Vide-Oh no you don't

There's little other than a brief music post that's new today. I spent most of today shooting videos with my phone before realizing my phone shoots in Quicktime, and I only have Windows Movie Maker for video editing. I can't get my 3g2 files in to .aif files, and it's a setback that I never even considered happening. The problem will be solved soon enough, but after an afternoon of trying, I'm postponing that for today. I know I can download a third party program to convert them, but most of them are only for short trial periods. I'll wait for this other solution to arrive. So today there's just the music post, and maybe some other stuff you missed. Food will be the next big update. Some burger recipes, and an excellent Fall dish are on the way tomorrow. Sorry about the small post, but I had a whole video shot and ready for edits. Re-shooting will be necessary with new format, but way better quality and ease of use.

The Celtics looked pretty damn good tonight, by the way. I know the Bulls are bad on the second of back to backs, especially on the road, but the Celtics have the deepest bench in the NBA. You could argue for the Magic, but I would have disagreed even before Vince Carter left tonight's game with a leg injury. To be able to interchange Glen Davis (once he returns from injury), Kendrick Perkins, Kevin Garnett and Rasheed Wallace is impressive. Marquis Daniels is an upgrade from Stephon Marbury to back up Rondo, and Sheldon Williams is the best James Posey poser I've seen in green since James left. The only question will be K.G.'s health, which, if steady through the season, should put the Celtics in the Finals. There are 79 more regular season games before the Playoffs, so we'll wait and see.

More tomorrow, get burger hungry!

TV demands attention, doesn't express gratitude towards owner.

As much as I dislike the Yankees, I definitely cannot agree with Pedro Martinez’s statement that he’s the most influential player to ever play in Yankee Stadium. Sure, he’s a first ballot Hall of Famer and has had some memorable games there, but he’s not the most influential. Also, his approach of “you guys in New York have been so mean to me,” doesn’t play well when his bank account was getting direct deposit checks from the Mets for several years. He wasn’t complaining then, so I don’t want to hear it now. Oh, and as far as apologizing for the Zimmer toss, don’t bother. That statement was teeming with BS, “I thought he was coming to give me advice.” The last time a guy came charging at me, I wasn’t thinking advice. Besides, don’t say you feel bad six years after the fact. Don’t say that Zimmer said horrible things about your mother, either. If they were so offensive and horrendous, we probably would have heard about them immediately after the incident. Pedro could be pitching the last game of his career right now; I think he should be more worried about command and winning, not what happened six years ago. I wish Pedro the best in tonight’s game as well as in life after baseball, but I can’t say I’m going to miss his mouth. Still, it’s surprising the Yankees haven’t hit much so far tonight. More as the game develops.

It’s the third inning now, and I’m flipping back and forth between that and Bruins vs. Devils. Their also in the 3 ^rd, but tied at 1. The B’s have looked inspired at times tonight, and, as usual, Tim Thomas is playing well and keeping them in it. I don’t recognize anyone on the Devils, especially with Martin Brodeur not in net. Ah crap, got wrapped up in controlling the dog and came back to a 2-1 Devil win. Sadly, it turns out my favorite part of that broadcast was during intermission when the Devils brass spoke of their efforts to revamp the area around the Prudential Center (a wonderful, fantastic thing). The newest restaurant to open is Brick City Bar and Grill / Café. I got a good laugh when they mentioned the owner of the restaurant partnered with the NHL’s local team in a venture to make a great neighborhood for a sports arena which is already standing. This owner, and other owners of small businesses, will all be making deals with the Devils. If the management of the hockey team desires to have holiday parties at Brick City, there will be a lot of people dancing with the Devils in the pale moon light. As bad as those jokes are, a loss to the Devils on home ice to sink to a .500 record is equally as painful. The Bruins seem to be expecting things to come to them and are not being aggressive or physical enough.

I liked that in the top of the 5 ^th inning there were two representatives from the “text to get answer” service, KGB, sitting in the stands. The 40 something year old cougar and the rockin’ dude with the backwards hat were having a great time, as evidenced by the beer in that feline’s paw. KGB seems to be saying, “when you’re drunk at a bar and can’t remember the answers to things, text us; we’ll be drunk, too, but near a computer as well.” That’s a great way to advertise, guys. I knew you couldn’t be trusted; you’re no different than the Russian Secret Service.

Burnett is pitching well, and Matsui’s home run has turned Charlie Manuel in to Grady Little, wondering if he should take Pedro off of Yankee Stadium’s mound. It’s funny that the Yankees have scored on two solo home runs; that never happens at this Yankee Stadium.

I draw the line at 3-1 Yankees; I’ll look for highlights later because it’s not worth watching them a win a non-deciding game. I have a Scrabble game to settle with my phone, and then watch these new Trail Blazer fellas attempt to do what my dog does in the park; drop the Nuggets.

One last note about TV tonight, I saw the Spade/Farley ad again, and for the first time I listened to the end of the commercial. Spade’s last line is, “it never gets old.” Does he mean that joke, or Chris Farley? They’re ruthless; they may have well filmed the commercial ON Farley’s grave, and digitized him bumbling around and knocking over his own tombstone. It’s time to watch something on DVR, where commercials don’t exist.  

Brand New Section!

This part is going to updated on Sundays from now on, but here's an advance look at your upcoming week. It's always good to know what to expect.

http://wreckmanacwhoreoscope.blogspot.com/

I haven't gone to sleep; it's still Tuesday.

The only update for today is in the music section, but more is on tap for tomorrow in to the weekend. Your patience, interest, and understanding are appreciated. The Celtics have been getting more sleep, so maybe I should as well. There you go, update in sports tonight, too. The Celtics went to a sleep therapist and were told to skip afternoon shoot arounds in the interest of getting 7-9 hours of sleep per night. They'll be able to focus better throughout games, and also achieve a higher free throw percentage. It's worked so far tonight (in replay).

Go read the thing on music and bug me tomorrow about more updates. The to do list on here is growing by the keystroke, so we'll see what I can do on another rainy day tomorrow. Hamjoy.  

Wreckmanac getting bigger, wife doesn't notice.

I don't even know if anyone has read any of this, but for those that are, things are expanding/changing here at Wreckmanac. New subsections are evolving, each with their own blog page. In other words, if you're looking for a blog in a specific category, scroll to the bottom of this page and look for it in the page footer. Food, sports, music, and video sections have been built, but some with more content than others. To be honest, Sports is the only one with an actual post on it, the rest have clever fillers for now. Within a short period of time, each page will have more and more. Stay tuned, and keep your comments coming. Actually, start commenting!

Themes, continued

Since one of the earlier posts was about dogs and cats living together (or had it in the title), and I featured work by my dog in a later one, I have to put up pictures of the cat that's currently living in my apartment. My girlfriend and I are fostering him until his respiratory infection goes away. At least, that's the story I got up front. I really only agreed to bring him in because he's so young (about 8 months), would likely be euthanized if returned to isolation care for treatment, and, his name is Bruin. Any luck I can provide for the Boston Bruins is no problem. The cat's on thin ice, though, the B's are 5-4-1 through ten games. That and my dog Aggie doesn't seem interested in sharing the apartment. Regardless, here's Mr. B.

And just so this post isn't all cutesy and "awwwww" inspiring, here's    
       something for the kids:

There will likely be a late night post tonight. I'll be working at the bar tonight, with a Yankee game on one TV and the Giants on the other, so I'm thinking I'll have something to say when I get home.I really hope they bought a new iPod dock for the bar; I'll need all the sanity I can get.

GO ANGELS!
GO EDIT iTUNES PLAYLIST!

Like making only two seasons of an amazing TV show, mankind has got to know his limitations.

            I never knew how those Jingle Heimer Schmidt guys felt until today. Sure, I could have walked in to their law firm and asked, but I never felt the need. Today, after I had consumed a 32oz. Gatorade and eaten an omelet in hopes of chasing away my hangover, I saw on a friend’s Facebook page that someone named Ryan Stevens had made a comment on her status.
“I didn’t make comments on peoples’ pages at four in the morning when I came home drunk; that’s not my picture.”

            After several exchanged messages, it turns out that this, strange, doppelganger Ryan is not so Bizzaro after all. He loves the Red Sox, plays music, and recognized the Megadeth quote when I said, “Hello, me, it’s me again.” Also, he, like me, or himself, or whatever, was hungover. It’s pretty weird stuff. Of course, I’ve looked up my name on Google before, seen other Ryan Stevenseses, like these folks:

            







but the feeling that there were more of me out there than I thought never really settled in until I exchanged instant messages with myself; it was a whole new way of talking to myself. That’s what I was doing anyway, as I spent most of the afternoon searching for the proper html codes to make this blog look the way it does. It sounds easy, but it’s not. Ask my Doppler, he’ll tell you how much it sucked. By process of elimination, you can tell the Ryan Stevens with whom I spoke is not the black lady in her car, and is thankfully not the gentlemen wearing the neon banana hammock, either. He's not the Ryan Stevens with the guitar, either, but his yearbook must have rocked! He looks like a Metallica fan vacationing in the Los Lobos islands.

            Although the new records from Baroness, Keelhaul, and Coalesce have occupied most of my time, I’ve been steadily rotating old favorites in to the mix. A few weeks ago, I gave Helmet’s “Aftertaste” a listen. It’s always good for days like that, which was the kind of day that today was; wet and nasty. It was more humid today, and everything was tensely hanging in the air. It wasn’t an “Oceanic” by Isis day; it wasn’t cold enough and lacked the sing along element I was craving. I felt the urge, as did another one of my friends, apparently, to put on Alice In Chains, first with “Jar of Flies,” then all of their stuff on shuffle. Man I missed them. It was the perfect haunting soundtrack for a sticky, nasty day. It’s kind of like listening to Pantera after not hearing them for awhile, and being dumbstruck at how much Dimebag is missed. Unlike, Dimebag, Layne Staley was likely hopeless in his addictions, but his talents were similarly gone too soon. The two of them should start an all dead Super Group and make a zombie rockumentary. Keith Moon on drums, and maybe Cliff Burton on bass, until someone more qualified dies.

Speaking of things short lived, I finished watching this awesomeness:

If you like Simon Pegg’s humor, this is a mandatory watch, as it’s bloody brilliant. Unfortunately, there aren’t many episodes, only two seasons worth, but each episode is very well crafted. In humor more adult than but similar to “The Simpsons,” this show is great. Disc three in the set is a two hour feature about the show, which is very cool. Yeah bonus features! Maybe write more shows instead.

And speaking of short, I’m off to bed. I can sleep well tonight knowing I finally found myself, and that my head or his head, or whoever’s, isn’t still splitting with pai n.  

My dog knows terrible beer when she sees it.

The dead rising from the grave, dogs and cats living together!

Developing a costume idea for Halloween wasn’t a concern of mine for about a decade. In 1996, I wore a tight fitting track suit and a bike helmet, carried around a glow in the dark Frisbee, and told everyone I was Tron. Nobody knew what the hell Tron was, so I contacted The Programmer and had those unknowing people eliminated from competition. Actually, I instead gave up on Halloween for a few years. Three years later I returned to the scene with my orange one piece prison suit, dressed as a boring prisoner. Yawn. That was my last costume until last year when I donned my Adidas jump suit (not a tight fitting one), a top hat, giant sunglasses, and a wall clock around my neck. Flava Flav hit the town and had a decent amount of fun. I was probably the whitest member in Public Enemy’s history. This year, I have two costumes ready. I’m not telling you what they are; you’ll have to wait for the evidence.        
            The point is: I’m just getting in to this whole Halloween thing. I bought some candy for those little ones seeking candy corns or chicanery, and am actually looking forward to this year’s adventure. The problem with Halloween that I have is with the movies. I’m not so in to the scream-o horror flicks, and can only take Freddy or Jason in small doses, and even then, only the old ones and not the Rob Zombified remixes. I do, however, dig zombie movies. Actually, the zombies do the digging on the way out of their graves; I like zombie flicks. That’s better. Seeing the undead get abused, shot, destroyed, beat up, etc. is plain hilarious. They move so slow you could practically box them to death, even if your arms were wet lasagna noodles. However, this brings me to an even bigger topic, one beyond Halloween.

            Direct TV started an ad campaign years ago where footage from 1982’s “Poltergeist” shows Craig T. Nelson awaking to Heather O’Rourke talking to the TV. Coach then talks about how great Direct TV is, without mention that you can’t watch TV on cloudy days, and that’s that. Direct TV making money of off the deceased, without having to pay the estate of Heather O’Rourke. It’s a very unsettling commercial, indeed.
            Now, it appears that (just in time for Halloween) the dead are once again rising from the grave. Last night I was watching the ALCS (look for that blog back on the main page) and was horrified to see that Direct TV has also posthumously declared the rights to Chris Farley, and that weasel David Spade is in on it, too. In the famous “fat guy in a little coat” scene from “Tommy Boy,” David Spade takes a minute to talk about how great Direct TV is, without mentioning that if your neighbors have it too that your signals may get crossed.
            HOW DARE YOU, SPADE! Chris Farley made you what you are today. Without the genius and physical comedy mastery that Farley possessed, you’d literally be working on an airline telling people, “buh-bye.” I can’t believe he’s collecting endorsement checks from Direct TV on behalf of his more talented, and deceased, sidekick. Hopefully, when Spade dies, they’ll use his likeness to market toilet cleaners, enemas, home suicide kits, and douches. The whole thing is upsetting. Not the dead rising from the grave; that would be kind of fun (kind of). That’s a whole other story, though.
           
            At this time of year, let’s keep our triangle Jack O lantern eyes fixed on the prize; candy and costume contest prizes. Let’s leave the dead be, and not try to make money off of them. If and when we ever undergo a zombie attack, I’m going to help Chris Farley’s corpse find David Spade, whether that little rat is alive or not. Let the dead rest, for peat’s sake. Yes, peat’s. After all, they’re all fertilizers anyway.   

When Vicks attack

           After staging dog fights on his property and spending two years in a cage himself, Michael Vick has signed an NFL contract again; this time with the Philadelphia Eagles. Quite obviously, this game is played on the gridiron, and not the gridiron-y.

            If paradox ruled the realm of the pigskin, Vick would have been forced to sign with Cleveland and spend his suspended games amongst the vicious Dawg pound. Or, if fate held residence in North Carolina, Vick would have joined the Panthers and been subjected to feline abuse. Instead, Mike found a new home in the City of Brotherly Love. Of course they love their brothers; if you’re mean enough to bet on dogs fighting each other, you’re also smart enough to pelt Santa with snowballs during a failed halftime show. Instead of Vick serving further ironic justice, he moves from the Falcons to the Eagles, proving that this whole damn thing is for the birds.

            News and sports broadcasting companies spend most of their days worrying about the steroids in baseball or the injuries abound the NBA; we all but ignore the already violent and gruesome sport of hockey, but yet glorify the escapades of football heroes. The Pacman may visit any night club he pleases, endanger the lives of others, and go without “game pay” for weeks. Denver Broncos can be shot in parking lots, ex-Chargers can sell drugs to their teenage golf team, former Cowboys can be busted with vans full of cocaine, and a Brown can kill a man with his Bentley while driving drunk, but we worry about the stats of The Baseball Hall of Fame. Who’s harming who, and for what reasons?

            It’s the time of year to stay inside; the time to park yourself in an armchair and resign your weekends to drinking Oktoberfest brews, eating various meat, cheese, salsa, corn chips, chili, pizza, and wing combinations and watching football as though your knowledge of game action was the foundation of your very survival.
            I’ll assume that at least once during those 16-20 something weeks, the average football fan will drive home from a game viewed at a bar or friend’s house while inebriated. Not to say that baseball fans don’t get drunk, but when they do, they seem to mostly rely on mass transit and harm themselves by fighting or falling down while drunkenly trying on a trendy homemade t shirt outside the park. Their SUVs aren’t sitting in the parking lot half packed with 30 racks of Miller Lite and savage sampler packs consisting of sections of bovine and swine. Like their fans, the average baseball player typically harms themselves through idiotic acts such as steroid use. The average football player runs head first in to moving objects; throwing their lives and well being to the same wind that judges field goal attempts. They endanger not only themselves, but also everyone else on that level playing field on that given Sunday, or any other day they happen to feel invincible and enter the public domain with their egos dressed to kill.

            This isn’t an argument against football; I’m a fan of football, and of the game itself, but the behavior of those involved in the sport professionally needs to be viewed and discussed with a very straight face and not one painted in team colors. I’m concerned with the trend of missteps along the sidelines of right and wrong within the NFL. The league used to be filled with tough guys like Jack Lambert, Dick Butkus, Howie Long and the like. They were ferocious on the field, but didn’t endanger others with their behavior beyond the walls of the stadiums. Now the League is sprinkled, if not thinly layered with criminal corner backs, street thug safeties, wily wise guy wide receivers, miscreant middle linebackers, and quarterbacks with questionable moral qualifications.

            Baseball has had and currently contains some odd fellows, as well, don’t get me wrong. There were, and are, players that made or currently make bad decisions off the field, because they’re all humans, and everyone, yes, even me and you, have made or currently make mistakes and have done or are currently doing stupid things, just like NFL players. Billy Martin, Cory Lidle, Steve Olin, and many more endangered others in their enigmatic antics, while those like the late Ken Caminiti and current steroid laureate Jose Canseco purely lost the luster on their personal legacies.
            Perhaps baseball players, because they’re in a less violent sport, one where post concussion syndrome payouts aren’t part of your players’ pension plan, are mostly making mistakes that harm only themselves because they are only meant to put a hurting on an inanimate object travelling towards them at speeds near 100 miles per hour, as opposed to humans donning ineffective padding awaiting an impact. That’s not a blanket statement saying that all MLB members are free of any criminal activities, but rather one pointing out that there is, in this case, that a lesser of two evils exists.
            The stupidity that caused Manny, McGwire, Clemens and the like to use steroids is inexcusable, but unfortunately exists, to a degree, in every man. When that stupidity stews with severe levels of testosterone and seven point score swings, apparently, a human is justified in doing just about anything.

            There are issues in every major sport, from gender issues in track, to fights with the fans in the NBA, to steroid and drug use across the board. What we really need to stop and examine (during commercial breaks, after taking a piss or refreshing the bowl of salsa), is the severity of harm done by the athlete in each case. Pete Rose bet on some games, only harming himself, possesses the all time record for hits in a career, and still isn’t in the Hall of Fame. Some mistake. Did his betting kill anyone or cause anyone to find themselves in the line of gunfire? I doubt that highly.
            Point being, the NFL is filled with thugs. This season, while you’re participating in Coors Light sweepstakes for tickets and rooting for your local team, realize that your league is the most corrupt and dangerous of all professional sport organizations. Long live athletes living as role models, and long live money well spent on good, clean, honest entertainment. With the ever increasing cost of tickets, parking, food, etc. for NFL games, I could just easily spend the same money researching time travel so that I may journey back to Ancient Roman times and see convicted killers slaughtered by actual Lions (not ones that go 0-16) within the walls of the Coliseum.

            Please save the stupidity and violence to fumbles, interceptions, and plays worthy of Sports Center blooper reels. We, the innocent public, need not be struck down or embarrassed by your self serving ways. Above all else, despite all of your hard work, you are privileged to be where you are. Remember this forever on two, ready…BREAK! 

Obama and The Peace Prize

“This is not how I expected to wake up this morning,” said President Barack Obama at his Nobel Peace Prize news conference today. I can say the same for my day, so this will serve as my press conference. I awoke to my dog licking my fore and underarms to alarm me of her pressing bladder needs. She needed to make peace of her own, and so her ever loving dad took her out on her morning Constitution.
            My second alarm came not from my alarm clock, but from my dad (also ever loving) when he told me Obama accepted the award this morning. I was as surprised as an actual award winner. I think it’s wonderful that he won the award, and it’s obviously impressive (it’s the Nobel Peace Prize; it’s kind of a big thing). Our President was, as he always is, very humble this morning while accepting the award. To Obama, this is not “a recognition of my own accomplishments, but rather of an affirmation of American leadership…I will accept this award as a call to action.”
            And while Obama joins the elite company of Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, and Jimmy Carter (the only one to receive the honor while not in office) as the only U.S. Presidents to win the award, I’m a bit alarmed by what this means for the rest of us. Since the voting was held back in February when Barack had been in office for two weeks, he now receives the annual award eight months in to his Presidential tenure. This is not to say he doesn’t deserve it or that he doesn’t embody exactly everything for which the Nobel Peace Prize stands, but rather that the rest of us need to scuttle on home from the morning dog walk and do something positive.
            Whether you’re like me and hold pride for our President or you propose it’s purely preposterous he pocketed the prestigious Peace Prize, you should put your feelings aside and do something about it.
            While impressed by the leadership and strength Obama possesses, I’m not encouraged by what this means for the rest of the competitors for the award. In a very short time, Barack Obama has become the face of World Peace. Congratulations to him, but shame on everyone else for falling asleep at the proverbial peace wheel. From Presidents on down to pedestrians, we can all do better at making peace in this world. It starts with laughing at your dog’s licking habits instead of becoming angry, and carries with you all day. Prove Obama wrong; go do something to show him that you deserved the Prize.