I Eat More Chicken Any Man Ever Seen, Yeah!

My favorite baseball player of all time, Wade Boggs, hitter extraordinaire, is being inducted into Baseball's Hall of Fame tomorrow. Needless to say, Holly Go-Heavily, who is, I might add, not too hip to like professional sports, is quite excited.

Boggs played from 1982 to 1999 with the Boston Red Sox (1982-1992), the New York Yankees (1993-1997) and the Tampa Bay Devil Rays (1998-1999), spending most of his time as a third baseman (he play first base a few times, and even pitched on two occasions). While never a power hitter (he only hit more than 10 homers in a season twice), he consistently hit for a high batting average. In 18 seasons, he had only three seasons where he batted below .300, and two of those were at the end of his career. His career ended with a .328 batting average (only five players in the last 70 years have a higher career average).

His years of dominance ran from 1983 to 1989, where he became the only player in baseball history to have seven straight 200-hit seasons and 4 straight 200-hit, 100-walk seasons. He lead the American League in batting average five times in that span. His best season was 1985 when he batted .368 and had 240 hits (both career highs). Just think, he had 240 hits that year without the speed of Ichiro Suzuki, who broke the single-season hits record last year (262). If Boggs had Ichiro's speed (Boggs only had 24 stolen bases in his entire career), there's no telling how many hits he could have had. Boggs left the Red Sox for the Yankees in 1993, and with the Yankees, he won his only World Series (1996). He reached the 3,000-hit milestone in 1999 with Tampa Bay (the town he was born in), a milestone which only 25 other players have reached. The hit was a home run, making Boggs, not known for his power, the only member of the 3,000-hit club to hit a home run for his 3,000th hit. He retired with 3,010 hits.

Off the field, Boggs is known for his eccentric behavior. He ate chicken before every game and would draw the Hebrew word "chai" in the batters box before each at-bat. He was also known for a sex scandal involving a Penthouse Pinup named Margo Adams. Way to go Wade! Since his retirement, he has stooped to doing hair restoration commercials. Way to go Wade! And now he's in the Hall of Fame. Way to go Wade!

King Kong Kitchie Kitchie Ki-Mi-O

I be thinking like, yo, this phishizzle on "year of the geek" is stright whack. All you G's out dare know 1985 was the year of the nerd, sez American Splendor (2003).

Harvey Pekar: What movie could be worth driving 260 miles round trip for?

Toby Radloff: It's a new film called Revenge of the Nerds. It's about a group of nerd college students who are being picked on all the time by the jocks. So they decide to take revenge.

Harvey Pekar: So what you're saying is, you identify with those nerds.

Toby Radloff: Yes. I consider myself a nerd. And this movie has uplifted me. There's this one scene, where a nerd grabs the microphone during a pep rally and announces that he is a nerd and that he is proud of it and stands up for the rights of other nerds.

Harvey Pekar: Right on.

Toby Radloff: Then he asks all the kids at the pep rally who think they are nerds to come forward, so nearly everybody in the place does. That's the way the movie ends.

Harvey Pekar: Uhhmmm, so the nerds won, huh?

Toby Radloff: Yes.

Now I'm all up in the year of the geek. Holl, you got a loosey? Menthol. Ahhh.

Bathrumor

Today, while at my favorite nearby hipster coffeeshop, I had to take a jaunt to the bathroom. Over the toilet (to the left if you're sitting on it) is a white cupboard. A customer (presumably) has taken the time to draw a wide-eyed male countenance on it in black marker. Below the drawing are the following words:

BIG BROTHER

IS WATCHING YOU

POOP

Normally, bathroom graffiti is about as coherent as listening to Keith Richards talk. But this one got me thinking. "I hope Big Brother is NOT watching me ... go to the bathroom." Big Brother would most definitely critique my bathroom technique and procedure, peppering His harsh criticisms with stale sit-com-grade yuks. I don't like my civil liberties tread upon like that. I'm now considering moving to Freedonia, where a Big Marx Brother would find better things to do with His time.

))><((

That's right folks. This is the time on Possible Elitists High on Coffee and Cloves when we give Shout-Outs to all tha dizzogs in our hood. First, I'd like to congratulate Cat on finding his affordable dream home. I'm sure Dale Earnhardt--NASCAR legend and professional actor--would be proud! Now Cat can turn an entire room into a litter box, or maybe a toilet bowl. (Holla atcha boy Kate!)

Before I get to the Shout-Outs ... it looks like a group of young outcasts is trying to co-opt our subculture, Cat. Check this out:

http://www.cnn.com/2005/EDUCATION/07/18/dork.pride.ap/index.html

And I'm probably the last person on Earth to say this, because I can be a bit dense sometimes, but those "Vote for Pedro" T-shirts have got to go, folks. Really. I'm serious.

Okay, to the Shout-Outs:

1) Go see Miranda July's film Me and You and Everyone We Know. I'm so retarded for it. It's exactly what I've been looking for in a film for years now. I could say something like, "It reminds me of a light-hearted Todd Solondz film combined with a touch of Hal Hartley aloofness," but that would not do nearly enough justice (and might even be construed as an insult).

2) Look at the blog PostSecret. Every time I read it, I laugh and cry. See for yourself. (And yes, I do have emotions ...)

3) Look at the blog Two Advice Columnists and a Poisonous Cobra. Seriously the worst advice column in history. And ask for some advice while you're at it, just to see what kind of silly answers Brock, Mia and the Snake can dream up.

4) Sleater-Kinney's new album The Woods. They never cease to amaze with each new album they release.

Okay, enough praising for now. It's back to the drawing board ... and time to return to being the cynical Gen-X slacker my Me-Generation parents raised me to be.

My piece of paradise

Holly, I've found my dream home. You might have assumed that a swarthy hipster like myself would be a perennial apartment-dweller. Well, if so, think again. Here's a picture captured at the "magic hour", when the dimming light just before dark gives the place a kind of shimmer.



Notice the trifecta:

(1) Cinder blocks on the lawn painted green, for wondrous aesthetic effect and lawn-mowing advantage.

(2) A tree in the front lawn, shaped so well and rounded that mother nature could never match it. Impossible to duplicate.

(3) A sign on the front of a charming little house saying, "Liberate Iraq". That's so progressive! To think that somebody inside is opposed to American imperialism and wants U.S. invaders out of Iraq and safely back home. I think that's swell.

So, I think me and my woman should move in there as soon as possible. Given current real estate prices, which I hardly understand, I could probably slide in to this place for as little as $650,000. Quite a steal for 600 square foot ranch with outdated electrical wiring.

I can't wait to move into a place like this one. I can almost taste the meatless backyard barbecues already. I can probably also finally listen to Franz Ferdinand, Interpol, and whatever else college radio decides I should listen to at the full volume those giants of indie rock deserve. Yay.

My only complaint is the considerable distance between this veritable slice of paradise and the nearest NASCAR track. Fortunately, those cinder blocks out front make just the right place to paint an appropriate tribute.

Bloody boffins

http://www.news.com.au/story/0,10117,15739502-13762,00.html

George Romero is really more of a documentarian it seems.

...And My Name is Larry

Holly here. Speaking of Cancer, or, more appropriately, Can-saw, those of you unfamiliar with classic 1970s soul must treat yourself to the song "Float On" by the Floaters (1977).

For those unfamiliar with the track, here is the formula:
1) Each individual member of the group states his astrological sign
2) Each individual member of the group states his name
3) Each individual member of the group states what he likes in a woman
4) Each individual sings the following lines: "Take my hand / Come with me baby to Love Land / Let me show you how sweet it could be / Sharing love with me / I want you to ... "
5) Every member harmonizes together, singing, "Float / Float On /Float On / Float On / Float / Float Float / Float On" with various ad-libs thrown in to spice things up even more.
[Note: For those of you out there who know me personally, it was very hard to type #5, if you know what I mean ...]

Ralph is an Aquarius. Charles is a Libra who likes quiet gals. Paul is a Leo. My favorite, though, is Larry, who is a Cancer, who likes everybody. He also breaks the rules on #4, telling his lady, "Let me show you how it sweet it could be / Sharing your love with Larry." The balls on this guy! While the single version comes in just a hair over four minutes long, closing with vaguely orgasmic sounds from one of the Floaters, the LP version (the album is pictured above) is an excruciatingly blissful 11 minutes in length. That's at least seven inches of groovespace!

Cancer

I was listening to "City Hawk" from Beans' Shock City Maverick (2004). Yo, it's tight! He spits it: "Mr. 'one-stripe' Red / dial 3-M-C / what's the answer / first sign is cancer". That reminded me Holly, that Hollywood blockbusters, like Beans (and Turtledaub too), are cancers. A birthday between June 22 and July 22 makes anyone a cancer, by zodiac sign. Those endless streams of sequels and remakes released to theaters each summer, pumped out by worthless Hollywood administrators and bureaucrats who are too risk-averse to ever put out original ideas that haven't been tested in other markets and ... [the next 32 pages of this rant have been omitted].

Billy, Don't Be a Hero

This man is my hero

for so many reasons. At least three come to mind right now: 1) He married Angelina Jolie. Now, I'm not one to be talking--being that I look like Celine Dion and I'm always pounding my chest--but Billy Bob Thornton is one ugly sumbitch (sorry folks, but Branson-speak is apparently contagious). Using some high-octane Jedi-Mind-Trick-shit on Anjay, he slinked his way into her drawers and slipped a wedding ring on while he was at it. Sure, they are no longer together. Given Jolie's apparent mental instabilities, this should be taken as yet another sign that Billy Bob is a genius. [For the record, it should be noted that I'm so totally bi for Angelina Jolie. I love me some crazies!] 2) He makes Santa Claus into a character that I don't want to punch out. 3) He can be in a remake that I'll go watch, willingly. (Of course, it helps that the upcoming remake of The Bad News Bears is going to be directed by Richard Linklater.)

By the way, movie remakes are a cancer (seriously: I have photographs to prove it), and they are atrophying the brains of the Hollywood execs who greenlight them. [Note: this comment is not meant to pertain those rare films known in the biz as "halfway decent remakes" like The Italian Job, Oceans 11, Dawn of the Dead and The Thomas Crown Affair.] A movie-savvy reader of this very blog, Master of Surreality, sent me the following message through the patented Possible Elitists High on Coffee and Cloves Communication Machine 3000:

[We] have remakes of the following movies also coming out within the next couple years:

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, Sunset Blvd., Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Departed, The Bad News Bears, When a Stranger Calls, Fun with Dick and Jane, The Poseiden Adventure, The Shaggy Dog, Superman, Yours Mine and Ours, All the King's Men, The Producers, The Fog, The Hitcher, Don't Look Now, The Hills Have Eyes, Swiss Family Robinson, Porky's, Piranha, Day of the Dead, Adventures in Babysitting, Billy Jack, The Blob (2nd remake), The Bad Seed, Damn Yankees, The Lavender Hill Mob, The Bellboy, Dead of Night, Let's Get Harry, Invasion of the Body Snatchers (2nd remake), The Fly (2nd remake), Witness for the Prosecution, The Doberman Gang, Bride of Frankenstein, Logan's Run, Pet Semetary, The Man who Came to Dinner, Sharky's Machine, To Catch a Thief, The Crazies, The Entity, My Bodyguard, The Toy (a big WTF on this one!), Love at First Bite, Vanishing Point, The Warriors, Oh God!, Phantasm, Death Race 3000, Race with the Devil, Strangers on a Train, North by Northwest, All of Me, When Worlds Collide, Some Like it Hot, The Evil Dead...

Yeah...How 'bout some originality indeed???

The strangest one (except for "The Toy") has to be a remake of "Day of the Dead." So...they remade "Night of the Living Dead," "Dawn of the Dead," and now "Day of the Dead." So my question is when is the remake for the just released "Land of the Dead" coming out? [It should be noted that Master of Surreality did not mention the fact that The Crazies (1973) was also a George A. Romero film in its original form--albeit a very poor one. Holly, who really wants to see a remake of Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004).]

King of kings

City officials in Chicago have turned off a light that supposedly showed the face of jesus. I think they should replace it with a lighted monument to the king of kings, Elvis Aaron Presley.

I'm Sex-Deprived, Bitch

After a wonderful week and weekend abroad (despite the terrible traffic) in wonderful Branson, Missouri, Holly Go-Heavily returns sunburnt and aching, having had an inordinate amount of sex with really beautiful people as a result of my bloggy-style. Believe me ... Paper Cat had to buy a case of Chick Repellent Spray 3000 to keep all the fauning femmes away from him.

But it recently came to my attention that the Internet's biggest asshole, the brilliant Maddox, doesn't like bloggers. Maddox, who has brilliantly ridiculed people for their lousy imitations of Dave Chappelle, their sudden taste for Pinot following the success of the film Sideways, and their children's lousy drawings, is now responsible for my unwilled celibacy. [Why would Maddox complain about the layout of this blog?] I'm now convinced Maddox is the biggest cockblocker/twatblocker/blueblocker on the Internet.

And I'll just keep on complaining. According to these people, if I could be sold as chattel, I would be worth $2,007,706, a full $20,000 more than Wednesday's Child. How 'bout them apples? Now, not only can't I get laid anymore, I find out I'm entitled to over $2 million, but the buying and selling of humans is illegal (at least in certain parts of the world). With that money, I could buy 2362 of these.

Album covers

I highly recommend this list of album covers:

http://rateyourmusic.com/lists/list_view?list_id=24536

It features a hearty mix of the hideous, the disturbing, the disgusting, the funny, the misguided, the lame, and the sad. You will find no equal anywhere on the interweb.

It has come to my attention

Some of you out there may not be blogging already. Well, it's easy to start a blog yourself. I recommend starting right now because it's a well-known fact that your credibility is directly tied to the number of blogs you write.

Vacation

This is an automated response from Holly Go-Heavily who is currently on vacation in sunny Branson, Missouri -- the hippest, nay, the "coolest" place in the lower 48. You can get more cheap hip mesh hats there than you can shake a whittled stick at. The last time I was there, I got a hat that read: HOT DAMN! HERE I AM. How's that for your $2 feminist statement? And I still have all my armpit hair. Turtledaub said he might be there to see Conway Twitty, but somehow I don't believe him. Cat, for the record, you should know I don't motorcycle. I prefer to travel by BMX. As for PBR, to quote Frank Booth, I say, "FUCK THAT SHIT" ... Old Milwaukee Light. "It doesn't get any better than this." You betcha!

By the way, Cat, I'd like to nominate this as the worst album cover ever.