My Awesome Dream Business Plan

And when I say "dream" I mean literally--I dreamt that my husband and I started an awesome new business. Finally! My dream time is paying off (rather than digressing into nonsensical nightmare scenarios and quasi-Freudian non sequiturs). This business would fill a niche market that is not currently being taken advantage of: music purists who need personal documentation delivery and small appliance repairs. That's right, folks: we have a large and comprehensive collection of vinyl LPs, a value-added personal document delivery service (birth certificates! social security cards! credit report scores!), and, while you wait, my husband can repair or replace frayed power cables belonging to your well-used small home appliances (waffle irons! blenders! coffee grinders! ETC.!). A super-useful customer-oriented service provided by us for you, the consumer!

So come on down to Records Records & Re-Cords, LLC!

Please Stand By

We will return you to your irregularly scheduled programming soon(ish)

--MM Staff

4192: Pete Rose Makes His Case (Again)

Wow, readers: as promised I viewed the new documentary 4192 yesterday. It details the career of one Peter Edward Rose, a guy I have had a hard time loving--but even a harder time hating. Pete doesn't make it easy to feel either way about him, at least for the die-hard Reds fans, and this doc (if anyone sees it) makes it even more difficult to keep the long-held keep-the-bum-out public opinion going.

Look, I know there's been a lot of Pete Rose publicity stunts aimed at reinstating him into the good graces of baseball in the last decade or so, and I know he's sounding more and more pathetic and desperate (and guilty) with each one. But here's the thing: the guy was f-ing amazing. He was the real deal, which, in this age of 'roided up super-villain-looking cheaters, seems more rare, more genuine and a breath of fresh air. Pete was (and still is, by the looks of him in the film) a total troll: not by any means tall or muscled or agile or graceful--not an athlete at all, by most definitions. The fact that he was able to succeed like he did was no accident, stroke of luck or by-product of dirty-dealings: it was sheer grit, heart and H-U-S-T-L-E. That little troll was scrappy, he could hit from either side of the plate and would play any position he was asked to play with no complaints. Would any of that fly today with our current crowd of jacked-up prima donnas? I doubt Jeter would be so accommodating.

The film just lays it all out there for you: the numbers have always spoken very loudly about his (mind-boggling) accomplishments, but there were also some of the most accomplished and respected faces in baseball extolling Pete's virtues. Marty Brenneman, Mike Schmidt, and (Mercy Missile favorite) Tony Perez: all saying what a stand-up guy and astounding player Pete is/was. I dare you: go see this film, listen to the adorable Tony Perez talk about his BFF and try and tell me you still think Pete should be barred from Cooperstown. If you can do this than you have a heart of cold hard steel.

*Please note* I would be remiss if I did not warn you: about halfway in Pete does a cringe-worthy reenactment of that awful Aqua Velva commercial. Ye be warned!

Sparky Anderson, 1934-2010

A few days ago I learned about the death of Sparky Anderson--the beloved manager of the Cincinnati Reds during the empire years of the Big Red Machine (1970-76). Sparky was a guy who spent 40 years in baseball: entering the minors in 1953 and managing his last game with the Tigers in 1995.

I already knew the highlights of his career (the back-to-back World Series titles in '75 & '76), and I even knew the fun, fallen-out-of-common-knowledge puzzlers (like, that Sparky's nickname as manager was "Captain Hook." Only in baseball does a guy already known as "Sparky" get a nickname). What I didn't really know was anything about his career before becoming a manager, when he was just George Lee Anderson: minor league talent. It's kind of tragic, really--like that part in Field of Dreams when Burt Lancaster is telling Kevin Costner about his one half of an inning that he got to play right field in the majors, essentially an uneventful failure, but that it was okay because then he got to go be a doctor (*sob!*).

Check out his stats and tell me that's not sad: he was never a great batter, but he was consistently in the mid .200's, which isn't bad. He worked his way up the minor league pecking order pretty quickly, too, starting out in the California League, then on to single, double, and finally triple A ball, progressing one league up each year. So obviously someone thought Mr. Anderson was alright, at least good enough for a promotion each year. It's when we get to 1959 that we run into Moonlight Graham territory:

April 10th, 1959 George Anderson reported up to Philadelphia as second baseman; on September 27th, 1959 he played in his final major league game ever. We don't get much of a narrative in these stats-obsessed kinds of sources, but it's fun to try and eke out a story: he ended up with a kind-of disappointing-but-by-no-means-terrible-for-a-rookie .218 batting average, so we can assume the major league pitching had him a little rattled. He committed 12 errors, but he got to play in 152 games that season, so it looks like he was the second baseman in Philly that year (no riding the pine in '59 for this one). But then they sent him back down to AAA, where he finished out his playing career with the Toronto Maple Leafs (no, not a hockey team) in 1963. It's strange: you've got to think that plenty of other notable baseball players started out with stats at (or below) those of Sparky's, but maybe they got second chances for some reason or another and the good Captain didn't.

But then, of course, Sparky broke into managing and that's how he ultimately got to Cooperstown. Can't say it's a bad ending (we just won't think too much about those years in Detroit).

In memory of Captain Hook I'm making a trip out to my local cinema today for an afternoon matinee: 4192, which will undoubtedly feature amazing footage of Sparky's glory years.

Mercy Missiles Cocktail Hour

Readers, as you may have suspected, it has taken us a good solid week (and a half) to get over the bitter taste of defeat in the wake of the Phillies' commanding sweep of our beloved Cincinnati Reds in the NL pennant race. R.I.P., 2010 season: you were as surprising as you were exciting. Se la vie.

It's fitting, then, that I now bring you the next installment in our ongoing series of thematic cocktail recipe fun. This offering was served up last night for our viewing of the season 4 finale of Mad Men, a show which has given us a consistently good excuse to mix up some exotic drinks. Upon review of our liquor cabinet, I decided we should delve back into the instincts-defying world of scotch-inspired cocktails--both because of our recent success with the surprisingly good Blood and Sand we mixed up last week, and because we still had more than half a bottle of scotch laying around.

A little research brought an excitingly-named candidate to the top of our list: the Piper at the Gates of Dawn(!). Like the Blood and Sand, the first sip is kind of strange--but the Kahlua takes hold pretty quickly and the cream smooths everyone's rough edges while the maraschino liqueur--which, oddly enough, I had on hand--lends a warm, syrupy dimension to the back end. It's pretty nice, if a little heavy. You wouldn't really want more than one or two--definitely a cold weather drink. Here's the details:

Piper at the Gates of Dawn

• 1&1/2 oz scotch
• 1 oz Kahlua
• 1/2 oz maraschino liqueur
• 1/2 oz cream

Add all ingredients except the cream to a shaker filled with ice, shake until cold, then strain into an old fashioned glass over ice. Slowly pour the cream into the drink over the back of a spoon, so it floats on top.

Piper at the Gates of Dawn was released in 1967, so we can make this drink thematic by imagining the events in this season of Mad Men (along with the great clothes and swingin' mod-ness of the glass-and-art deco SCDP offices)--all of which takes place in 1965--as leading up to the sound and insanity of the Floyd album. This year we see the series kicking into the 60's ideal, & as one of my favorite tv blogs points out: what we generally think of as the American 1960's didn't really come about until there was a Kennedy in the ground and Beatles on the tarmac. So, you know, if you really need your cocktail to speak to you about your favorite tv show and its corresponding cultural environment via its own (probably arbitrary) moniker, then I guess you can think about it that way. Me? Yeah, I like things to be appropriately related to my beverages in that way, and this little recipe is pretty tasty to boot.

The Kahlua surrounds the icy scotch underground.

Ouch

Wow, that was heart-rending. The Phillies' Roy "Doc" Halladay (yeah, yeah, awesome name, I know) threw only the second post-season perfect game in baseball history last night--he's the first to do it in the National League--the Yankee's Don Larsen is the other guy, way back in 1965. Okay, yeah, great--but ouch, did it have to be against my Reds? In the very first game of the series? Pretty darn deflating, you guys.

If you need me today I'll be at my local candle merchant, stocking up on extra voodoo for the JB shrine...

Sunday Cocktail Hour with Mercy Missiles

Readers, we've been into watching Mad Men this t.v. season. We're always looking for good excuses to mix up a little something, and the swingin' art deco aesthetics & general doom-n-gloom feel of the show are good reasons to "tie one on," as they say. This clearly calls for some ritualistic cocktail drinking, and a new favorite teevee story show means we're in the market for a new thematic concoction. So, since there's been a trend of scotch imbibing here at HQ lately--which has never really been our poison of choice, but has been growing on us--I decided to give the Blood and Sand a try.

My pal Andy over at South Twelfth has been promoting the B&S for quite some time, so I credit him with my awareness of it. It's pretty much the only scotch-related mixed drink I've ever heard of (although a quick web search suggests many more), Andy has certainly advocated it, and I actually had nearly all the ingredients on-hand. So after a quick cherry brandy-procuring field trip I decided to do a (wet) dry run before tonight's episode airs.

Here's the recipe I used for the first trial:

• 1&1/2 oz blended scotch whiskey
• 1/3 oz orange juice
• 1/3 oz cherry brandy
• 1/3 oz sweet vermouth
• orange peel for garnish

I combined all ingredients (except the peel) with ice in a shaker (well, I used a sports bottle b/c my shaker is in the shop), I shook gently to combine, then strained into two brandy glasses & added the orange peel.

Verdict? The first sip was...strange. I wasn't expecting the scotch taste to be as prominent as it was (although the recipe I used specified twice the amount of scotch as the other ingredients so it didn't get overpowered by all the sweet stuff going on...), but after the 3rd or 4th sip I totally got it. There's a nice compromise between peaty and sweet, and the more I drank (as with so many cocktails) the more I enjoyed. It's not my favorite by any means--I'm still, foremost, a bourbon woman--but it mitigates a lot of what I didn't like about scotch in the first place.

It has the added impact of being unexpected (scotch? in a mixed drink??), and it's certainly better than it has to be. Going by my experience the name should be "Sand and Blood" (based on what you taste first), but I guess that's just quibbling--besides, that would ruin the reference to the Valentino movie. Altogether, I call this a win, and so will be sipping one (or three) during tonight's episode. Cheers!

Mercy Missiles Baseball Time Travel Adventure: 1990

Readers, can you stand anymore Cincinnati Reds fanfare today? I hope so, because that video up there is especially glorious, perfect for inclusion in our day-long post-division-clinching celebration here at HQ. A highlight extravaganza from the last World Series appearance by our favorite team, and boy what a lineup they had: the awesome Eric Davis, Barry Larkin (at the beginning of his long career with the Reds), Rob "Wild Thing" Dibble, and the amazing sport-goggle enthusiast Chris Sabo! Also: watch for appearances by controversial team owner Marge Schott and MM favorite Tony Perez.

Reds Win The NLC!

HURRAH!

The Reds won the Central Division last night in dramatic fashion, beating the Astros 3-2 on a bottom-of-the-ninth solo homerun by Jay Bruce! 15 years, readers: it has been 15 years since we've made it to the post-season--9 years since we've even had a winning season...gosh, & I forgot how awesome it feels! The baseball gods are smiling down benevolently on the Queen City of the West today.

And hey: Louisvillians had a thrill when Aroldis Chapman--the Cuban pitching phenom who spent most of his summer freaking out Louisville Bats crowds with his 100+ mph fastballs (& 97 mph change-ups!)--was called in to close the 9th inning. Wow, we were not disappointed: he struck out the first two batters and got the third to ground out. 3-up-3-down for the new guy; I just hope the Reds' front office has sense enough to keep him around for a good long while.

And how great is Dusty Baker?? He is now in some rare company: just the 9th manager in all of baseball history to lead three different teams to the post-season (Giants 97-00, Cubs 03 & Reds 10), a HOF manager for sure (not sure about you, but I sure don't miss Jack McKeon--the Marlins can keep that one. He's poised to take advantage of Florida's thriving retirement community and myriad early bird buffet specials). Let's all be glad the Cubs didn't know what to do with Dusty--he seems like a good fit in Cincy.

The post-season starts next week. Go Reds!

Baseball

Readers, the Reds have one game to go to clinch the National League's Central Division title! They play the Astros tonight, and hopefully we'll be celebrating at the feet of the Johnny Bench shrine. Go reds!

Tonight is also an exciting night for baseball for another reason: PBS is airing the first part of Ken Burns' Baseball: The Tenth Inning (starts at 8pm!). The doc will focus on the 90's & 00's, so get ready to hear about the player strike and steroids--it was a depressing & scandalous two decades. Anyway, that's the nerdy little documentary elf there in the photo (I didn't know you could still buy denim shirts...)

By the way: did I ever tell you about the time I came thisclose to meeting Ken Burns? It was back in June at the big annual librarian conference in D.C. He was set to be meeting and greeting at the Baker & Taylor booth, and as I was walking over to say "hi" (or something...I'm not so good with celebrities) I noticed that another booth a few aisles over had a copy of his Civil War book. I thought it would make a better impression (i.e. lessen the odds of me doing/saying something awkward) if I had one of his books in hand for him to sign, so I made a detour to get it. Well, the lady at the booth was reluctant to sell it to me, so I had to guilt-trip her a little, giving her my breathless "butIgottahaveitsoIcanmeetKenBurnsandI'minabighurry,lady!!" explanation before she agreed to take my 5 bucks. Sheesh.

By the time I speed walked back to Baker & Taylor, he had disappeared (45 minutes before he was supposed to)! I got an apologetic shrug from the two B&T office drones manning the booth: "Uh, sorry--Mr. Burns is very busy, so, uh, he had to leave early. But maybe you can catch him--he just left right before you walked up..." They pointed vaguely. I considered that scenario for a minute: spotting Ken Burns from across the enormous, jam-packed showroom floor of the Washington National Convention Center, I could sprint the 200 yard distance towards where he is getting on the escalator to the equally-enormous lobby, dodging fragile Nancy Pearl wannabes, shoving tattooed teen lit enthusiasts and vaulting bookbag-laden oldsters on Rascals. I would catch up to him, maybe yelling out over the din of the crowd, and then demand that he sign the book (which isn't even one I have actually read).

I decided against it. (Moral of the story: if you are about to meet a celebrity just square your shoulders, feign normalcy and say something about admiring their work. It probably helps if you pretend to be about 60% as excited to meet them as you really are).

Anyway: it's a great night for baseball, so go get some, Americans!

Hey, Cincinnati fans: as of today the magic number for the Reds to clinch the NL central division is now down to 3! That means any combination of 3 losses by the Cardinals or wins for the Reds will cause something to happen that hasn't happened since 1995: the Reds will win something! They'll be in the playoffs, readers: the post-season!

As you can see, this calls for a candles-and-incense vigil to be held at the official Johnny Bench shrine here at MM HQ--the first time in 15 years that such ceremony has denoted legitimate hope (rather than fragrant, effigial denial). We'll keep the candles burning 24-hours-a-day this weekend, while the Reds are in San Diego, hopefully clinching the division title!

Go Reds!

Sanders Memoir Uncovered, 11 Herbs & Spices Still At Large

So I tend to find a lot of "gems" during the course of my job at the public library, many of which I've noted here before. But nothing piques my interest so much as a mysterious, out-of-print book concerning controversial hometown spectres--especially those who have achieved ubiquitous, world-wide iconography. I'm talking, of course, about "Colonel" Harland Sanders and his lost autobiography: Life As I Have Known it Has Been Finger Lickin' Good. Score! I was even more excited about it than I was that time I found a copy of Dave's Way lying around. You see, early American entrepreneurial ventures--along with their accompanying origin stories, secret histories & hidden meanings--are a regular pop culture Da Vinci Code that I find absorbingly interesting. In the realm of iconic fast food empires I think we can all agree that the Colonel is an Illuminati. A really folksy, maddeningly rambly, poorly edited Illuminati (seriously, it's like he got absolute, unmonitored editorial carte blanche on this thing--the Citizen Kane of shitty, tell-all memoirs).

Anyway, this one is truly remarkable in that I hadn't heard about it, which seems really surprising. I mean, I went out of my way once to visit the Colonel's grave (not very far out of my way, but still). It was published in 1974 by Creation House in Carol Stream, Illinois. I was pretty excited to dig into this lost treasure, but wow, it is proving a real challenge. This, for instance, is the first paragraph:

"Dadgummit! Ever since I was seventy-four and got paid two million dollars for my fried-chicken franchising business--that I started when I was sixty-five and was thinking about settling down with my social security check--folks has been hounding me to write my life story."

You find yourself saying the words in your head in a Yosemite Sam voice, punctuated by pistol fire sound effects and an occasional "YEE-HAW!" interjected. He goes on to brag about being on talk shows, in parades & on set for his tv commercials (a regular hillbilly jet-setter), & then he bitches about how hard it is to write things (I strongly suspect that this is what Going Rogue must be like...). That's pretty much the entire first chapter, if you can hack it that far. But as far as I can tell, he isn't giving up any real information concerning the underbelly of the chicken biz: the secret of the "famous recipe" is still well-kept (it is common knowledge here in Louisville--home of KFC HQ--that the original, hand-written recipe of the notorious 11 herbs & spices is kept hermetically sealed in a high-security vault, the only existing hard copy. Access to the vault is restricted to a select group of upper-level Freemasons, each of which has memorized a specific part of the recipe. Before their deaths, each selects a successor to pass on their part of the secret to, thus preserving the recipe and its perfect, unbroken line of hush-hushy-ness). So of course, the intrigue does not abate.

One other point of interest: look how serious everybody is in the cover photo! What must the Colonel be reading to that (surprisingly diverse) group of children? Those kids are downright gloomy--like the cruel chicken man just informed them that the world is really a cold, unfeeling meat grinder of cutthroat business deals, complicated franchising logistics & extra-crispy backstabbery. Santa Claus cannot possibly exist in such a morally ambiguous place, children--the Colonel is here to tell you that.

Pete Rose: Can He Get Any Scum-Baggier?

This story about the corked Pete Rose bats has broken recently, and I just don't know what to think about this guy anymore. Sheesh, I totally believed Pete for all those years he denied having gambled on baseball while he was managing the Reds. I loved him for his hustle (certainly not for his looks); he was scrappy, he was entertaining, and he was a colorful part of one of the best baseball teams of all times, so I always thought he deserved the benefit of the doubt and a place in the Hall of Fame.

Then he comes out and admits the whole gambling thing in a crummy, gossip-mongering tell-all book (guess he needed some cash). I was pretty much over him after that, but then the steroid scandal happened and I began to reconsider: yes, gambling on your team is scummy, for sure, but it's not nearly as bad as doping yourself into a Jolly Green Giant physique (Hello, Roid-ger Clements, Sammy Sosa, Mark Macguire, et al). And besides, I rationalized, he never did anything but try like hell to win, so it's not like he was betting against his own team and then taking a dive.

But now this. Jeeze, Peter, just when I was coming back around, too. Keep the bum out, I say. Just another reason to love Johnny Bench even more, I guess.

Bats Take 1st Game in Playoff Series

Readers, it was a great night for baseball yesterday at beautiful Louisville Slugger Field: the Bats defeated the Durham Bulls in the first of the 5 game series. Whoever comes out on top will own the title of best in the International League, and then get to go on to play the winners of the Pacific Northwest league next week.

It was looking a little bad at first: the Bulls scored two runs early and the Bats seemed a bit shaky. I have to admit, Durham is pretty sharp looking, both in their manner of play and in their uniforms: they are really the only team I've seen who actually all wear their socks/pants properly (i.e. knicker length, with visible socks/stockings covering the entire calf). I'm a little obsessed with men's hem lengths these days, both on and off the baseball field...is it just me, or do guys seem to have no idea how to wear their pants? And lest you think I'm treading fuddy-duddy territory here: I'm not strictly talking about the trend of "sagging," I'm just saying what's the appeal of having a big puddle of fabric around your ankles? It looks terrible generally, and in baseball it seems terribly un-athletic. Wouldn't they be more mobile and have a better range of motion if their pants didn't extend to their ankles? Marge Schott is probably rolling in her grave over the yards of wasted fabric billowing over Johnny Cueto's cleats. ha-rumph!

Anyway, you can read the play-by-play here, but check out that picture up there! nice seats, eh? And check out that ballpark! Easily the finest you'll see in the minor leagues, incorporating the original red brick facade of the old Louisville Gas & Electric Co. building, offering nice views and breeze from the Ohio river. And hey: that's real Ky bluegrass on the field--the original grass that was laid down in 2000, the year it opened (unusual since most ballparks re-sod before each new season). A beautiful evening and a very exciting game: lots of hits, a few homers, and steller pitching from our boys made for a good night out at the ballpark. My only complaint? Man, the $1 hotdogs were GODAWFUL! Buddy Bat was on his best behavior, so no drama there (although a couple rowdy fans did heckle the nearest umpire every time there was a close play by invoking the name of the recently-ejected mascot...this, unfortunately, elicited no response).

It seemed like most of the familiar names were absent from the lineup: the Reds apparently called many Bats up before the end-of-season deadline in order to use them for their own impeding playoffs. This meant, sadly, we had to do without the mustachioed majesty of perennial favorite Corky Miller. Oh, well--that might mean a post-season appearance for him in Cincinnati, which would be pretty great. Go, Porky!

And also: go Bats!

Schreck's Photo Diary: Unholy Yule-Time Flavor Combo

Readers, it's been too long since our last booze shopping adventure over at everybody's favorite liquor store: Schreck's Kentucky Liquor Store Drive-In! This time around the stand out product was the Old New England Chocolate Egg Nog, a bargain(?) at $5.99. I have to say, it always impresses/surprises me how fast the turnaround is at Schreck's on these pre-mixed novelty type things--there's always something new to gawk at! Whoever does the ordering there seems to try to keep things fresh by continuously replacing stock with newer, weirder offerings touting what would rightfully be considered ill-advised ingredient match-ups--do you remember the Chocovine "wine" they were selling a few months back? Euw.

According to the label, Old New England Chocolate Egg Nog is "freshly made," which is a good start I guess. Interestingly, this product does not seem to warrant its own website, so any other claims from the manufacturer are not known at the moment. I am no fan of egg nog, and though I am quite a fan of chocolate I don't see how including it into the mix could do anything other than ruin otherwise perfectly fine chocolate. What really impresses me here is how ahead of the game they are at Schreck's--how heartening it is to be looking at holiday-oriented beverages already! I've been completely over our shitty summer o' hell for several months now and any reminder of impending winter (and winter-related imbibing) is a welcome sight for me. So, just strictly based on timing, meteorological conditions, and my own emotional state, Old New England scores a point with this shopper.

However, I am calling the manufacturer out for a big missed opportunity regarding the name: if you're going to try and go for that quaint, old timey feel, for gawd's sake add an "e" to the name! "Old" egg nog just sounds gross, but "olde" egg nog adds that extra little flourish of class, wouldn't you say? A rookie mistake like that steals any possible surface cred from that suggestive little sepia pastoral scene on the label, which is kind of a shame (they probably paid some poor art student 30 bucks for that painting).

The final verdict, based solely on these observations: this product reminds me a lot of Chocovine; I would venture to put them in the same category of chocolate-plus-spirits products. So it would not be too presumptuous to assume that they are direct competitors for whatever audience there is for cheap, chocolate-infused libations (probably the cheap, holiday party-going prankster set). Thus, I would have to say that, based on slicker marketing and a more handsome, European-ish label, Chocovine would likely snag most of the customers who are in the market for alcoholic Yoo-Hoo.

Ump Has Minor League Sense of Humor

Readers, I am happy to report the hometown favorites of the International League have clinched the Western division title and are now moving on to the playoffs! The Louisville Bats--AAA farm team of the Cincinnati Reds--beat the Indianapolis Indians (farm team of the Pirates) yesterday 6 to 3 in their last regular season game of the year. Very exciting news (a situation that will hopefully be duplicated by our big league affiliates to the North pretty soon)--in fact, I'm planning on attending tomorrow night's game vs. the Durham Bulls for the first post-season game (it's dollar hot dog night!). So stayed tuned for highlights!

Also: one thing that grabbed our attention regarding yesterday's game is a little irregular, and I'd say deserves a little investigation. Apparently there was a mid-game ejection involving one member of the Bats organization who usually stays (more or less) clear of controversy: the above-pictured team mascot, Buddy Bat! The local papers are clueless when it comes to news people actually want to read--the morning sports section mentions the ejection, but fails to account for it, like we wouldn't care about a life-sized plush toy getting so out of hand he was barred from completing his day of work! Of course I care about that! What did he do? Was he using obscene language or gestures? Were children weeping? Was he fined? Will the AAA mascot union take action on Buddy's behalf? Come on, Courier-Journal, give us the facts!

It is sad that I have to turn to internet blogs for real news, but so it goes. According to "Nancy" over at Sandlot Swashbucklers the 3rd inning ended after a questionable double-play at first base. Apparently Louisville fans took umbrage, and the predicament inspired Buddy to make a statement:

"Buddy the Bat took the field to challenge a small fan to a race around the bases between innings, and as he did so, he was waving his arms/wings and gesturing about the just-completed double play -- apparently in a way that the first base umpire Lance Barrett did not appreciate."

Ha! Subversive charades! Nice one, Buddy--way to take one for the team! And way to flex that minor league authority there, Lance (some guys got no sense of humor). Go Bats!

Star Trek Cookbook Angers Two Kinds of Nerds

I'll admit it: I love Star Trek. But c'mon: some things tied to the franchise are just downright embarrassing. Case in point: The Star Trek Cookbook. It's "written" by Ethan Phillips--the guy who played Neelix (the Jar Jar Binks of Star Trek). Neelix was a character from Voyager--arguably (although, honestly, I don't see how anyone could possibly argue this)--THE worst installment of the Star Trek franchise. Did anyone like that show? It was truly horrid.

Anyway. "Neelix" up there decided there was a good idea (i.e. money to be made) in creating a cookbook showcasing recipes that would guide the fans in preparing their very own food eaten by characters on the show. A fun idea, but wow--according to the reviews on Amazon this idea went horribly wrong. Of course, the danger in failing a venture like this is that you draw the ire of two different groups who are especially anal about their particular interest: trekkies and foodies. Is there anything so scathingly verbose (or entertaining) as a spurned member from one of these sub-cultures?

This spectacular train wreck fails both groups on two different levels: it offends even halfway-knowledgeable trekkers with its wild inconsistencies and lack of research into the Trek lexicon, and it's apparently a pretty lousy excuse for a cookbook as well. I loved reading the reviewer comments, as you get a taste of the bitter dissatisfaction from both worlds. There's the culinary outrage:

"...some of the recipes themselves are poorly written and edited. For example, the Peptide Cake recipe does not specify the pan size."

"...the recipes are poorly laid out, and only the most general details and instructions given for the preparation of the food."

"...many of the recipes are rather boring and have just been given trekkie type names"

"There's a recipe for hot oatmeal. Like this couldn't be read off any package of Quaker oats."

"Some of the recipes aren't recipes at all"

"There are recipes that look good but when you start you find they are maddeningly vague. For example on one drink you're told to add "a whole chunk of fresh ginger." How big is that? You can destroy a dish with something that potent without better directions."

"...many of these recipes rely on bullion for flavor."

"Romulan Ale is nothing more than blue Gatorade mixed with sparkling water"

And then there's the critiques from the nerd faction:

"...it's been obviously written by people who don't understand and didn't bother to check the background information given on most foods and beverages presented in any of the Star Trek movies and the first four TV series"

"...after having confirmed that "raktajino" is a beverage similar to strong coffee..."Neelix" offers a recipe for raktajino cake that contains no coffee!"

"Any one who has seen "The Next Generation" knows that parthos looks nothing like brussels sprouts"

"On page 115, "Neelix" says that Commander Riker's favorite Klingon dish is "bregit lung"; on page 117 he says that Riker's favorite Klingon dish is "pipius claw."

"...who needs a recipe for oatmeal on the doubtful assertion that it's Jake Sisko's favorite breakfast?"

"...the authors have avoided including any recipe containing alcohol, altogether ignoring the liquors and spirits often showcased in the Star Trek universe."

"To pass a cherry pie off as "blood pie" is to say that the publishers really don't know--and don't care-- what Star Trek is all about."

And there you have it: the trekkies and the foodies stand united on this front. I'm glad I read these reviews, because I very nearly had decided to add it to my bookshelf--there's a space available right next to my copy of The Ferengi Rules of Acquisition.

Recent Visit to ATC HQ...

Readers, you may be wondering if I ever took that camping trip I was mincing around about earlier this summer. You know, the one I was talking myself out of on account of all the unsettling bear-related anxiety? Yeah, I bailed on that idea, as you may have already suspected.

So I've been reflecting a lot about bears and camping out lately. In fact, just this week I was up visiting the Appalachian Trail Conservancy's headquarters at Harper's Ferry in West Virginia. My conclusion? After a fascinating visit (that concluded with my official membership in the ATC, as well as a spiffy t-shirt purchase) I've come around to really REALLY wanting to do a South-to-North thru-hike of the trail someday. I've been flirting with the idea of doing small section hikes for years now, but the idea of spending a 6 month period backpacking the entire thing is now holding sway (my current progress through Earl Shaffer's excellent Walking With Spring is cementing this rather romantic idea). And you know what? Talking with people who have actually followed through with this crazy undertaking makes it seem totally doable.

So I picked up the above-pictured brochure during my visit, and a quick look inside gleaned a lot of straightforward, no-BS advice regarding a thru-hike. As you might expect in such an official source, several pages worth of practical safety advice was included...and this is where bears re-enter the discussion. According to page 21:

"In recent years there have been reports of bears on the A.T. ripping open tents and even grabbing a sleeping bag or bivy sack and attempting to drag it off with a hiker inside. A bear that enters a campsite or cooking area should be considered predatory. Yelling, making loud noises, throwing rocks, etc., may frighten it away, however, you should be prepared to fight back if necessary. If you are actually attacked by a bear, you should fight for all you are worth and with anything at hand--rocks, sticks, fists."

(!) *eep* Bears actively seeking out non-menacing, unconscious people in their sleeping bags (i.e. hiker burritos) and dragging them off to their woodland lairs for a midnight snack?? Does this mean that the old "playing dead" shtick is debunked? Now we're being advised to go fist-to-giant-claws-and-teeth with a 400 pound snarly beast? Hmm! So there's something to think about, eh, campers?

KY State Fair Offers New Level of Dietary Mayhem

So you may have already heard about the Krispy Kreme cheeseburger making the rounds at state fairs across the country this summer. Our very own KY state fair was certainly no exception--we've been reading about this type 2 monstrosity in the local paper for a couple weeks now.

This shouldn't be totally surprising, there's a long-standing tradition of gastronomic oddities associated with the American state fair. It seems like there is always some sort of outrageously ill-conceived novelty snack invented every decade or so that specifically attempts to cash in on the state fair diabetes fervor. Consider: elephant ears/funnel cakes, corn dogs, cotton candy, Dippin' Dots (AKA "The Ice Cream of the Future"), steak-on-a-stick, etc. Obesity is the mother of invention, I guess.

But the Krispy Kreme cheeseburger does seem to be taking things a little far, doesn't it? It lacks nuance of any kind & seems so over-the-top in such a obvious way--I find it a little insulting in it's lack of subtlety--too many elements showcased into one package (Fried dough! Sugary glaze! Cheese! Bacon! Uh, mayo?), but I suppose that would be the point, right? And it is kind of a perfect food item metaphor: it symbolizes the current brand of don't-tread-on-me, in-yer-face, self-destructive libertarianism that perfectly reflects the political feelings of those who are most likely to consume it: "What? You socialist Obamacare commies are worried about my health? Well, F-you! I'll really give you something to worry about...nom-nom-nom...!"

(Due props to that guy in the video for the slammin' 'stache, tho)

Bon Apetit, Kentucky!

Rand Paul: Crazier than Jim Bunning?

Readers, I've probably been a little lax lately in keeping you up to date with the latest Ky political wranglings. It's likely a combination of the shitty weather, general summer laziness, and the crushing sense of impending doom that is the inevitability of what will surely be known to history as the Great Hollerin' Hillbilly Takeover of 2010. I'm talking, of course, about Ky's 2010 Senate race.

So the issue at hand: Rand Paul. He's apparently a big deal--something about his household name of a daddy and a beverage-related get-together. It's been rather messy from the get-go. "Messy" in that, like, the minute he won the primary election he dissed the civil rights movement on national television. He says it's not like he's a racist, mind you--not Dr. Paul, he hates bigotry, lots of black friends, you understand--it's just that, you know, private business owners should get to decide if they'd like to be racists themselves, without all those pesky federal anti-discrimination laws getting in the way.

Bottom line: is he a contender to win this thing? Unfortunately, it looks like Paul is pretty much unstoppable; Louisville may be a bunch of drum circling hippies (comparatively), but the rest of KY is solidly gun-toting and beverage get-togethering. So the real question isn't really "Will Rand Paul get elected?" It's more like "Will Rand Paul be an acceptably bonkers successor to the throne of crazy built by Jim Bunning?" Readers, I wasn't so sure...until I read yesterday's Courier-Journal. Check out this headline:

"Paul ponders legal options after abduction allegation" (!!)

You see, in his wackier college days, Rand Paul (allegedly) kid-napped a female classmate, "tried to make her smoke marijuana and then forced her to bow down and praise a fictional god" !!! Apparently Paul was in some dumbass "secret society" while he was enrolled at Baylor University, and he and a buddy abducted a girl from the swim team, tried to get her to take a bong hit (which would've made all of this make a lot more sense to her), then, as his alleged abductee recently told GQ Magazine, demanded that she give praise to something (someone?) called the "Aqua Buddha":

“They told me their god was ‘Aqua Buddha' and that I needed to bow down and worship him,” she told the magazine. “They blindfolded me and made me bow down to ‘Aqua Buddha' in the creek. I had to say, ‘I worship you Aqua Buddha, I worship you.' At Baylor, there were people actively going around trying to save you and we had to go to chapel, so worshiping idols was a big no-no.”

Wow, 1983...it was a hell of a year I guess (although, as an "active member of Young Conservatives of Texas" shouldn't he have been worshiping Reagan by 1983?).

I wish I could say that this--or any of his other gaffes and rants--would make a difference to the (very) likely outcome I foresee for November. But honestly? He could bite the head off Bristol Palin's baby on Fox News and he'd still crush Jack Conway this Fall.

So to answer my own question: time will tell--but like my Magic 8 Ball always seemed to say, all signs point to "yes".

New Coffee Maker Prompts Call to Electrician

Above you will notice the star attraction of the MM office: our brand new Dutch-made Technivorm Moccamaster KBT-741! Oh Boy!

After much deliberation, research and arithmetic we came to the conclusion that this is definitely the ultimate choice in home coffee making technology: it is one of only a few drip machines out there that heats water to 200 degrees--the necessary temperature to produce really really good coffee. That theory is definitely confirmed in my opinion: I made coffee this morning that was so freaking good it demanded my full attention. The only problem? I woefully underestimated the amount of electricity our sad little power circuits could deliver. You see, the Technivorm requires 1275 watts of electricity(!)...during its 3 minute brewing cycle it tripped our breakers twice! We were informed that we will need to run a new, completely separate circuit into the kitchen to accommodate The Dutch Master.

It'll be totally worth it.

Reds' Second Stringer Makes Bold Facial Statement

Readers, I've been almost afraid to talk about my beloved Cincinnati Reds this season for fear that my blatant attention will cause them to start sucking again (i.e. return to the Cincy status quo). That always seems to be the case, anyway: as soon as I allow myself to become emotionally invested in a sports team (which hardly ever happens, by the way) they reward me by promptly going south, breaking my heart via devastating and/or embarrassing failure/loss/stupidity. So I'll admit to indulging in a little magical thinking--insofar as it pertains to negative karma--it just comes with the territory when you are brought up a certain way (read: Catholic).

So anyway, That fellow there is just another reason to be excited about our boys from the "Queen City of the West" this year: check out the 'stache on Corky Miller! We Louisvillians are used to seeing old Porky there intermittently as the catcher for the Reds' AAA farm team (the Louisville Bats) whenever he's hitting especially bad (like right now). So he may be a shitty sub-.300 hitter, but he's got a major league-worthy mustache, and for that we salute you, Corky!

PETA V City of Louisville, or The Great Chicken Statue Debacle

for those of you who haven't kept up with this little news item, it seems that the opposing forces of YUM! brands, Inc. (the corporate mega-force behind KFC, among other things) and People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals are coming to a final reckoning over an issue involving a 5 & 1/2 foot tall crippled chicken statue (see scale model, above). Peta has been petitioning the city for a year or so about putting this thing up somewhere, and our beloved metro government--a bastion of semi-liberal idealism in KY--has tried its darndest to appear fair-minded and non-judgmental whilst it (politely) stalls, delays, dithers and, ultimately, declines Peta's petition.

Look, there should be no illusions: KFC and YUM!, Inc draw a lot of water in this town, and their sinister conglomerate (in conjunction with the diabolical ghost of Harlan Sanders) will not be undone by some hippies with a schlocky statue. The burden of legal precedence, however, falls to the city--whose woeful lack of animal-related statue ordinance has made their denial of PETA's permit request rather suspicious (especially when you consider the city-wide adoption in 2003 of ubiquitous tacky race horse statues):

"People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals said a moratorium on animal statues by the Louisville Metro Government came only after the group applied for its permit a year ago, and so their application should not be held to rules made at a later date, the Louisville Courier-Journal reported Monday." (UPI)

Hmm. Maybe metro gov'ment thinks KY has enough (in)famous chicken statues already.

Summer Reading Kick-Off

One of the redeeming qualities of warmer weather is upon us: it's summer reading season here at MM! Time to revisit the list of future reads I've been compiling throughout the year and finally get down to it--let the traditional themes of serious historical pursuit intermingled with random "literary" frivolity commence! The usual M.O. of my summer reading habits is a steady diet of extremes: biographies! Novels! William Shatner fan fiction! Abraham Lincoln! Zombies! We like to mix the dense with the fluffy, the impressively haughty with the embarrassingly low-brow--it's what summer reading's all about!

Anyway, I thought I would share our first entry for your consideration: Thunderstruck by Erik Larson, I just finished it yesterday. Some of you may recall that Larson wrote another book that made the MM radar in a big way earlier this year: The Devil in the White City. Thunderstruck hits all the same notes, telling several stories that eventually intermingle: it's all about the invention of wireless communication (focusing on Guglielmo Marconi, the Italian inventor pictured above with his wireless equipment) and a murder that became the next great public fascination following the Jack the Ripper murders in London. Like Devil it revels in historical detail and breathless storytelling, this time focusing on turn-of-the-century London. Larson, who has written for The Wall Street Journal and Time magazine, is a helluva researcher--he seems to be able to reach past the primary resources and pull out the atmosphere and feel of the era.

Thunderstruck is fast-paced and fun (well, fun if you are interested in the finer points of the birth of globalization and a good/true-life murder mystery), and illustrates perfectly the effect wireless had on the world through the B plot: the killer and his lover are tracked and caught by Scotland Yard through the use of ship-to-shore wireless communication as they are fleeing from Brussels to Quebec aboard an ocean liner. The case was instantly famous--it was reported in the press around the world as it was happening, demonstrating the viability and value of wireless, which propelled it out of the realm of mere novelty and into widespread use. Recommended!

My next pick, as per my usual trend, will be a novel: The Kingdom of Ohio by Matthew Flaming. I understand this is a science fiction novel, a genre I've been meaning to revisit, and the review from Publishers Weekly really sealed the deal for me:

"Flaming's debut mixes time travel, historical grit and an alternate history of the American frontier in a romance with a fantastic bent. A contemporary antiques dealer, after coming across an old photo, unspools the story of Peter Force, newly arrived in 1900 New York from Idaho, as he joins a crew of laborers toiling in grim conditions to build the subway system. A chance encounter throws Peter into the path of Cheri-Anne Toledo, a troubled woman who claims to have traveled seven years into the future from the Lost Kingdom of Ohio, a small frontier kingdom over which her father reigned. Cheri-Anne's plight, and his feelings for her, drags them into the orbits of a crusty J.P Morgan and of dueling inventors Thomas Edison and Nicola Tesla. As Peter and Cheri-Anne evade the powerful forces invested in Cheri-Anne, the moment when their lives and the contemporary narrator's intersects looms closer and closer, creating palpable suspense. The journey through the seedier side of New York's Gilded Age, with reprisal killings for labor agitators and nights spent in drunken dance halls, is an arresting contrast to classic time-travel themes. This is a real crowd-pleaser."

Time Travel! The year 1900! An alternative history of the American frontier! Edison vs. Tesla! Labor agitators! Oh boy!

"New" Stereo!

Oh, boy readers: we've hit Memorial Day weekend yard sale pay dirt here at MM! In a recent trip to the lovey Germantown/Schnitzelburg neighborhood we discovered an offer we couldn't refuse in somebody's front lawn: an entire stereo dream-system that made all our analog dreams come true in one fell swoop! A cherry JVC set up (complete with really nice after-market speakers) that includes a CD player, a record player (pictured above) and a double tape deck! Although the tape deck needs some repair, everything else is in perfect order and ready for action! Oh boy!

Perhaps I should explain my enthusiasm to the modern, digitally-inclined music listener: I've been pretty disenchanted with the current-generation listening equipment landscape for some time now. Despite a well-publicized love of The Old Ways, I jumped (enthusiastically) into the digital pool along with everyone else: computers, MP3s, CD burners, iTunes--the whole she-bang. My conclusion (after a series of digital heartbreaks)? I miss magnetic tape!

The beautiful complication of making mixed tapes has been romanticized (ad nauseum) in the last decade or so, sure, but you know what? There is a good reason for that: burning a CD is so impersonal, so thoughtless, so...easy. You don't have to stress over thoughtful little variables like transition time between songs and the A side/B side issue. It seems like cheating to have your entire library of songs laid out in front of you in neat little lists, you can drag and drop your way to a perfectly timed mix, with no worries about too many or too few songs--your computer will tell you if there's enough room, eliminating the embarrassment of cutting off a song before it's over (or worse: that awful dragging silence on the end of a side when you left too much blank tape after the last song, your bad planning irrefutably exposed). Not that I think anything worth doing should be complicated/difficult, quite the opposite, actually: analog just works so reliably; digital stuff is too easily controlled by Apple and DRM and other mysterious, legally nebulous abstractions that just get in the way of being creative with your own things. LPs never tell you you can't record songs from them--it's a grooved plastic disc with exactly zero hidden BS to screw with your desire to make a soundtrack for your roadtrip.

I've been thinking about regressing back to the early 90's, equipment wise, for quite a while (the real clincher came last year when my computer crashed and iTunes informed me that I could not recover any of the songs that I had already legally purchased from them...). There is no ethereal, fleeting quality to analog--there is no data to be lost or corrupted, no finicky little lasers, no rebooting, no delicate touch screen technology. My stereo has needles, levers, dials, buttons and switches--it makes reassuringly cantankerous noises that let you know it's working.

I found all my old records in storage, and I realized I had a single of Eat It by Weird Al Yankovic--I had actually forgotten that I owned it! I listened to my records all day yesterday and it was great! Soon I'll get the tape deck up and running and then the real fantasy comes to life: mixed tapes! My end-game plan is to add one more piece of past-present equipment to my arsenal: a portable tape player, so I can take it camping and listen to music while sitting around a fire and looking up at the stars...can you imagine? I've done this many times with a CD player...but never the same one twice. My point being that CD players are so sensitive to moisture that one overnight trip, even a rain-free one, is usually enough to kill them dead. I've gone through more CD players than I'd care to count this way, always with the same result no matter what precautions I take--condensation always finds a way. But those old tape players we all threw away a decade ago? they still worked just fine, even after being dropped down stairs, dragged through mud, kicked around and generally disrespected.

We can have it all, my friends, we just have to go back to the eighties to get it...who's with me?

Official Mercy Missiles Summer 2010 Cocktail

Readers, after much deliberation we've settled on the official beverage of the summer season here at MM: the mojito slushy! After some experimentation and modification to the traditional mojito recipe (lime juice, rum, sugar, mint, ice), we've arrived at a remarkably well-balanced and refreshing drink that, when done right, calls to mind a lemony/limey Icee--a kind of naughty sno-cone for the adults.

I should note that I really couldn't make this happen without the manic ice-crushing power of my Waring Professional Bar Blender (the last word on at-home beverage blending, not to mention stylish, retro good looks)--it doesn't screw around like those other blenders when asked to make you an icy drink that you don't have to chew.

Anyway--you don't have to take my word for it, here's the recipe so you can see for yourself:

In a blender add:

* juice from 1 lime
* juice from 1 lemon
* 3 shots of rum (2 if you'd rather stay coherent after drinking a few)
* 1 oz agave nectar (or sugar)
* fill to within 3 inches of the top with ice
* 1/2 can diet ginger ale

blend until all ice is crushed

muddle a sprig of mint leaves in two mason jars (1 sprig in each), add the rinds of the lemon & lime to each glass, then pour blender contents on top. A swizzle stick is a helpful inclusion to each glass. Makes two very easy-to-drink servings. Ciao bella!

We’re gonna make some big decisions in our little world

One thing I love about the internet is that I can start out doing legitimate research and end up sliding down a slippery slope of nonsense and time-sucking distraction. I'm sure you know what I mean. So it goes: last night I started out researching something perfectly legit and where did I end up? Websites that offer collections of Bob Ross quotes, of course.

For those of you unfamiliar with defunct public television shows from the 80's and 90's, Bob Ross was a soft-spoken hippie dippie type who hosted a half hour program on PBS called The Joy of Painting. Wherein he would softly coo about happy trees and mountains and birds--whatever he was using to populate his cheesy landscapes (which he would churn out, incredibly, in a half an hour)--while spontaneously offering quasi-new age (sometimes quasi-political) non sequiturs. As a former employee of an art supply store I reflexively cringe when I hear his name, as he is the demigod of aspiring retiree/housewife "artists" and anger management yogis everywhere, and was the object of much scorn and irony among my bitter, underemployed post-art school compatriots.

Anyway: I have to say, reading his little Wikipedia bio did give me a small feeling of regret about my past attitude towards the guy--seems like he was, in his own way, striking a blow against The Man (that stuff about the military really sheds light on some of his comments...). I'll post some of my favorite BR quotes here for your enjoyment:

* "And that makes it look like birch trees, isn’t that sneaky? Heh. Ha. It’s gorgeous."
* "Gotta give him a friend. Like I always say ‘everyone needs a friend’."
* "Any way you want it to be, that’s just right."
* "As my son Steve says, just ’smoosh’ it in there. It’s not a real word, but people seem to know what it means."
* "Maybe in our world there lives a happy little tree over there."
* "Oooh, if you have never been to Alaska, go there while it is still wild. My favorite uncle asked me if I wanted to go there, Uncle Sam. He said if you don’t go, you’re going to jail. That is how Uncle Sam asks you."
* "Talk to the tree, make friends with it."
* "I taught my son to paint mountains like these, and guess what? Now he paints the best damn mountains in the industry."
* "The only thing worse than yellow snow is green snow."
* "There’s nothing wrong with having a tree as a friend."
* "If you did this with yellow, and you went over it with blue, you would end up with a .. with a translucent… green. And it’s gorgeous. It is GORGEOUS."
* "We want happy paintings. Happy paintings. If you want sad things, watch the news."
* "Trees cover up a multitude of sins."
* "We’re gonna make some big decisions in our little world."
* "That’s a crooked tree. We’ll send him to Washington."
* "You can do anything you want to do. This is your world."
* "I can’t go over 30 minutes, because we have a mean ol’ director with no sense of humor."

Heh heh--oh, Bob!

Reds Mark 75th Anniversary of the First MLB Night Game

Readers, we're nearly 2 months into baseball season here at MM, and that means one thing: the Cincinnati Reds are back on our radar screen for another season of heartbreaking defeat (but what's that you say? The Reds have been in first place recently? And they haven't been in first place this deep into the season since 2006? True, but the cynical Reds fan that I am--read: lover of perennial losers held hostage by declining ticket sales and bad front-office decision making--will not allow me to enjoy it, knowing that crushing defeat lies in wait for that moment when I decide to emotionally invest myself).

Anyway: Cincinnati's Crosley Field made history back on May 24th, 1935 when it was host to the first ever baseball game played at night, at which the Reds beat the Phillies 2-1.

I was really disappointed that I couldn't make it up to Cincy to see the game last night: in honor of the anniversary, the powers-that-be 86ed the obnoxious, hiccuping drone of the Mega-tron (and the accompanying hip-hop styling of whatever crappy song each player wants played as he's walking up to bat) and instead opted to play organ music(!) ORGAN MUSIC! They apparently still have one stashed away somewhere at the ballpark (or at least a keyboard that has a calliope setting on it). That alone would've been worth the hour and 20 minute drive.

According to an article on MLB.com describing last night's festivities: "during the seventh inning stretch, a sparkling 'C' was illuminated on the right-field porch as part of a ceremony to commemorate the moment when President Franklin D. Roosevelt pushed a button at the White House to activate the lights at Crosley Field."

Wow! FDR! This was back when baseball was such a big deal in America that the President wanted to get involved! Go Reds!

New York Interlopers

Interesting NPR story about a Wisconsin historian, Margaret Zerwekh, who campaigned for over 20 years to honor a civil war soldier who died on the last day of fighting at Gettysburg with the Congressional Medal of Honor. He's finally getting this thing (way postmortem), and now Fredona, New York's mayor is trying to take the medal on the grounds that the soldier's family moved to Fredona (he was born in Delafield, Wisconsin). Hmm, not sure what would be the best solution--dig up his body and then re-bury him with it? Did there really need to be a physical medal made up if this guy no longer had any living family members to present it to? Anyway, I like how Guy Raz stokes the fire later in the interview:

"You'd better work quickly before those New York interlopers come in and try to snag the medal."

Ha! "New York interlopers"! Some of my best laid plans have been foiled by the likes of those meddling yankees!

Wrong Wrong Wrong

Yet another disturbing library find, readers--and this one uncovers an entire seedy underbelly of troubling, anti-social, cat-related behavior: How to Massage Your Cat by Jane Buckle. It's not that I am so naive that I didn't realize there was this thing called cat massage going on all across America--yeah, I've heard about it--no, it's that cover illustration: the look on the cartoon kitty as those not-so-gentle-looking, groping hands reach for his backside...gross! And what are those motion lines around the thumbs suggesting?? Run, Mr. kitty!

Louisville Mayor Candidate has "Great Idea" for Economic Development...

Readers, as you may have noticed, I've been sporadically reporting on the massive Louisville mayoral primary race. I can't really help it--you see, when our (quasi)beloved "mayor for life" Jerry Abramson (who had a strangle hold on the office for nearly 20 years) announced that he was not seeking reelection, we Louisvillians kind of lost our shit: now that the perennial shoe-in has bowed out, everybody wants a crack at this thing called "mayor" and there seems to be no campaign limit on crazy this election period.

I reported earlier on one special candidate who led the pack in that regard early on, but another contender for the coo-coo crown seems worth mentioning. Burrel Farnsley, son of Louisville's former mayor (1948-53), the late Charles Farnsley, has barely been a bleep on the radar here at MM: he avoids the press, doesn't seem to give interviews, and doesn't even have a website. He is pictured here at a mayoral candidate panel, um, asleep (maybe he's taking a cue from reigning king of Ky good ole' boys Jim Bunning--catching some zz's on the job didn't particularly seem to hurt his career...). Farnsley is pretty much just ballot filler at this point (along with a field of other less-than-hopefuls, ne'er do wells and half-cocked "community activists")--when we go to the polls for tomorrow's primary the only people who are likely to circle this guy's name are the disgruntled, the dangerously misinformed or that strange breed of jack-off who takes the time and trouble to cast their vote as a sort of irresponsible civic joke.

Case in point? Yesterday's Courier-Journal reported that Farnsley has halted his campaign effort. He hasn't withdrawn from the race, per se, but after participating in a few forums (like the one pictured above) he has "stopped actively campaigning." The poor C-J seems to be genuinely trying to get this guy some press, but Farnsley apparently screens his phone calls very carefully and lives pretty much off-grid (no Twitter account? Barbaric!). But the most enlightening part of the article was the little bit of information he apparently did provide regarding his idea for Louisville's economic growth:

"He said...that his major economic-development idea is to allow bars to remain open 24 hours a day, seven days a week." (!)

Well, finally! A candidate that understands that bar closing times need to extend beyond 4 AM to really contribute to the community! Pappa would be so proud.

Things I Learned When a Possum Began Living Under Our Deck

* Possums are the only native marsupials to North America
* Possums have prehensile tails
* Possums have opposable thumbs(!)
* Possums are not afraid of my dog
* Possums are not afraid of me
* Hitting a possum with a broom has surprisingly little effect
* Possum shit smells unholy
* My dog enjoys rolling in possum shit
* Because of their low body temperature, possums rarely get rabies
* Female possums have 13 nipples
* If not removed soon, I will potentially have 13 more possums living under my deck
* Possums are either too smart to fall for raccoon traps or they don't like canned Science Diet dog food

Best Book Ever

Readers, I'm always on the lookout for amazing literary gems at my library, and I really hit the mother load this time. Our newest entry comes to us from Timothy Welch and the good people at Prentice-Hall, circa 1984: Tape It Off! a guide to "lose weight quickly and enjoyably through self-hypnosis" (!) Check out that cover image: the Olivia Newton John Body Heat era-inspired outfit, the mall queen hair, the brick-sized Walkman...and then you have the promise of self-hypnosis...gosh, it's just a winning combination, isn't it?

Working in a library I come across hundreds of diet books, so it really takes a special contender to grab my attention like this one has. So the cover, title and premise alone was easily enough to win me over, but the real clencher? The first sentence in the first chapter (no joke): "You're too fat!"(!!) Wow, I guess that was the type of positive encouragement one could expect to get from the early eighties...really makes you realize how touchy-feely and PC we've gotten with our diet books here in the next century.

And lest you think this was just a one-off dabble for Prentice-Hall in the genre of self-improvement through DIY hypnosis, the back of the book jacket sets you straight--there is a whole series of this stuff to explore! Some of these titles sound pretty promising: Financial Well-Being Through Self-Hypnosos by Joseph Itiel, You Can Do It With Self-Hypnosos by Charles E. Henderson, and (you should've seen this one coming): Improve Your Sex Life Through Self-Hypnosos by John Kappas! I'm sure I can run up to my local Borders and snag these.

The book is full of scripts that you are supposed to read aloud in a calm, monotone voice into your gigantic tape recorder, then play it back to yourself just before mealtime. The theory is that you'll hypnotize yourself into a non-hungry stupor, thus ditching your thunder thighs and gaining the confidence you'll need to hang around in a candy-striped leotard and stirrup pants (pink and red?? Oh, girlfriend, no). So the book is chock full of odd little mantras to tell yourself, but it's also got random descriptions of stressful real-life situations that may contribute to overeating. Some of the weirder chapter titles include: chapter 3: Eye Fixation and Arm Levitation, ch 7: The Candy Lady and the Pie Guy, ch 12: Domestic Dissent, ch 13: My Enemies, The Children(!), and ch 15: I Wish I Were Pregnant(??).

Wacky. Just...wacky.

Falls City Beer: The Review

Well, readers--after learning about the return of the Falls City brand and that it was available on tap just two blocks away from my house, it really didn't make sense for me not to go give it a try right away. So there it is, in all its deep-amber glory. It's true that the color is much deeper than I remember--the lager that once was had a wispy, lemony color, while the new brew is indeed the darker hue of an American pale ale.

So...that, unfortunately, is where the comparisons end between the new FCB and APA. There is none of the hoppy goodness that one would associate with such a color, no deep complexity or pleasant yeasty nose...it was rather plain, actually. Don't get me wrong, it beats Budweiser or Miller Lite or whatever other major domestic you got, and it beats the hell out of Kentucky Ale. But honestly--I guess I was expecting more. All the talk about small breweries, reviving a local favorite and taking it back to its roots made me think there would be some sort of shazaam sort of moment. It's just OK. Kind of a metallic finish.

Oh, and the price? We paid $4 a pop for an average beer that should've been half that. Seriously? One of the big draws of the underdog beers is the bargain price--it's really not that fun to pay the same amount you would for a better beer but only get an unremarkable 2nd (3rd?) tier brew. I mean, we weren't at the ballpark or anything. I don't know--if I happen to see a six-pack at Schreck's for less than 6 bucks I'll definitely buy some to keep in the fridge, but otherwise I'll just stick with my usual.

The Return of Falls City

As any native Louisvillian knows, Falls City Beer--the watery, beer-like soda pop that the local skinny jeans-clad hipsters still pine over--has been a defunct brand for around ten years now. (What is really behind the hipster love of skunky off-brands, anyway? I love Pabst Blue Ribbon for historical reasons--it was first introduced at the 1892 Chicago Worlds Fair! But hipsters are stupid, they don't bother with anything older than The Smurfs, right? I guess I can understand the Budweiser backlash and the yearning for local weirdness when it comes to branding...but seriously: I saw PBR for sale at F-ing Whole Foods the other day! WTF?) Anyway, the Louisville-made regional favorite began production in 1905, surviving prohibition only to see the national takeover of the Big Beer Brand conglomeration. In 1978, after a pretty good run, the company dissolved it's board of directors and the brand changed hands, going to new owners outside Louisville (Indiana and later Pittsburgh, from what I've heard) who proceeded to cheapen the brand, making it into the loveable, bottom shelf horse-piss that most people remember today.

Hipster-fueled nostalgia, combined with a recent trend towards craft/micro brewing and a general popularity of "local things" (the word "sustainability" gets thrown around a lot these days...) seems to all have had a hand in the revival of FCB. David Easterling is the current owner of the brand, and for now it looks like he is going to be operating out of Cincinnati--but according to a recent LEO Weekly interview, he's keen to bring the operation back to Louisville.

But the really interesting part? According to the grapevine, the new recipe is nothing like the wimpy lager that filled the can in the 80's and 90's--Easterling says the new FC is closer to what it tasted like in the early days of the brand, which was an American Pale Ale(!) The original recipe is apparently lost, so the new beer may not be an exact copy, but even an approximate replica is nonetheless very exciting--Falls City Beer is sort of a legend in my family: my grandmother and her beer-swilling sisters were very fond of it, and now I get to taste what it was like. I'm pretty psyched to go find an area watering hole that has it on tap. I predict that local demand will pave the way for Falls City to make its glorious return onto the shelves of every store in the city--even the gawddamned Whole Foods.

Official Results...

It looks like I miscalculated that finishing time by just a couple of minutes, which bothers me not at all, readers--it still brings me in under my projected time of 2:15:00 by quite a bit.

And that official finish time? According to the timing chip embedded on my bib it was:

2:07:17!

Hurrah! Now for some sweet statistics:

* Out of the 15,000 people who registered to participate in both races (full & mini marathons), 10,738 finished the mini marathon
* Out of the 10,738 who finished, I came in 3,409th
* 4,655 men finished, 6,083 females finished
* Out of those 6,083 females, I came in 1,161th
* There were 1,073 females aged 30-34 who finished
* Out of those 1,073 I came in 236th

And there you have it! This wraps up our 2010 Ky Derby Festival Mini Marathon coverage, I hope you enjoyed it. & if you did, stay tuned: next year I'm considering the full marathon...26.2 miles!

The Results Are In...

Well, readers, all the angst and anticipation about the weather and whatnot was all for naught: what a fabulous morning for a long run! It sprinkled a bit, and then rained in earnest for the first 30 minutes or so, but then cleared right up. My unofficial time (I guess they'll send me my "official" time in the mail) for the mini marathon--13.1 miles--was 2 hours and 5 minutes...actually way better than my projected 2 hrs and 15 minutes. What can I say? I felt great and it all went off without so much as a side stitch or a blister--the remnants of my sinus infection didn't bother me and I was able to just get in "the zone" and enjoy myself. It was pretty fantastic running through Churchill Downs: they had some horses out doing exercises and the PA system was pumping out old turn-by-turn broadcasts of races. Can't wait to do it again!

And what sort of playlist got me through my two hours of racing excitement? Well, it's a pretty good one, so I should definitely list it, just for you, reader:

1. The Trio (main title from The Good, The Bad and the Ugly): Ennio Morricone
2. Down on the Street: The Stooges
3. Through the Fire: Larry Green
4. Danger Zone: Kenny Loggins
5. Cannonball: The Breeders
6. Rocky: United Artists Orchestra
7. Star Wars main theme: John Williams
8. The Imperial March: John Williams
9. Raiders of the Lost Ark main theme: John Williams
10. Carmina Burana: Atlanta Symphony Orchestra
11. Principles of Lust: Enigma
12. The Ecstasy of Gold: Ennio Morricone
13. Olympic Fanfare and Theme: John Williams
14. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom main theme: John Williams
15. Superman main theme: John Williams
16. Pee Wee's Big Adventure main theme: Danny Elfman
17. Batman main theme: Danny Elfman
18. Extreme Ways: Moby
19. What Is Love?: Haddaway
20. Enjoy the Silence: Depeche Mode
21. Lonely Highway: the Magnetic Fields
22. Learning to Fly: Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
23. Runnin' Down a Dream: Tom Petty
24. I Won't Back Down: Tom Petty
25. Come as You Are: Nirvana
26. Welcome to the Jungle: Guns N' Roses
27. Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love: Van Halen
28. People of the Sun: Rage Against the Machine
29. Vietnow: Rage Against the Machine
30. Evil Operations Classified: The Casual Dots
31. G.F.S.: Slant 6
32. Dr. Seuss: Autoclave
33. Time Expired: Slant 6
34. Ace of Spades: Motorhead
35. (We are the) Road Crew: Motorhead
36. Cherub Rock: Smashing Pumpkins
37. Jane Says: Jane's Addiction
38. The Final Countdown: Europe

Oh boy: that's a lot of musical inspiration about taking things to the limit, trying real hard, time being an issue, adrenaline-laced stiff-lipped badass-ary and orchestral gravitas--perfect for all our distance running endeavors! And strangely enough, the transitions were smoother than you think. Hurrah for me!

KY Derby Festival Minimarathon Tomorrow

Yikes, readers: tomorrow's the big race! in just 16 hours I'll be lining up on 3rd street near Southside Drive in anticipation of my very first half marathon! Feeling some jitters, but having no doubts about being ready. The best thing about this being my first race is that there is no pressure to top myself: no matter what, tomorrow will be a personal best so I can pretty much just relax and enjoy it. I'm thinking about it in terms of just going out for a nice long run--with 14,999 other people(!)

The only thing I am worried about is the weather: 80% chance of thunderstorms! Like, with thunder and lightning. Huh. That really puts a damper on things. So I guess I'll have to put my iPod in a ziplock (running for 2+ hours with no music is NOT an option), and my visual situation looks grim as I can imagine my glasses fogging up and being useless, not to mention wet socks, giant puddles and being generally soaked through. This and I'm still not 100% over a sinus infection that was in full force last week...

But whatever, readers: I've been training for this thing for 8 months, so I'm game for some bad weather. And the fact that I'll be rained upon will simply up the badass factor and bragging rights I'll get, so I guess it will be fine.

And check out my outfit for the occasion:

* New-ish Mizuno Wave Rider running shoes (with neutral cushioning);
* my favorite cushy black socks;
* my crazy 3/4 length CW-X Stabylx running tights;
* plain old Target brand polyester/cotton blend shirt;
* Camelbak utility belt with water bottle holster (don't call it a fannypack!);
* 3 pouches of GU Chocolate Outrage energy gels;
* merino wool/acrylic blend arm warmers;
* eye glass keeper-on-ers;
* Brooks running cap;
* Mini Marathon number bib with microchip embedded to record time (I think it's like an RFID tag), #13547D

Stay tuned for more!

First Attended MLB Game of the Season, 4/22/2010

Cincinnati Reds v Los Angeles Dodgers

final score after 9 innings of play: Reds 8, Dodgers 5

hits: Reds 13, Dodgers 9

A very pleasant evening for attending a live baseball game. I actually think this is the first time I've seen the Reds win in the "new" ballpark (RIP Riverfront Stadium), so I'll admit I was totally shocked--I consider myself to be the Reds' unofficial bad luck charm (as if they needed any more negative mojo).

So do I, as a consummate Reds fan, have much optimism for the 2010 season? Well, no, reader, I do not--we Redlegs fans have become quite the cynical bunch, and it'll take a Johnny Bench-like streak of heroism from our boys to change our mindset that our team has become a rag-tag slush fund of 2nd and 3rd tier talent passed over by the Yankees, et al. A sad state of affairs, for sure--but there is a certain amount of pride taken in the fact that I haven't jumped ship for greener, more successful pastures. And gosh, if this season doesn't pan out (like so many others didn't), well--we'll always have 1976, baby.

EEEEUUUWWW...

Well, I knew it was happening, but it's distressing to see it all for sure, in black and white: the new college basketball arena set to open next season will be officially monikered KFC Yum! Center.

There's been endless droves of talk and nonsense about the big-ass basketball cathedral. Everyone already knew The Colonel had his greasy corpse-ified claw extended from beyond the grave, poised to take possession of the corporate naming rights to the monstrosity that was popularly (and imaginatively) called "The Downtown Arena." Weirdly, there was a rumor going around for the last couple of years that it was going to be called "The Bucket," which I guess is fun and appropriate: early artists' conceptions had the thing actually physically resembling a bucket of chicken(!) I was even kind of warming to that idea once I began imagining some outrageous Claes Oldenburg-designed showpiece on the riverfront, both magnificent and horrible in its overwrought corporate opulence--a cartoon made manifest that would dominate the city skyline like it has dominated the world's commercial fried chicken market. And they would play basketball inside.

Of course, my hometown lacks that kind of edgy vision (read: they know better than to piss off red necks who hate that sort of artsy bullshit). I was driving downtown for the first time in a while and was shocked to see how much they've built--and just how butt ugly the thing really is. And look at that picture: they're really going to put the logos of the Yum! axis of fast food evil ON THE FREAKING ROOF! So people in airplanes can see it! (Actually, one wonders why Yum! hasn't had this epiphany before, paying farmers in flyover country to grow their crops in the pattern of the Long John Silver's logo).

So there we have it: the name of the new boxy monstrosity now obstructing the waterfront will have an exclamation point in the middle of it's soulless, ungainly corporate-inspired name. I guess we should count ourselves lucky that the "Arena Authority Task Force" (or whatever that group of pompous local imagineers is calling themselves lately) limited themselves to whoring the naming rights out to just one conglomerate; I can imagine there being some crazy unwieldy compromise wherein the official name ends up being something like: Pepsi and Papa John's Presents The KFC Yum! Center at McDonaldland's Ameritrade PNC Bank Arena and Denny Crum Welcome Center.

Whatever--I'm still calling it "The Bucket."