A post-sweep thought

From the April 2 edition of the Ionian, my side of an "Issue of the Issue" debate about which New York baseball team would be better in '09, arguing for the Yankees:

"...You see, in truth, I don’t know all that much about Major League Baseball. I’d describe myself as a “casual fan” at best. I catch a game or two when I can, but I don’t comprehend all the nuances of what I’m watching, nor do I have any grasp on the strengths and weaknesses of individual players or teams as a whole. The only sport I can analyze on that level is basketball. But I do understand the Yankees, specifically, on a metaphysical level.

I’ll never forget the first time I walked into Yankee Stadium while on a summer trip through my high school to the City That Never Sleeps. Chills ran through me as I felt this indescribable but oh-so-real sense of horror and dread. As Red Sox owner John Henry would perhaps have described it, I was just feeling the effects of arriving at the epicenter of the Evil Empire.

The New York Yankees are an entity fueled by all things bad and unholy. And over the course of this offseason, the Yanks fueled up mightily. Between a shameless spending spree by Brian Cashman that could even make a Sox fan blush without fear of hypocrisy and, of course, all of A-Rod’s varied shenanigans, the Yankees might be more genuinely unlikeable than ever before.

Which is exactly why they’ll succeed.

The Bronx Bombers will succeed, to some degree or another, because that’s how these things work. A Yankees club this reprehensible isn’t wasted on the ages by not making the playoffs. But we’ll be rooting against them every step of the way, and we’ll have to root hard..."

October = Return of the Jedi???

Blech.

When I make trips to the grocery store, I've been known to deviate from the shopping list a little and make an impulse purchase from time to time.

Last night at Stop & Shop, my impulse purchase of choice was some Garelick Farms Ultimate Chocolate Lowfat Milk. Which, on the surface, was a solid impulse choice if there ever was one.

I got home from Stop & Shop. I unloaded the groceries from the car. I ate dinner.

After dinner, I decided to indulge. So I twisted the plastic seal off the gallon jug, popped off the cap and poured myself some chocolate milk.

The first sip was atrociously sour.

It didn't occur to me that the milk might be spoiled. What did occur to me instead was that I was drinking from the same glass I had used while eating dinner. Apparently, I thought, some trace amounts of lemonade had mixed in with the milk. Gross. So I dumped the contaminated milk, rinsed out my glass and refilled.

Again, one sip made me recoil in disgust like those babies eating lemons on YouTube (isn't that the weirdest viral video genre ever, by the way?).

This time, I suspected something might be up with the milk itself. Call me Nancy Drew. But instead of sniffing it like a normal person, I took yet another sip - this time straight from the jug, just to ensure that my possibly-still-lemonadey glass wasn't the source of the problem.

It wasn't.

I told my mom I thought I might've somehow bought spoiled milk. She told me to check the expiration date. I did, and it was still two days away. My mom said that she's usually wary of buying milk that close to expiring and to just get rid of it if it didn't taste right.

Alright.

But I hesitated. I debated with myself for a minute. I didn't want to dispose of a whole gallon of perfectly good Ultimate Chocolate Lowfat Milk. Was it really spoiled, or was it just in my head? I wanted, again, to blame the lemonade. I had it in for the lemonade. Maybe it wasn't the glass, but maybe the taste of lemonade was still in my mouth, and the milk just seemed sour as a consequence. But I pushed aside these nagging doubts, grabbed the jug and began to pour its contents into the kitchen sink.

Remorse over my possible wastefulness kicked in as soon as the milk began swirling down the drain - until it stopped swirling about two thirds of the way through the gallon, as the milk started pouring in a thick, lumpy sludge. I gagged.

That milk was Bad with a capital "B."

Blech.

Relaunch x2!

More breaking news:

The short-lived experiment that was Inside the Mind of the Editor-in-Chief (at right) is now officially over in favor of the return of D Tram's Awesome Blog.

I'm excited. You should be too, I think.

How to improve SGA elections: thoughts?

In the April 2 Ionian, we ran the following editorial...

Alexander Wickers won the race for the presidency of the Iona College Student Government Association handily. Facing three other extremely worthy candidates, each of whom ran impressive campaigns, Wickers still managed to haul in 237 votes – a full 60 votes more than the closest runner-up, Jesse Ladoue.

But, according to protocol established in the SGA constitution, that margin wasn’t enough. The constitution clearly states that “If no candidate receives 51 percent of the votes, the top two shall be voted on again by the outgoing SGA legislature.”

This singular clause made the SGA elections of 2009 far more complicated than they ever needed to be – so much so that, when her fellow SGA e-board members presented Executive Vice President Ashley Smith with flowers in front of the legislature for her hard work in organizing the elections upon their completion, one had to wonder if a more meaningful gift would have been a simple motion to amend that clumsy, ill-conceived line instead.

First and foremost, it is unnecessary to mandate that an SGA official be elected by a true majority. In years when a position is hotly contested by more than two candidates – like the presidency this year – it would be useful if the constitution acknowledged that a victory as substantial as that of Wickers is, in fact, a clear victory. What, then, a more reasonable requirement for margin of victory might be is certainly up for debate, but insisting on hitting the 51 percent mark at all times seems excessive.

Perhaps more importantly, however, the notion that the vote for an SGA president would eventually fall into the hands of the SGA legislature under any circumstances whatsoever seems strange at best, and utterly ridiculous at worst. What, after all, is the SGA legislature?

The SGA legislature consists mostly of the presidents of all clubs and organizations on campus, as well as a handful of class senators. It’s easy to note that turning to the members of the legislature to vote for a student body president disenfranchises those members of the student body who aren’t involved in on-campus clubs and organizations – but it’s even messier than that. The SGA legislature is not proportionately representative of any segment of the student body, those involved or otherwise. Shifting an election from an open, popular vote over to the legislature disenfranchises everyone, in a sense.

If it is determined that a proper margin of victory has not been attained in an SGA election, a second election must once again include the entire student population – regardless of whether a Nuts & Bolts conference is rapidly approaching or not. Democracy can’t be sacrificed for expediency.

The current SGA constitution was approved by the legislature just last year; the Ionian voted in its favor at the time. The clause in question was clearly overlooked by many. But the magic of our SGA constitution, much like our nation’s, is that it is malleable; we can amend it. And we should.

Assuming no one beats us to it, the Ionian will introduce a motion to amend the constitution’s peculiar stipulations about e-board elections at the April 16 SGA meeting - the first meeting after the college closes for Easter.

...But today's April 16, and, unfortunately, we're not ready to introduce anything. I'd always wanted to solicit lots of different people for thoughts on this issue before putting together an actual amendment, and I haven't yet so... A (figurative) penny for your thoughts?

Then we can put something together to propose on April 23. For realsies this time.

Vol. 80, No. 5

A few random thoughts on the new issue...

-Really enjoyed Jamie's lead story on Metro-North fare hikes. Which I don't enjoy, by the way. Boo. But it was a good idea to cover that on Jamie's part; it's definitely going to affect people.

-Also a big fan of the latest "Jamie Burns is Burning," although the premise - that Jamie might delete her Facebook profile upon graduation - disturbs me. Can't happen. How would I stalk her then?

-Thought the A&E profile on Alex Bishop was cool. Always interesting to learn about Iona students doing their thing.

-Opposite feelings about my article on the new statue on page 2. I screwed that one up and easily could have added a few different things to that space instead of stretching out what I came up with.

-The top, right teaser on the front page says baseball is covered on page 14; it's actually on the back page (page 16). I'm responsible for those teasers. These things keep me up at night!

-Third and last really self-centered observation: I think I might've been on crack when I wrote my side of the "Issue of the Issue" debate. Or I might as well have been. I wonder if any Yankees fans will read it and actually be offended.

-Nice looking layout in Sports.

-Nice first column from Dan. And a fantastic column name, as well: "Pino's Pulpit." I really enjoy Ionian column names. My all-time favorite? Hugo's "Best O' Crespo." My all-time favorite that never happened? "McIntyre's McNuggets of Wisdom," followed by "The K-Mac Attack." Kathy wasn't a big fan of either, so we ended up with "McIntyre's Motions" instead. Which isn't bad, but vastly inferior.

...Your thoughts?

Relaunch!

Breaking news:

After a long hiatus, D Tram's Awesome Blog (at right) is back in the form of Inside the Mind of the Editor-in-Chief!

It's now 50 percent more pretentious!

(But just as hilarious as ever.)

What a difference alittleoverhalfayear makes

Group Info
Name: 38.7%
Type: Sports & Recreation - Professional Sports
Description: They call it the lottery for a reason.

So what now?

We could trade the pick and at least one of our young guys for veterans to try to help Paul out... Or we could trade Paul... Or we could just pick up one of the Florida guys or the Chinese kid and piss Paul off completely...

Choices, choices, choices!

This group is about more than just missing out on the 38.7% chance we had of landing Greg Oden or Kevin Durant. It's a group for the young generation of Boston Celtics fans who missed out completely on the glory years for the organization.

We've all heard the Celtics used to be real good and all that, but we sure wouldn't know firsthand! The fifth pick is just another chapter in the overwhelmingly pathetic story of the past twenty years.

We've seen the Pats win three Super Bowls, and we've even seen the Sox win the World Series - but we've never seen the C's put up a single banner.

Boo.

(Dino Radja was alright, though.)

Contact Info
Office: The FleetJungleGarden
City: Boston, MA

Recent News
Ping pong balls are evil.

...

That, of course, was a FaceBook group I created late last May following the NBA Draft Lottery. And after the Celtics upped their record to a gaudy 29-3 last night by going into Detroit and beating the white-hot Pistons on their home turf, it felt like a good time to look back at this and think about how much things have changed over the past several months - and how improbable such change appeared to be at one point.

Change is good! Change is possible! Vote for Obama!

Rudolph revisited

First of all... Yes, I did take the time to paste a Santa hat on the picture to the right - in "Paint," no less. You're welcome. Now...

Forget the condescending "all-his-songs-sound-the-same" h8ers. Jack Johnson (new album, "Sleep Through the Static," coming out in February... Oh boy!) is, in fact, The Man. For proof to that end, check out the lyrics to his cover of "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer" from a few years back. His original additions to the traditional song are in italics at the end:

Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer,
Had a very shiny nose.
And if you ever saw it,
You might even say it glows.
All of the other reindeer,
Used to laugh and call him names.
They never let poor Rudolph,
Join in any reindeer games.
Then one foggy Christmas Eve,
Santa, he came to say,
"Rudolph, with your nose so bright,
Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?"
Then how the reindeers loved him,
As they shouted out with glee,
"Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer,
You'll go down in history!"
But Rudolph, he didn't go for that.
He said, "I see through your silly games."
How could you look me in the face,
When only yesterday you called me names?
Well, all of the other reindeers man,
Well they sure did feel ashamed.
"Rudolph, you know we're sorry.
We're truly gonna try to change."

Good stuff, right? You can listen to the track on YouTube here, posted - I think - by a German-speaker. That looks like German to me, anyways, I dunno.

Merry Christmas, everyone/anyone who reads this!

A really great idea.

During my freshman year at Iona College, blessed with relatively simple classes and not yet involved with the Ionian, I played basketball 3 or 4 times a week. Less often, but still on a semi-regular basis, I'd run on the treadmill conveniently located in the basement of my dorm.

In doing these things, I effectively avoided the dreaded freshman 15 - and actually dropped a few pounds from move-in day in late August to the last day of finals in May.

The subsequent year-and-a-half, however, have been... a little different, and I've decided that this winter break is the time for me to start getting back into shape - or something vaguely resembling it, anyways.

Faced with this task, and observing lately how my sister now frequents a local gym, I've been reminded of an idea that I've had for quite some time. And it needed to be unleashed into the blogosphere, so here it is.

Remember the Discovery Zone? You probably do. I don't think anyone could have forgotten the ridiculously catchy jingle from their old commercials, at the very least. But back in the day, DZ was - to state it plainly - the best place ever. Every moment spent in DZ's hulking maze of tunnels, slides, nets, ball pits, moonwalks, etc., was a moment of pure, unfiltered joy.

My parents took some home video of one birthday party I had at DZ. And aside from the obligatory footage of me blowing out the candles on my cake, there's a brief glimpse of my friends and I breathlessly darting back and forth throughout the aforementioned maze, huge grins plastered on our faces the whole time. Watching, you realize that - not only were we having a blast - we were getting a pretty good workout, too.

Question: Would that kind of a workout still be that fun, post-childhood? My answer: Yes. And my idea that logically follows: Someone needs to open up something like the old Discovery Zones - but this time, for adults.

No, time passed at a "DZ4A" (as I'd call it, assuming copyright/trademark legality) wouldn't provide the structured kind of exercise possible at a more traditional health club. But for those of us not too concerned with targeting specific muscles using specialized machines and things of that nature, it would be - to state it plainly - the best place ever.

Meditating on Manny

Here's my latest Ionian column (coming out tomorrow!) since I haven't had any new posts for quite some time. Click here to see the whole paper online...

Oct. 21 was – by any standard – a pretty good day in Boston sports history.

On the gridiron, South Florida’s loss to Rutgers the previous Thursday allowed the unbeaten Boston College Eagles to slide into second place in the BCS standings, and Tom Brady threw a team-record six touchdown passes as the New England Patriots continued an unbeaten season of their own, trouncing the Miami Dolphins by a final score of 49-28.

Overshadowing these accomplishments, however, were those of the beloved Boston Red Sox. As the day came to a close, the Sox were putting the finishing touches on a dramatic Game 7 win over the Cleveland Indians, capping off an improbable comeback in the AL championship series and punching their ticket to this year’s Fall Classic (sound familiar, Yankee fans?).

And there he was, right at the center of the on-field celebration at Fenway Park: Manny Ramirez. His long braids flailing wildly behind him, Ramirez – who had bounced back from a sub-par regular season to become Boston’s most consistent threat at the plate in the playoffs – leaped gleefully into the arms of teammates Jonathan Papelbon and Jason Varitek. It was hard to believe that, just days earlier, the man was being scrutinized about his will to win.

“It doesn’t happen, so who cares?” was the damning question Ramirez had posed with his team trailing three games to one. “There’s always next year. It’s not like it’s the end of the world or something.”

An Associated Press story forebodingly taunted Ramirez, “Try telling that to all those people in New England.” Well, on behalf of “all those people in New England,” I think everything turned out just fine.

We all know Manny Ramirez likes to stay loose. He never loses sight of the fact that – despite the extreme fervor of Red Sox Nation – baseball is still just a game. Sometimes Ramirez’s attitude rubs fans the wrong way, but should we really want him to change? Consider the other end of the spectrum, as personified by Beantown’s newest star, Boston Celtic Kevin Garnett.

Upon Garnett’s arrival in town this summer, Boston Globe columnist Jackie MacMullan gushed that KG “plays hard, plays long and plays with an intensity that has been sorely lacking around here,” adding, “He desperately wants to win.”

There is a famous interview Garnett gave on TNT during All-Star weekend in 2004-05. John Thompson spoke of various aches and pains Garnett was playing through at the time, and asked, “What’s driving you?”

“That I’m losing,” Garnett replied, his voice trembling. “That I’m losing. (A pause.) I’m losing. (Another, longer pause.) I’m losing.” The big man failed to contain his emotions from there, explaining that he was crying “tears of pain,” and that “this (expletive deleted) is killing me.”

“I hate that I’m like this in front of you right now, man,” Garnett confessed to Thompson, who quickly replied that he respected Garnett, calling his waterworks “refreshing” and “a sign of strength” rather than “a sign of weakness.” My take: How about a sign for concern? I love KG, but when ESPN.com columnist Bill Simmons regularly joked about the inevitability of him one day turning homicidal on his teammates – and it didn’t seem particularly farfetched – perhaps he’d ratcheted up the intensity a bit too high.

Meanwhile, the facts are these: Garnett has made it past the first round of the NBA playoffs once in his career, while Manny was the 2004 World Series MVP, and, now, three years later, might have a crack at it again.

In the final analysis, in a world of robberies, burglaries and staph infections, is a pro athlete who sees the big picture in life the worst thing to be?

Six years later

Below are a couple of pretty well-known articles that I thought were definitely worth revisiting on the six-year anniversary of 9/11...

"Make it Green"
By Roger Ebert
September 14, 2001

If there is to be a memorial, let it not be of stone and steel. Fly no flag above it, for it is not the possession of a nation but a sorrow shared with the world.

Let it be a green field, with trees and flowers. Let there be paths that wind through the shade. Put out park benches where old people can sun in the summertime, and a pond where children can skate in the winter.

Beneath this field will lie entombed forever some of the victims of September 11. It is not where they thought to end their lives. Like the sailors of the battleship Arizona, they rest where they fell.

Let this field stretch from one end of the destruction to the other. Let this open space among the towers mark the emptiness in our hearts. But do not make it a sad place. Give it no name. Let people think of it as the green field. Every living thing that is planted there will show faith in the future.

Let students take a corner of the field and plant a crop there. Perhaps corn, our native grain. Let the harvest be shared all over the world, with friends and enemies, because that is the teaching of our religions, and we must show that we practice them. Let the harvest show that life prevails over death, and let the gifts show that we love our neighbors.

Do not build again on this place. No building can stand there. No building, no statue, no column, no arch, no symbol, no name, no date, no statement. Just the comfort of the earth we share, to remind us that we share it.

"God Angrily Clarifies 'Don't Kill' Rule"
From the Onion
September 26, 2001

NEW YORK—Responding to recent events on Earth, God, the omniscient creator-deity worshipped by billions of followers of various faiths for more than 6,000 years, angrily clarified His longtime stance against humans killing each other Monday.

"Look, I don't know, maybe I haven't made myself completely clear, so for the record, here it is again," said the Lord, His divine face betraying visible emotion during a press conference near the site of the fallen Twin Towers. "Somehow, people keep coming up with the idea that I want them to kill their neighbor. Well, I don't. And to be honest, I'm really getting sick and tired of it. Get it straight. Not only do I not want anybody to kill anyone, but I specifically commanded you not to, in really simple terms that anybody ought to be able to understand."

Worshipped by Christians, Jews, and Muslims alike, God said His name has been invoked countless times over the centuries as a reason to kill in what He called "an unending cycle of violence."

"I don't care how holy somebody claims to be," God said. "If a person tells you it's My will that they kill someone, they're wrong. Got it? I don't care what religion you are, or who you think your enemy is, here it is one more time: No killing, in My name or anyone else's, ever again."

The press conference came as a surprise to humankind, as God rarely intervenes in earthly affairs. As a matter of longstanding policy, He has traditionally left the task of interpreting His message and divine will to clerics, rabbis, priests, imams, and Biblical scholars. Theologians and laymen alike have been given the task of pondering His ineffable mysteries, deciding for themselves what to do as a matter of faith. His decision to manifest on the material plane was motivated by the deep sense of shock, outrage, and sorrow He felt over the Sept. 11 violence carried out in His name, and over its dire potential ramifications around the globe.

"I tried to put it in the simplest possible terms for you people, so you'd get it straight, because I thought it was pretty important," said God, called Yahweh and Allah respectively in the Judaic and Muslim traditions. "I guess I figured I'd left no real room for confusion after putting it in a four-word sentence with one-syllable words, on the tablets I gave to Moses. How much more clear can I get?"

"But somehow, it all gets twisted around and, next thing you know, somebody's spouting off some nonsense about, 'God says I have to kill this guy, God wants me to kill that guy, it's God's will,'" God continued. "It's not God's will, all right? News flash: 'God's will' equals 'Don't murder people.'"

Worse yet, many of the worst violators claim that their actions are justified by passages in the Bible, Torah, and Qur'an.

"To be honest, there's some contradictory stuff in there, okay?" God said. "So I can see how it could be pretty misleading. I admit it—My bad. I did My best to inspire them, but a lot of imperfect human agents have misinterpreted My message over the millennia. Frankly, much of the material that got in there is dogmatic, doctrinal bullshit. I turn My head for a second and, suddenly, all this stuff about homosexuality gets into Leviticus, and everybody thinks it's God's will to kill gays. It absolutely drives Me up the wall."

God praised the overwhelming majority of His Muslim followers as "wonderful, pious people," calling the perpetrators of the Sept. 11 attacks rare exceptions.

"This whole medieval concept of the jihad, or holy war, had all but vanished from the Muslim world in, like, the 10th century, and with good reason," God said. "There's no such thing as a holy war, only unholy ones. The vast majority of Muslims in this world reject the murderous actions of these radical extremists, just like the vast majority of Christians in America are pissed off over those two bigots on The 700 Club."

Continued God, "Read the book: 'Allah is kind, Allah is beautiful, Allah is merciful.' It goes on and on that way, page after page. But, no, some assholes have to come along and revive this stupid holy-war crap just to further their own hateful agenda. So now, everybody thinks Muslims are all murderous barbarians. Thanks, Taliban: 1,000 years of pan-Islamic cultural progress down the drain."

God stressed that His remarks were not directed exclusively at Islamic extremists, but rather at anyone whose ideological zealotry overrides his or her ability to comprehend the core message of all world religions.

"I don't care what faith you are, everybody's been making this same mistake since the dawn of time," God said. "The Muslims massacre the Hindus, the Hindus massacre the Muslims. The Buddhists, everybody massacres the Buddhists. The Jews, don't even get me started on the hardline, right-wing, Meir Kahane-loving Israeli nationalists, man. And the Christians? You people believe in a Messiah who says, 'Turn the other cheek,' but you've been killing everybody you can get your hands on since the Crusades."

Growing increasingly wrathful, God continued: "Can't you people see? What are you, morons? There are a ton of different religious traditions out there, and different cultures worship Me in different ways. But the basic message is always the same: Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism, Shintoism... every religious belief system under the sun, they all say you're supposed to love your neighbors, folks! It's not that hard a concept to grasp."

"Why would you think I'd want anything else? Humans don't need religion or God as an excuse to kill each other—you've been doing that without any help from Me since you were freaking apes!" God said. "The whole point of believing in God is to have a higher standard of behavior. How obvious can you get?"

"I'm talking to all of you, here!" continued God, His voice rising to a shout. "Do you hear Me? I don't want you to kill anybody. I'm against it, across the board. How many times do I have to say it? Don't kill each other anymore—ever! I'm fucking serious!"

Upon completing His outburst, God fell silent, standing quietly at the podium for several moments. Then, witnesses reported, God's shoulders began to shake, and He wept.

The greatest text msg exchange ever.

(From last night around 11:00)

Some number I don't recognize: "R u awake?"

Me: "Im awake. Who are u?"

"Man of your dreams"

"Its charlie rose?"

"No new player"

"Seriously who are u? I think u have the wrong #"

...The end, and you're welcome.

Exclusive sneak preview!!

The following is the unedited version of my first Ionian column of the semester. The issue hits newstands worldwide (but mostly on Iona's campus) tomorrow...

It was the last, precious Friday before I came back to New Rochelle for the start of the semester, and a couple of my friends from home and I did what we so often do on clear, beautiful, summer nights: we blew $10 each to sit inside and watch a movie.

There I was, comfortably slumped in my heavily-cushioned seat, mindlessly enjoying the hodgepodge of advertisements and Hollywood trivia that come before the previews. Then, one of my buddies, looking around the small, packed theatre, observed that we were quite possibly the oldest people in attendance. I scoped out the crowd myself, nodded in agreement, and quickly returned my attention to the big screen, waiting impatiently for the feature presentation, Superbad, to begin.

As I expected, Superbad was extremely funny, the rare breed of movie that elicited such intense laughter from the audience that, at various points throughout its 114 minute runtime, the film’s dialogue became temporarily inaudible, drowned in a sea of incontrollable guffaws. So I liked Superbad, and I knew that I would. After all, any movie produced by Judd Apatow (of 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up fame) and starring Michael Cera (immortalized in the role of George Michael on the short-lived Fox series Arrested Development) was easily pegged as a can’t-miss sure-thing in my book, going in. But by the time the show ended, the credits started rolling, and the lights brightened, I felt something else on top of that simple, sweet satisfaction of a summer night – and a crisp, clean Alexander Hamilton – well-spent. As much as I don’t want to overstate it, Superbad left me feeling just a little bit queasy, as well.

I only turned 20 years old this past March, so I know that it’s strange for me to say that Superbad left me worried about the impact it might have had on the formative minds of teenagers watching. But it did. And as I walked up the aisle and out the exit of the Dedham Showcase Cinema that night among a flock of high school-aged guys and girls – half of whom undoubtedly had to purchase tickets to the G-rated Mr. Bean’s Holiday, for example, before sneaking into Superbad – I tried and failed to shake that angst that I felt.

What was the source of my angst, you may wonder? Those of you reading along who’ve seen Superbad might be mulling over the possibilities.

Was I shaken by the script’s total saturation with crude language, particularly the constant repetition of a certain four-letter word that begins with an “f” and rhymes with “hockey puck”? No, I’m really not the type of person to get worked up over some cursing – or a truckload of cursing, for that matter.

Did I fail to connect with the movie’s barrage of extreme bathroom jokes and slapstick humor? No, some of my hardest laughs of the night came during Superbad’s most outrageous shock-value moments or during the especially ridiculous physical comedy sequences.

Was I, then, bothered by the fact that the whole story revolved around teenagers angling to have sex by scoring booze for a party fueled by underage binge drinking? No, this basic plotline wasn’t it, either – although alcohol was a part of it.

It should be noted that one of the most often-repeated sentiments praising Judd Apatow’s movies has been an expression of admiration for his ability to create characters who struggle, as Nathan Rabin of the Onion A.V. Club has written, between “the pleasures of eternal adolescence and the relentless pull of adult responsibility,” producing an overall “big-hearted” feeling to his work.

Superbad, for the most part, follows this formula. We watch high school seniors and best friends Seth and Evan – Evan, especially – grow up and mature, ever so slightly, over the course of the film. The aforementioned issues of an all-consuming hormonal sex drive and excessive consumption of alcohol are confronted in the course of this maturation and, therefore, presented with a subtle but important and appropriate level of complexity. Driving drunk, on the other hand, is a virtual constant throughout Superbad, with two sloshed cop characters behind the wheel of a cruiser for the better part of the movie, and this fact simply isn’t approached with any sense of moral complexity or caution at all.

Have you ever seen any national statistics on drunk driving? Of course you have, but I’ll list the big one here, anyways. In 2006, 17,602 persons were killed in alcohol-related accidents. Have you ever nevertheless heard anyone rationalize the legitimacy of driving after having drank? Unfortunately, you probably have. I know I have.

I’m not the type of person who obsesses over the impact of movie content on the youth of America. For example, I won’t divulge here the sort of maneuvers I was tempted to pull driving home in my mom’s Ford Taurus after having seen the Bourne Ultimatum, also this summer – but, plain and simple, I knew better. With a proper upbringing, so would anyone else. Still, we have to acknowledge the desensitizing effect movies can have, and, for a movie that was clearly geared largely towards the high school demographic – regardless of its R-rating – the casual depiction of drunk driving in Superbad was at best an unfortunate oversight, and at worst, reckless.

How I scooped the A.P. (by 2+ years)

I came across an Associated Press story the other day which discussed how police are increasingly overwhelmed by "suspicious item reports," many of which "can seem silly in hindsight."

The article provided the eye-catching statistic that, in New York, the number of such reports has jumped from 814 in 2002 (the first year for which a total was recorded) to 37,614 last year. And, of course, the article also made an obligatory mention of the infamous Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Lite-Brite crisis in my own Boston back in January.

Essentially, the article seems to have been written as an exploration of the post-9/11 world and the drawbacks of a culture often shaped largely by fear. It makes mention of the New York Metropolitan Transportation Authority's "If You See Something, Say Something" campaign, and seems to grapple with the positive and negative results of such campaigns, in general.

Well, faithful readers, you should know that I just so happen to have beat A.P. reporter Mr. Brian Westley to the punch on this issue. Here's a look into the archives of my high school newspaper, the venerable Knight Insight, for proof to that end. Enjoy...

"Fear Factor"
March 11, 2005

Something decidedly creepy – or annoying, at the very least – has been taking place on MBTA buses over the past year, and I cannot remain silent about it any longer.

I can still remember the first time I heard the recording...

I was riding Bus number 52 to school, bright and early, for the 18-millionth time (approximately) in my CM career. As usual, I was slumped down in my blue, plastic bus seat, peacefully nodding off for a short, morning nap. All of a sudden, a booming, computerized voice cut in without warning and ended my restful slumber, urging me to "please report any unattended bags or suspicious behavior to the bus driver." Ever since that fateful day, I have had the pleasure of hearing this delightful message from our friends at the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority a minimum of three to four times a day, excluding the occasions I drive or get driven to school. It remains as mildly unsettling now as it was that first time.

I understand that we live in a changed world since the events of September 11th, 2001, and that the Madrid, Spain train bombing last year raised legitimate questions about the possibility of a similar attack here in the US. However, I am fairly certain that it is still entirely unnecessary to remind commuters, on twenty minute intervals every day, to keep a watchful eye out for the presence of Al Qaeda on their bus. In fact, as surprising as it may be, it is my understanding that these nagging requests for citizen vigilance have not led to the uncovering of one, singular terrorist plot to date. Accordingly, I would appreciate an end to this vaguely Orwellian tactic, ASAP.

Plus, I really need my morning nap, and the hordes of rambunctious middle-schoolers on the 52 already present enough of a distraction.

The trade

There's been a TON (I measured, and it came out to exactly 2,000 lbs.) of discussion and debate since last Thursday as to whether the Boston Celtics' big draft day trade for Ray Allen was good or bad for the franchise.

Personally, a week later, I still vote "good."

It seems I hold the minority opinion and that most people have judged the deal to have been desperate and shortsighted, but I don't know... I think Ray probably has a couple more All-Star caliber years left in the tank, and I think that it's important that Paul Pierce has gone from the brink of demanding a trade out of town to describing himself as "thrilled to death" about the status of the team. Anyways, that was a long, wordy sentence that didn't get to the point of why I'm writing this post.

I'm writing this post not to praise Danny Ainge's latest move, but to mourn the loss of Delonte West in Celtic green.

Basketball-wise, my biggest problem with the trade is probably a nagging fear that Jeff Green or someone else we could've snatched with that 5th pick will become an NBA mega-star down the line and haunt us for the next decade-plus. But as an emotionally involved fan, my biggest problem with the trade is that I'm going to miss the hell out of Delonte West. I hope Sonics fans enjoy and appreciate one of my favorite players I've watched over the years.

It's not just that Delonte always played hard and tough, that he's a Great (with a capital "G") shooter, or that he's the rare guard who has a real knack for blocking shots. On-court attributes aside, D-West's also just about the coolest guy ever. And I'll close these ramblings with the following evidence to that end...

- The infamous Valentine's Day piece from ESPN.com
- "Delonte West, Uncut" on FSNE
- Delonte on the new ball/old ball controversy
- "WIAHHHHH HANGAHHHHH" commercial
- Delonte's contribution to the series of FSNE commercials with Lucky
- A YouTube mix - watch the whole thing for the clips of Delonte talking ("COOKIES!")

Nothing says "happy birthday!" like a blog!

Back during this past spring semester at Iona, I was keeping this blog for my Online Journalism class, and I had to come up with two new posts every week. Often, I'd end up putting together both of these required posts right before my deadline of Wednesday night - check back for proof - and this kind of last-second crunch left me repeatedly struggling to come up with topics about which to write.

Many times, in these situations, I turned to my lovely girlfriend Kathy (see: right) for help. Her consistent suggestion was, simply, "Write about me."

Surprisingly, perhaps, I never did use this idea. But today is her birthday. And, as we all know, nothing says "happy birthday!" like a blog! The title here even says so.

So this little blog entry is humbly dedicated to Kathryn Anne McIntyre. She turns 20 years old today and embarks upon her third decade on this planet. On behalf of the planet, I'd like to say that we're pretty darn excited about what lies ahead. Or most of us are, anyways.

[Insert laugh track, mentally.]

Happy birthday, Kathy! Can't wait to see you again Monday...

Final note: With Kathy's brief appearance here, this blog just got about 100x more awesome. Which is pretty phenomenal, when you think about how awesome it already was.

So, where are you from?

Anyone who hails from the suburbs of a big city knows the horror of the question posed in the title of this post.

The facts are these: When your place of origin is suburbia, USA, and someone asks you where you're from, you have two basic options to choose from in crafting a response. You can say, "I'm from [insert major American metropolis here]," and sacrifice accuracy. Or you can say, "I'm from [insert actual hometown here]," and elicit a blank stare from the person with whom you're conversing.

You can also take the middle path, explaining that [insert actual hometown here] is, in fact, a suburb of [insert major American metropolis here]. But that's generally an unpopular choice, because: A.) it's kind of clumsy and B.) if you go this route, your hometown is probably going to be instantly thought of as boring and lame and everything else associated with the stereotyped picture of a drab, cookie-cutter, bedroom community. And that's kind of annoying, regardless of whether or not it's accurate.

I'm not from Boston - the capital of Massachusetts; "the Hub"; "Beantown"; the home of the Red Sox, Celtics, and Bruins; and the birthplace of America (don't listen to people who say it's Philadelphia just because they drew up the paperwork down there). It's true that I was born in Boston, but, as soon as I was released from the hospital there, newborn-baby-me was brought to nearby Watertown, a small city which lies just north of Boston and measures a mere 4.2 square miles in area (see: above). I've lived there ever since (discounting, of course, the fact that I'm often found now at college in New York).

Watertown does have its own claims to fame - some more modest than others. Being a huge nerd, I know most of them. For example, history buffs could tell you that Watertown acted as the seat of the state government in Revolutionary times during the British occupation of Boston. You know Eliza Dushku, of Bring it On and Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame? Yes, she is indeed a Watertown native. Harvard University isn't contained entirely in Cambridge; it expanded its reach into Watertown just a few years back. And if you've ever enjoyed a frozen pizza, you can thank Charles Mosesian, who made the very first frozen pizza in the land of H2O. Mosesian, by the way, was an Armenian immigrant. And Watertown, of course, was one of the primary destinations of the Armenian diaspora that occurred following the Armenian Genocide of 1915 to 1917. We even have the Armenian Library and Museum of America on Main Street in Watertown Square.

But none of these things matter when someone asks me where I'm from. I face the three aforementioned choices, each decidedly unsatisfying, just like everyone else from the 'burbs.

But it didn't have to be that way.

You see, another one of Watertown's claims to fame is a song. It's a classic rock song, specifically, the kind of ultra-famous track that just about everyone seems to know. Even those not well-versed in popular music who don't know the song by name would almost certainly perk up if someone simply hummed the tune of its chorus.

The song I'm describing is the immortal "More Than a Feeling."

"But wait!" you think. "Isn't the band that played that song called 'Boston'?" That's exactly right, faithful reader. But not only did the band known as Boston never actually live in Boston but rather Watertown, (drumroll...) "More Than a Feeling" was actually recorded in Watertown, as well, in the basement of band founder Tom Scholz's house. And herein lies, for me, the source of unspeakable outrage and despair.

Do you see the forest through the trees? Do you understand where all of this is leading? Boston shouldn't be Boston. Boston should be Watertown (see: right)! And if Boston was Watertown, then I would have the perfect response to the question of where I'm from. "You know the band Watertown?" I'd ask, confident and composed. "Well, I'm from there." It'd be much more evocative than simply saying I'm from Watertown, as things stand. It'd be much more truthful than saying I'm from Boston. And it'd also be exponentially cooler than saying I'm from one of Boston's suburbs.

But alas, Boston is not Watertown; Boston is Boston.

Nuts.

Should I stay or should I go? (I'll stay.)

So my semester from "H" "E" double hockey stick (vintage) is officially in the books. I got the last of my grades the other day, and, after slapping up a perfect 4.0 in the fall, my GPA kind of took a nosedive.

Notably, I came away with a B in Online Journalism - the class for which I started this thing. That mark could've been better, but it also could've been worse. For example, I earned the first C of my college career in Biology.

Ah well. It's all behind me now.

But is D Tram's Awesome Blog behind me, too?

Obviously, I haven't posted anything here in almost a month. That's because, for the past month, I've no longer had any two-entries-per-week course requirement bearing down on me.

Still, I've enjoyed my stay in the blogosphere - my first, outside of a brief foray on MySpace a while back. I just like to write, I guess, and I think I'm going to stick around here, at least for the time being.

So, Professor Wass and my fellow Online Journalists, are you still out there? Are you reading this, Penelope Trunk? Is anyone reading this, for that matter?

If a tree falls in the forest but no one is there to hear it, does it still make a sound?

I guess I'm going to find out.

I wish my skull was a semipermeable membrane.

Because then, instead of spending my precious waking hours reading and studying and whatnot, I could just put lots of books under my pillow before I went to bed at night. And then, as I slept peacefully, knowledge would just seep into my brain, because there's a lower concentration of knowledge in there than in the books. Yep, that would be pretty sweet. Like Sugar Daddy's. Which are delicious, by the way.

Back by popular demand: Logo observations

This has been bothering me for a few years now.

On the left is the team logo of the Minnesota Timberwolves. It debuted during the 1996-1997 NBA season.

Historical note for basketball nerds: That was the season the Wolves made the playoffs for the first time ever. Led by the promising young trio of point guard Stephon Marbury and forwards Kevin Garnett and Tom Gugliotta (Googs!), no less.

On the right is the team logo of the Memphis Grizzlies. It debuted during the 2004-2005 NBA season.

Historical note for basketball nerds: That was the season the Great Hubie Brown stepped down from coaching for the last time just a handful of games in, ending his 33-year career in the L. Mike "The Czar" Fratello took over.

I still remember reading the report about the Grizz's new logo on their website when it was first unveiled. The descriptions of its symbolism were hilariously over-the-top and long-winded (let's hear it for hyphenation!):

The new Grizzlies logo represents strength, power and courage. Character, tenacity and fearlessness. The Grizzly symbolizes Memphis basketball at its grittiest, at its toughest, at its best. It symbolizes Grizzlies players and the fierce passion they bring to the court every night. It symbolizes incredible leadership and their commitment to winning and class. It symbolizes the maturity of an organization that will settle for nothing less than the ultimate – success.

This kind of talk was even more laughable in light of the fact that the logo was such a blatant rip-off.

The striking similarities between the Minnesota Timberwolf and the Memphis Grizzly have never been discussed, as far as I know, and that's legitimately baffling to me. There's the darkened right side of the face; the lighter left side; the fierce, yellow eyes; and the menacing expression.

Just look at the pictures. It's not exactly subtle.

Crazy stuff, people. Crazy. Stuff.