALLY. Anyway, she's looking pretty good but she's on the smack. Let's go over to Midge's for some whiskey and chicken cordon bleu with her creepy-ass husband. She's running some kind of art for sex scheme. DD throws her some money and takes Number 4. Oh, Midge. You've really let yourself go. You know what else is like drinking 100 bottles of whiskey while someone licks your tits? Pride in a job well done! Not really.

Dr. Honeydew comes around again and tells everyone at SCDP there's no cig company business after all. FAIL. Shit is going downhill. Everyone freaks out. Peggy wants to change SCDP's name. They should change it to "BBDO"! Those guys seem to be doing well. They could probably get a ton of business just by accident. Oh wait, even better, how about just "Puppies"? Everyone loves puppies!

Back at Don's pad, he stares at Number 4 for a LONG TIME and then oh shit he's gonna write in the journal and here comes that awful voiceover oh wait no, it's cool, he's writing "Why I'm Quitting Tobacco" and publishing it in the New York Times and basically being a fucking GAME CHANGER and being DISRUPTIVE and all kinds of dot com startup bullshit. Um, the other partners don't like it so much. Bert hates it so much that he's taking his shoes and leaving. That's sad! I'll miss Weird Old Bert. Then that fucking Ted Chaughough calls up and pretends to be Mayor Quimby Robert Kennedy and HA HA HA I hope you get killed by a hippie who writes "KILL THE PIGS" in blood on your wall.

Hey, where did Don get all that damn money? He's walking around with $125 in cash, which is like $7,500 in today's money and he's paying Pete's partnership stake and basically he's just got gobs of fucking cash.

Next week's the season finale. I'm rooting for a "Who shot Ted Chaoughough?" cliffhanger.

Best game I've ever been to, too

No pressure, Tim. Just do what any 26-year-old making his first playoff appearance in front of 43,000 screaming fans would do: strike out 14 fucking batters and pitch a complete game shutout and take the entire City and County of San Francisco onto your wiry, bong-wielding shoulders and basically give the most dominant pitching performance since.....uh, well, I guess since Roy Halladay's no-hitter yesterday. Damn you, Roy Halladay!

Oh, wait, this just in: Lincecum's win last night actually WAS better than Halladay's no-hitter. SUCK ON THAT, ROY HALLADAY!

I think Miss Kate sums it all up:

Holy shit. Best game I’ve ever been to.

Someday the gravity of what I just witnessed Tim Lincecum do will hit me (FOURTEEN STRIKEOUTS!), but until then, I’m just gonna revel in the amount of fun I just had and how proud I am of the San Francisco Giants and us fans.

Torture makes a loud crowd. I have never felt so close to 40,000 people. Pretty sure I high fived about 20,000 of ‘em.

Hey San Francisco: YOU ARE A BASEBALL TOWN. Don’t let anyone tell you different ever again.

Top five best nights of my life. GO GIANTS!!!

Finally, I'm going to address Top Tweets. Well, one in particular.

I kinda feel bad about making fun of the Top Tweets. It's like shooting fish in a barrel and I like to think I have standards. If you read the TTs, you know what I mean. They're a mashup of the most mindless, trite, inane platitudes, Bieber news, bad jokes, stupid quotes, and endlessly repeated memes about how Facebook is for the people you went to high school with and Twitter is for the people you wish you went to high school with and BLAH BLAH BLAH IT'S SO STUPID MY BRAIN JUST FUCKING EXPLODED.

So I resisted writing about it. But I can't take it any more. Here's the one that pushed me over the edge:


This is one of the "Top Tweets" in America right now.

OK, let's unpack this a little. Kirk Franklin is a gospel singer, Christian rapper, and sometime porn addict. Many of the most inane Top Tweets are vaguely religiously-themed, so that makes sense. But this one is just too much.

Let's start at the beginning. Kirk opens his thought with "Late lunch on your boy." WTF? I thought this might be some slang I'm not hip to so I looked up "late lunch" on Urbandictionary.com and the only definition is "When a guy walks past you while you're making a sandwich in the late afternoon and asks, 'Late lunch?', then walks into the toilet and proceeds to take a very loud dump." That doesn't make any sense. And it doesn't seem to have anything to do with this Tweet.

TELL ME, KIRK FRANKLIN, WHAT DOES "LATE LUNCH ON YOUR BOY" MEAN?

Moving on. "You will NEVER out sin-God's grace." I think he meant "out-sin God's grace," unless there's a new God in town and his name is "Sin-God," which would kind of fucking rock. ANYWAY. I guess that means that no matter what kind of depraved, vile, digusting thing you do, God will always forgive. Good news if you're Kirk Franklin! Oh, sorry, Kirk Franklin. That was a low blow.

But seriously, that's gotta be the killer app of Christianity. Fuck up however you want! There are no consequences! God will forgive you for ANYTHING! I think I'd prefer it if God held a grudge sometimes. Might cut down on the general douchebaggery afflicting the world.

"the mistake you made, He saw it before you did it." LITTLE HELP NEXT TIME, GOD. You could say, "WHOA, MR. .23 BLOOD ALCOHOL, TRY TAKING A CAB INSTEAD OF DRIVING" or "DON'T STEP ON THAT LAND MINE!" or "DON'T CRUCIFY THAT GUY, IT WILL CAUSE PERSECUTION FOR MILLENIA." I'm not asking for much here, God.

I have to stop reading these things.

Mad Men #11: Stop me at 3. This is 1.

Only 2 more weeks! Before we get started, stop what you’re doing, get down upon your knees and watch Jon Hamm on “Between Two Ferns.”

OK, we begin at a lesbian beach party or something and Stalker Abe is all crushed up on Pegs and they go back to her place and he’s all “God I love your shoulders” and man, that line works 100% of the time because they’re hitting it.

Meanwhile, Cosgrove and his butchy wife or fiancée or whatever are out to dinner with Leland Palmer. Some advertising douche tells Cos that Lucky Strike bailed and he’s all “O RLY?” and ad douche is like “YA RLY,” and Cos has to go and Leland Palmer looks upset. After some minor interstitial scenes that aren’t worth getting into this leads to an Important Office Meeting with All Our Leads and Roger’s all like “No way, doodz” and he pulls the Old Fake Phone Call and you gotta be shitting me, no one notices? SO FAKE. If Bert Cooper would look up from his tentacle porn, he’d even notice.

Pete keeps coming to the hospital. I think Trudy is either getting some Botox or is about to have a baby. Dad in Law wants Pete to join Ted Chaoughough. Pete’s not too crazy about this idea. Ted sweetens the deal by offering to teach him how to drive! Awww, that’s sweet. Maybe take him to a ballgame and get him some cotton candy and that’ll do the trick.

Here’s the Big Office Meeting we’ve been expecting. Are they going to sing Happy Birthday? No, they’re going to say that everyone’s losing their jobs. No, they’re saying everything’s fine. That’s probably not true. Peggy’s getting back to work on the Playtex account. This will be the dirtiest ad campaign in history. “Playtex keeps your hands soft, so handjobs are better!” No wait, how about “Playtex…for soft, vaginalike hands.” Hmmmm, no, something like that, though. Speaking of the sex, here comes Stalker Abe. He’s posing as a delivery man! Here is your Special Delivery! Of sex in your office!

There’s a whole Roger-Joan thing that lasts all episode and it’s mostly Roger calling up Joan and whining and begging for it. It’s like the 1965 equivalent of a text at 2 a.m. that says “hey wanna fuk lol.” Finally he goes over to her place and she dumps him in person. But does she still have his baby? DUN DUN DUN.

Later, what’s his face sexually harasses Pegs for a while and then doesn’t tell her that she has lipstick on her teeth and she gives the Playtex presentation looking like she’s just been feasting on dead infants. This is a good look for Playtex, though, because they seem to like it. She’s also wearing her cheerleader outfit again which also might help.

Late night meeting with Don and his new Canadian Sexretary. About damn time. That Faye was getting all difficult with her “No, I won’t give you my secret information.” She eventually gives him a hot tip on the vinegar sauce and beans account at Heinz or something. Meanwhile, Sexretary wants to learn what goes on here. What goes on here is sex and drinking. It’s like spring break but with better clothes. She’s an artist from Montreal. Whatever, let’s bang.

Thank You

On Monday, April 5, I watched the Giants season opener in a hotel room in Boston, Massachusetts. Over the following six months, I watched all or parts of a good chunk of 161 more games. It was very stressful. If you follow the Giants, you know what I mean.

They clinched the National League West division title today, the last day of the season. The game perfectly encapsulated the whole season: a stomach-churning nail-biter, from start to finish, a low-scoring pitcher's duel. This time, the G's came out on top.

So thanks, Giants. Even you, Brian Wilson, you nutty fake-beard-having, Affliction-wearing, ulcer-inducing sonofabitch. You guys are awesome.

See you on Thursday.

Arcade Fire left me feeling a little underwhelmed

Is it possible to like a band less after seeing them live? I think that happened to me last night with Arcade Fire.

AF is one of those rare bands that made the jump from indie darling to Major Label Success. The first time they played San Francisco it was maybe 5 years ago at Bottom of the Hill, a smallish club with an even smaller stage and cheap beer. Last night they played at the Greek Theater, which holds like 8,000 people, I think. Good for them; I'm the last person to yell "sellout" just because someone makes it big or sells a song to Honda.

But this success means a very odd crowd, at least for me. I don't know how to put this without sounding like a jackass, but I usually sound like a jackass anyway, so I'll just say it: the crowd was square. I mean, most shows I go to, I am maybe one of the least hip people there. But this crowd last night was straight out of Clean Cut College Kid Monthly. Lots of bros. Backward baseball caps. Volcom. You know what I mean. Compared to this crowd, I was a dangerous, edgy artiste. It freaked me out a little.

Also, I guess this ship has long since sailed, but I will never, for the life of me, understand why people come to shows and then TALK THROUGH THE WHOLE THING. This chick behind me had a pure SCREECH of a voice and blabbered on and on and on about her job to the guy next to her who probably gave less of a shit than I did. Luckily she was mostly drowned out when AF was playing but I could barely hear Calexico, the opener, over her shrieking. Fuck you.

OK, now about this AF thing. I've liked them since "Funeral," the first album back in, what, 2005 or so. But for some reason I've never felt any emotional connection to any of their songs, which is weird, because they write what are pretty much overtly emotional songs, crescendo after crescendo and Win Butler's plaintive yowling and all kinds of lyrics designed to make you hearken back to the gauzy remembrance of your youth. But, for me, anyway, there's not much beneath the surface. I like all the songs a lot, but I've never felt my heart breaking when I listen to them, like it might with "She Sends Kisses" by the Wrens or "Sunday Noises" by Califone or "Come Pick Me Up" by Ryan Adams. You get the idea.

So last night really didn't change that. I mean, they played great and everybody loved them and everything but I was just sitting there waiting for something to happen and it never did. It's not their fault, by any stretch; they were just great (except when the chick was dancing around with ribbons like she was in an interpretative dance MFA program) and played everything just right and everything. I just wasn't feeling it. It just like never spoke to me, man, you dig?

When we got home, we turned on Saturday Night Live, and I have to say: Kanye doing "Runaway" on SNL? That was fucking GREAT.



BRIEF UPDATE:

Arcade Fire's specialty seems to be lighting things up.

Jeff Baker, The Oregonian, Friday, October 1: "Arcade Fire lights up the Memorial Coliseum."

Jim Harrington, Oakland Tribune, Sunday, October 3: "Arcade Fire lights up the night at Greek."

Backstage caterer: "Arcade Fire lights up the spread of chamomille tea and brioche."

The rising epidemic of Oakland animal "super-predators"

Oakland Police are gravely concerned, and justifiably so, about a new terror stalking the streets of the Bay Area's sixth most popular city: marauding attack animals, bent on killing humans for the sheer thrill of it.

We first noticed the trend several months ago, when Oakland Police cornered "Bambizzle," a small deer that was menacing an East Oakland neighborhood. OPD finally cornered the deer and managed to subdue it with seven shots from a .40-cal Glock. Fortunately, they were able to quell the threat before the deer killed again. We may never know the exact number of victims it claimed.

Artist's depiction of "Bambizzle," with suspected companion "T-Thump."

Anyone who thought that was the end of the Animals' War on Oaklanders was wrong, very wrong. Why, just yesterday, Oakland Police bravely brought down "Gloria," an arthritic, 11-year-old yellow Lab, who was obviously threatening their lives. This wild predator is now off the streets of Oakland. Or out of her backyard, whatever.

LET THIS BE A LESSON TO YOU, YOU FUCKING SQUIRRELS: Get anywhere near this picnic blanket and we will open up a fucking WATERFALL OF LEAD on your and your punk-ass companions. SAME FOR YOU, CHIPMUNKS.