Life is like an analogy...

When I just can't take another second of the Seattle Mariners' front office screwing up the team as soon as possible after the season starts (we're 7.5 games out in mid-May), I root for the Tampa Bay Rays.

Yes, you read all of that right. Not only are they not the Devil Rays anymore but they're also not the usual cellar dwellers in the American League East — that would be the Yankees.

And the Rays aren't just "not in the cellar" — as of Monday, May 20th, they're second place in their division, only one game behind Boston. How awesome is that? Let me quantify it for you.

The (Devil) Rays finished the season above last place only once in their entire existence as a Major League Baseball team. In 2004, they finished fourth instead of fifth.

Basically, until this year, the Rays were the quintessential small-market skinny younger brother team whose payroll was less than the luxury tax the Steinbrenners pay for the Yankees so they can go over payroll limits. I know, it's gross.

The Rays are currently 29th out of 30 MLB teams in payroll and yet they're 5.5 games ahead of the Yankees in the standings and they've basically been ahead of the Bronx Bombers (bomb, indeed) all season. The Rays have been over .500 (winning more games than losing for the non-baseball readers) since April 25th, which is the longest period in franchise history. That's right. They've never played .500 baseball for 23 games straight like they're doing right now — not even close, in fact.

Now before anyone points fingers and calls me a hypocrite for jumping on the Rays' bandwagon since they're winning, remember that rooting for the Rays comes with a big caveat:

Their entire existence to this point has consisted solely of suckage. So I felt terrible for them and wanted them to do well (just like I still do with the Royals and the Cubs). Now they don't suck and I'm happy that a struggling, small-market team finally got it together and is playing some amazing baseball.

...Unlike the stupid Mariners.

GO RAYS!


SIDEBAR: And while I agree that a monkey could probably manage the Mariners better than John McLaren at this point, I really don't think the actual problem is with him. He's just a symptom. Case in point: the Mariners fired their manager Bob Melvin after the 2004 season since the team really sucked. Melvin was hired to manage the Arizona Diamondbacks who are now kicking everyone's ass in the National League West. Geez, Bob sure is a crappy manager. Thank God we got rid of him. Oh, hey, guess what: we still suck.

I want to write a letter to the Mariners' front office:

Dear Bill Bavasi and Howard Lincoln,

It's not the manager. It's you.

Love,
Shannon

Labels: baseball, bizarro, crappy, hypothetically, Mariners

I freely admit that American Idol is my very guilty pleasure, partially due to all the snark on Television Without Pity, and probably because both things kept me from being completely and horribly depressed during the year I was living at home and thinking that I couldn't succeed at anything.

SIDEBAR: And now I guarantee you will never again make fun of me for liking it without feeling like you just kicked a litter of kittens.

But after watching the last bit of Season 1 and nearly every single episode of every season since then, I think I'm qualified to say that this is, hands down without a doubt by far, the best moment in American Idol history:







Yes, that's Simon Cowell looking completely petrified, mortified and dumbstruck at the exact same time.

But you will get infinitely more enjoyment out of The Most Awesome WTF Face in Reality Television if you put it in its context: during this performance by a past Idol winner. Yes, you read that right: winner.

Labels: celebrities, college, embarrassment, music, television

I can't sleep (see: the "Screw you, bed. I didn't want to take a three-hour nap today" support group), so I've decided to post major league baseball statistics as relating to the moon. No, seriously:

You have a better chance of orbiting the moon than you do of
1) Pitching a perfect game (no hits, no walks, no hit batsmen)
2) Hitting for the "natural" cycle (single, double, triple, home run in that order in one game)
3) Executing an unassisted triple play (making all three outs in one inning in one play by yourself)

How do I know this?
Because as of today, 26 people have orbited the moon.
17 professional players have pitched perfect games.
14 professional players have hit for the natural cycle.
14 professional players have executed unassisted triple plays.

As Juno would say: "Whoa! Dream big!"

Incidentally, famous spitball pitcher Gaylord Perry has an interesting connection to the moon with regard to his poor hitting. Supposedly someone — either Perry himself or his manager Alvin Dark — said, in the mid 1960s: "They'll put a man on the moon before [Perry] hits a home run."

Funny thing was that the proclamation actually came true — but only by a few minutes. According to snopes.com:

"Gaylord Perry, while playing for the San Francisco Giants, did indeed swat the first home run of his career on 20 July 1969, in the third inning of a day game against the Los Angeles Dodgers at Candlestick Park in San Francisco....Although the exact time of Perry's first homer was not recorded, it came in the bottom of the third inning of a two-hour, twenty-minute game that began at 1:00 PM PDT, so it probably occurred between 1:45 PM and 2:00 PM, which would place it within minutes of Apollo 11's historic touchdown on the lunar surface at 1:40 PM that afternoon."

What still isn't verified is who said the man would be on the moon before Perry hit his home run — or if anyone said it. Snopes.com is unable to verify if that part of the story is accurate but Perry and Dark are still very much alive (and not getting younger any time soon), so you'd think somebody would bother asking them.

I guess I'll start working on that.... But maybe I'll try to sleep first.

Labels: articles, baseball, sleep, technology, the internets, trivia

So we're trying to find a third roommate (looooonnng story as to why the one we had left) and the whole Facebook ad thing to find a student is not working out at all. I don't know how Adam and I managed to stumble across each other last summer because I've gotten responses from six people in the past eight weeks and none of those worked out. Part of the problem may be that the Facebook "Marketplace" doesn't update for three weeks at a time and Facebook keeps saying they'll fix it and it never happens and.....

As a result, I go to Craigslist about seventeen times a day hoping I'll be able to find a warm body with decent credit who doesn't smoke crack, can pay about $625 a month ($575 + utilities) and move in by the end of the month. That's not too much to ask, right?

But apparently, those people don't exist. At least not on the Orange County Craigslist. Nope, Craigslist doesn't have those people but it does have about forty-seven thousand of these people:

$400 — Looking 4 a roomate (Huntington Beach)

Chill 22 yr old looking for a place to live. I prefer something within walking distance to the beach!!!! I can only pay $400 a month including utilities and Id like to have my own bathroom. I do have bad credit but no evictions!!!1!

I have a 40 lb dog named Rusty. He's potty-trained and totally friendly and everyone loves him. Im a single parent so my 3 yr old son stays with me a couple times a week but he's real quiet. I like to have people over on the weekends but I'm very responsable and respectful of other roomies space!!!! I'm clean and totally drama-free!

Plz email if u have something available! I need to move in ASAP. Thanks!!!!! :)


Yeah....
I know beggars can't be choosers but I'd rather have a roommate who wasn't completely delusional — and these Craigslist posters clearly are.

Labels: ads, conundrums, grad school, irritants, parody, stress, the internets

Some rambling thoughts from my tired, procrastinating mind:

• When I went to the bank, I noticed a sign for the bar and grill next door: "Happy Hour: 11 a.m. to 7 p.m." That's not a happy hour...that's a happy day.

• I had to get my blood drawn, as I do every few months for Dr. Neppe.

SIDEBAR: Dr. Neppe and I occasionally have some fun medical adventures. Like the time he glued electrodes to my scalp, attached them to a portable computer and had me wear them for three days straight. Or the other time when he wanted to test my blood sugar over the course of a day so I had to drink one hundred milligrams of sugar water as fast as I could and then have a butterfly needle stuck in my arm for six hours.

At the lab, the "vampire" lady was obviously mad that she had to work on Saturday. So she takes my form and goes through everything and finally comes over to the booth for the blood draw with several labels with my name printed on them to attach to my vials. She sets down the form, looks at it and says, "What's your name?" ...Lady? It's on the form and the computer screen you just looked at and the six labels you just printed out. Bizarre.

• My dad and I were watching the NFL draft and some of the participants really need to re-think their clothing choices. You'd think Commissioner Roger Goodell could be bothered to wear a suit and not just a sport coat. He is, you know, the Commissioner.

Plus, Keyshawn Johnson's outfit is giving me a seizure. Everyone else is wearing navy, gray or black suits while "Key" is rocking an ecru suit with shimmery beige pinstripes, a green picnic-blanket plaid shirt, a bubblegum-pink tie with some...random-colored polka dots and an olive-green pocket square. Addendum: Finally found a screencap of this bad boy of a suit.

I am not making this up. When you show up to work on national television wearing five different colors and patterns which do not, in any way, match each other, it's time for an intervention.

Perhaps ESPN should just issue Keyshawn solid-color Dr. Denton footie pajamas as his uniform.

Labels: ads, alcohol/drugs, celebrities, clothes, football, lists, medical, television

A new blog post was requested and this one has been rolling around in my brain for a few weeks.


After discovering — when I got multiple medical bills totalling over fifteen hundred dollars — that Blue Cross had conveniently directed me to purchase insurance that had absolutely no coverage in any state other than Washington (thanks, BC!), I am currently on the waiting list — hoping to receive coverage in April — for Major Risk Medical Insurance courtesy the State of California.

Yes, that's correct. My prescription medication alone (and literally no other factor than the number of prescriptions I take) has made me a Major Risk not only to the private health insurance companies in California but to the Entire State.

Major Medical Risk to an Entire State at the ripe old age of 27.

This is so, so sad.

And literally the first thing Blue Cross did after asking my age was ask me how many prescriptions I was taking. Five? For what? Depression, anxiety, hypothyroidism and epilepsy.

Sorry, we don't cover that because according to our computer program, you could cost us lots of money. No, no — we don't care about the other health factors. Your medications are excessive enough as it is, young lady (oh, the irony of that phrase!).

I don't have cancer. I don't have diabetes. I'm not a heart attack waiting to happen. I'm 5' 4'' and weigh 120 pounds which is the ideal weight for my height. I'm under 30. I don't smoke nor have I ever. I have approximately two alcoholic drinks per month, if that. I don't use recreational drugs. I don't have unprotected sex. I try to exercise regularly despite a health condition which can hinder doing so. I eat vegetables, fruits, grains, dairy products and protein every day — and a lot of it is organic. I avoid hydrogenated fats, refined sugars and processed food in general — much more than most people in my demographic.

I see a "preferred provider" once every three to four months to have my medication and blood levels checked (since he's "preferred" he gives the insurance companies a deal). I either take over-the-counter medications or see alternative medicine practitioners if I have minor health problems, which means I pretty much pay out-of-pocket for cold remedies, allergy medications, chronic pain treatments, etc. The preferred provider I see regularly monitors six of the eight chronic conditions I have, recommends vitamins (also an out-of-pocket expense) and diet monitoring to manage two of those conditions and prescribes generic medications for two other conditions.

My health isn't the best but, come on — it's not like I'm asking them to cover chemo treatments, kidney dialysis, quadruple bypasses and stomach stapling. I don't have conditions that lead to those procedures (e.g. hypertension, obesity, etc.). I want to keep health care costs down as much as the insurance companies do, so I do what I can to avoid running up my medical bills with unnecessary doctor visits and medical procedures.

But because the drug companies are holding the insurance companies hostage with their prices — and no one appears to be stopping them — 27-year-olds who take multiple prescription medications are a Major Risk to an Entire State.

Why is the health care in this country such a piece of shit?

It's a Catch-22 for many people with chronic conditions because if you're too sick to work full-time, then it's very, very hard to get decent health insurance — which you need because you have chronic conditions.

Unless you are covered by your employer — and a lot of employers have no employee coverage (looking at you, fucking Wal-Mart) or minimal employee coverage — your insurance options are limited at best. You can try for individual coverage. You can try to get on a state program. You can make Jesus your health insurance.

And, sadly, millions of people in this country are making Jesus/God/Allah/Buddha/[deity or lack-thereof of your choice here] their health insurance and hoping they don't get in a major car accident or suddenly develop some malignant tumor or have a child with severe health problems.

Because they can't afford to pay for health costs. Because the drug companies are greedy bastards. Because doctors and medical clinics charge exorbitant amounts for routine appointments. Because it costs $300 (half my month's rent) to simply walk into an emergency room. Because chemotherapy costs $10,000 a day.

Do you have a daily stipend of $10,000 to throw around if you were to develop a cancerous growth that required chemotherapy? No? So…you can't get that treatment. So now what? You have to pay to live and now since you can't afford to live, you die.

Mmm...Darwinism — plus capitalism — at its best.

And here Gee Dubya Bee preaches about how Jebus and Biblical values are what this country needs. Does he not realize that this country's health care system is essentially "survival of the fittest"?

Labels: age, alcohol/drugs, conundrums, crappy, dysfunction, irritants, medical, politics, religion

So Michael Vick is going to prison for almost two years. Yay! And the most he can have shaved off his sentence for good behavior is three months because it's federal prison.

This is excellent news...but there's one thing that really pisses me off.

Vick's lawyer asked for leniency saying that while Vick grew up in a rough neighborhood he was never in trouble with the law and he does charity work.

Yeah, I mean, who cares about the dozens of defenseless dogs he directly and indirectly killed? He donated money to the Boys and Girls Club!

Labels: football, jerks, news, pets

Barry Bonds has announced he will boycott the Cooperstown Major League Baseball Hall of Fame if his "756" (read: 650, going by pre-steroid averages for Bonds) Home Run ball has an asterisk stamped on it.

This boycott includes "skipping his potential induction ceremony," according to the article.

Apparently, Barry didn't get that memo about how the Hall of Fame committee treated Mega-Roid Mark McGwire this past voting session, in McGwire's first year of HOF eligibility. A player needs at least 75 percent of the almost-550 member votes to make it into the Hall.

McGwire received 23.5 percent. And everybody knew why.

In conclusion:

Dear Barry Bonds,
Nice to see you cultivating your reputation as an asshole. Nobody gives a shit if you boycott the Hall of Fame because the Hall of Fame voters are going to boycott you.
Love, Shannon

Labels: baseball, jerks

The Madden Curse is back in full force, as seen here.

We had Vince Young, he with the now-injured quad, on our team but we weren't counting on him to rake in all the points. No, we left that to LaDainian Tomlinson.

Now I know I was bitching a few weeks ago about how awful LT was and how terribly we were losing. But things have come around since then and I certainly can't complain about yesterday's 47 points (including 200 rushing yards and 4 touchdowns) from Mr. Tomlinson alone.

Here's the kicker: In December, I begged, pleaded and hypothesized that Tomlinson would reject Madden's offer to be on the cover of the Madden game — mostly because I knew we would be picking him first in the fantasy football draft nine months later. I even detailed how I thought the conversation would go. And somehow, in the midst of baseball starting up and not living in California at the time, I missed this amazing little tidbit reported six months ago:

"LT turned down Madden game cover."

Well, of course he did. And you read it here first, five months before it happened.


Incidentally, John Madden has now single-handedly marred the careers of eleven professional football players without ever setting foot on a field. Is that a new record? Can we resume putting Madden on the cover of his own game just to celebrate? I think the players have suffered enough....

Labels: articles, football, technology

As many of you know, I have a slight obsession with fantasy sports. I play fantasy baseball online where I subscribe to the theory of trading starting pitchers on a regular, if not daily, basis. I co-manage a fantasy football team with my dad playing against several of his co-workers, including Carla, who named her first son Peyton and is pregnant with Brady (yeah. She and her husband are huge football fans).

So last year in the fantasy football league, we got the #1 pick and drafted Shaun Alexander. Ha. Yeah, that worked out well.

But, wait! It actually did! Because we sucked so much that we ended up in the toilet bowl and won that, meaning we got the #1 pick again this year! Amazing! We weren't stupid this time. We knew we had to avoid the Madden curse, as well as the age/Sports Illustrated/past-their-prime factors.

So, of course, we drafted Michael Vick.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Maybe for the prison league.

Seriously, we did what everyone in America with the #1 pick did: we drafted LaDainian Tomlinson and climbed on our laurels to kick back and watch the fun, while raking in the dough.

Anybody seen what LT has done in his first two games? No. Because he hasn't done anything. He's been stuck spinning his wheels against a Chicago defense (damn you, Urlacher! Hate!) and a Patriot defense (damn you, Tom Brady! I'm going to hold you indirectly responsible!). He ended up throwing for a touchdown against Chicago when Philip Rivers (who we also luckily have!) couldn't get it together.

We've lost the first two games. Each week we've had the lowest scores of anyone, so it wouldn't matter who we played. Sure, the scoring system changed from last year but, as my roommate would say: "Don't blame the field."

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, we're going on two years now. How can you get the #1 pick and then lose so much that you end up in the toilet bowl and get the #1 pick and have the exact same thing happen again?

And don't even get me started on fantasy baseball........

Labels: baseball, crappy, football, irritants, sports

In a shocking turn of events, convicted felon and former Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick has found Jesus.

Sometime between being exposed as a sadistic killer of defenseless dogs and the start of his Pseudo-Apology Tour, which commenced this afternoon, Vick discovered the entity which those who subscribe to the philosophies of the Christianity religion consider the "Forgiver of Sins."

Religious scholars are still speculating on how Vick made this miraculous revelation but some conjecture it may partially relate to the excessive amounts of horse tranquilizers Vick apparently ingested before mumbling his way through a contrived and insincere speech in a press conference outside a Richmond, Va. courthouse this afternoon.

In addition to announcing his discovery, Vick acknowledged his lack of experience in both public speaking and being a decent person. The quarterback also made the wise observation, "[I]t's -- it's important or not important, you know, as far as what you say but how you say things."

Some blame the tranquilizers in the instance where Vick did not appear "ashamed and totally disappointed" in himself while saying exactly that. The quarterback's public relations damage control also included the amusing Freudian slip: "For one second will I sit right here -- not for one second will I sit right here and point the finger and try to blame anybody else for my actions or what I've done."

Vick elaborated two sentences later by saying: "I feel like we all made mistakes." Etymologists suggested Vick review the definition of the word "blame."

After the astounding statement regarding the location of God's Son in Vick's spiritual life, the press conference descended into an incoherent mess of "you know"'s and Vick referring to himself in the third person.

Sports journalists pointed out the Third Person Syndrome is common of many athletes who find themselves trying to justify, minimize and/or defend their obnoxious, selfish and often illegal actions.

It is unknown whether it has occured to the quarterback that Jesus probably doesn't give a shit about forgiving assholes who murder innocent animals in gruesome fashion.

Christ was not available for comment.

Labels: football, jerks, parody, pets

Having read the blurb at the beginning of this article, I decided it was past time for me to make a list or two, subject to change at any time. I give you:

• wet hair
• Snohomish County Executive Aaron Reardon
• the pear tree in my backyard
• latex bandages
• insurance companies who require a prescription for physical therapy
• the country of Myanmar
• text messaging
• L'oréal Infallible makeup
• Ford Motor Company CEOs
• Borders' bookstore employees

• Emmitt Smith
• Barry Bonds
• Medco Mail Order Pharmacies
• people who don't send thank you notes for wedding gifts
• the electrical outlet in my bathroom
• the film License to Wed
• people who announce exactly how many minutes late you are
• Bath and Body Works

You'll notice that a certain felon-to-be does not make this list. He doesn't deserve to reside on the "Dead to Me" list next to License to Wed, Medco and even Barry Fucking Bonds.

Wow.
I hate Barry Bonds less than I hate that sadistic son of a bitch.
To quote Jim Halpert on The Office: "Congratulations, universe. You win."

Labels: baseball, football, irritants, jerks, lists, television

You scored as Jim Halpert, Congratulations, you're Jim! How'd you get to be so awesome? Jim Halpert 78% Toby Flenderson 65% Kelly Kapoor 60% Pam Beesly 48% Karen Fillipelli 48% Creed Bratton 45% Jan Levinson 43% Kevin Malone 40% Michael Scott 40% Ryan Howard 35% Andy Bernard 35% Angela Martin 30% Dwight Schrute 18% Meredith Palmer 13% Dunder Mifflin Personality Quiz created with QuizFarm.com

Labels: celebrities, survey, television, the internets

Vick is done. "Innocent until proven guilty" is strictly a party line in this case and I'm pretty perturbed by commentators who are using it. The general media uses that; commentators are allowed to state their opinions on the morality of the case, as opposed to just the legality.

I read the indictment and the evidence strongly points to Vick's involvement. Whether he was in the thick of it or just knew his relatives were doing it and was apathetic makes no difference to me when it comes to cruelty and torture. I strongly suspect the former. In my mind, being apathetic in a case like this constitutes condoning the behavior and that makes him just as horrible as those who physically engaged in the dogfighting practice All the evidence points to Vick being way more involved than just knowing it was going on. In fact, he (allegedly) was one of the leaders in this operation.

Anyone who says it's "just dogs" needs to think about how it would feel to have his or her two-year-old child killed by someone smashing in the child's skull or electrocuting the child. That's what these horrific excuses for human beings are doing when they kill a dog — brutally killing a defenseless living thing for their own sick pleasure.

A two-year-old child understands pain and will try to stop it but doesn't stand a chance against an adult, let alone a group of adults. A dog can briefly try to stop the pain but with a group of 200-pound men fighting against it, the dog doesn't stand a chance. And if the dog is attacked to be killed before realizing what's going on, it doesn't stand a chance either.

And then, of course, there are the people who will make the Vick indictment about race. I honestly think they're subscribing to a misplaced "victim" mentality. Prejudice still exists and it is awful — but Vick's indictment has absolutely nothing to do with race. If Peyton Manning was indicted for dogfighting, I'd call him a sick, sadistic asshole too and hope that he would rot in jail. I don't care who's perpetuating dogfighting -- I just want him or her locked up forever.

Ultimately, I think Vick is in jail in less than a year. The feds have a 95% conviction rate and the evidence alleges heavy involvement and severe brutality.

So long, Michael. If you're convicted, and it sure seems like you will be, then you deserve everything you get in jail and in society because you are one sick fuck.

Labels: football, jerks, news, pain

But that doesn't mean I don't eat at Applebee's.

Anyway, Tony tagged me and said I had to write about one of two things. So I picked the easier/survey-type thing: My five favorite restaurants.

1) 13 Coins: In Seattle, this place is open 24 hours (which makes it awesome) but is about 2,000 steps up from Denny's (one of the few other 24-hour places). They offer everything from amazing steak to outstanding pasta, a huge wine list and a heavenly crème brulée as one of their insanely good desserts.

2) Old European Waffles Cakes and Teas: The original is in Pullman and is packed on weekends for hangover-erasing breakfast. Everything on their menu is pretty much to die for. Amongst my friends at WSU, Hungarian goulash and aebelskivers are huge favorites. I am in love with the strawberry crèpes. They don't have a website and one day, after an hour-long search, I tracked down a link to a PDF of their menu...but I can't find the link. I wish I could because then you too could marvel at the deliciousness of it all.

3) In-N-Out Burger: I am so sad this restaurant will not come to Washington. Why? Why must we be stuck with shitty McDonald's and only-slightly-less-shitty Burger King? In-N-Out has five menu items: double-double cheeseburger, cheeseburger, hamburger, fries and drinks (mostly shakes). That's it. The reason they have only five is so they can make everything taste really, really, really good by making it by hand in the restaurant. No freezers, no microwaves, no prepackaged crap. In making french fries, they hand-slice potatoes like ten feet away from the cash register. The first time I ate there with my family while we were in California on vacation, my dad stared at his burger and was like, "This is amazing." My mom kept hogging the fries, saying, "These are the best french fries I have ever tasted." It's that good.

4) Wildflower: This was outside of Tucson, Arizona, when we were staying there en route to the Sun Bowl game at University of Texas-El Paso. I went with my dad, mom, aunt Monica and uncle Don. Six years later, I don't remember every detail about the meal but I do remember that I had this kickass meatloaf (who ever thought those words would go together?) and I think we got the brie/baguette appetizer dealie and then they had some killer mudpie chocolate concoction for dessert. And then we didn't eat for a day and a half having gorged ourselves on their amazing food.

5) Applebee's: I like a lot of their stuff but I usually order the house sirloin so I can get the garlic mashed potatoes. The sirloin is always followed by the pièce de résistance—and what should be Applebee's râison d'être—the Triple Chocolate Meltdown dessert. Or as I like to call it: the "Triple Chocolate Sticky Pie of Death."

Honorable Mention: Red Robin, for their pretty sweet bacon cheeseburgers and excellent Bailey's Shakes.


And now I'm starving and craving Old European crèpes. Thanks a lot, Tony.

Labels: food, friends, lists, survey