Elmer on Elmerpalooza

Wow. Where do I start? First, HUGE thanks to Rob, JD, C, hayes, Kelly, and Tex for making this weekend the best I've ever had, not counting getting married and my kids being born.

Seriously, I still can't wipe the grin off my face; I couldn't have asked for a better first visit to Fenway. Since most of you were at the game, I'm just going to concentrate on Elmerpalooza at the Cask on Saturday; my pictures of the game sucked, but I'm sure I'll post about it at my blog over the next few days.

After cramming 6 people into a Toyota Camry, we headed down to Fenway around 10 on Saturday. Other than my left cheek going numb halfway there, it was a pretty uneventful trip. As we walk up on DD, I get my first ever glimpse of JET in person; and yes, she's as sweet as advertised.

After we arrived at the Cask, hygs and introductions were made all around, then a group of us headed off to walk around the park so I could be a fan boy and take 4,000 pictures. Here we are with Ted:

As we arrived back at the Cask, most everybody was there, including ab, who I wasn't expecting at all. Looking forward to catching the Durham Bulls this summer, man. And the spare key is on the way.

Quick observations on everyone:

Rob and JD? The BEST. If you haven't met these two yet, I feel sorry for you. You will never find two more generous, giving, absolutely hilarious people on the face of the earth. Your generosity toward me all weekend was above and beyond, and I'm really glad our paths crossed. My life is better for knowing you both.

Becks? You and Bob are amazing. I'm really glad we finally got to meet, take a tour of Fenway Park together, and I finally got to hyg your neck.

Nance? I've got an awesome picture of us, but I promised I wouldn't post it. But you are beautiful: Bob is a lucky dude. Speaking of which, the 2 Bob's deserve a place in the SG Hall of Fame for jumping right in. I mean, I was nervous, and I talk to you reprobates every day; I can't imagine what they were going through. Especially when hayes started dancing with Mr. Nancy.

Opie, for the shortest guy on the board, you walk tall, my man.

Trot's Hat? The fact you named your gnome Elmer has endeared you to me for life.

Crystal, Dover, sister of Dover, and Bellbabe? I'm really sorry I didn't get a chance to spend more time with you. Although I'm pretty sure my hearing is thanking me for the Dover part. ;)

Jojo, DennysDawhta, and Redbeard? See above. I was working the room like I was running for office, but I still feel like I didn't try hard enough.

Cyn, Kelly, Cindy, and SotB? You all know how I feel about you; although when I told Kelly I had to go to the bathroom and she yelled "NO!" actually scared me just a little. ;)

Josh Blue and Amy: it was my pleasure. And JB? I thought you'd be bigger.

I know I'm forgetting someone, and I apologize. It's been a pretty traumatic week; flying, first visit to Fenway, and Rakes shoved Trot into the wall tonight, leaving a goose egg the size of Rhode Island. Please, nobody take offense. If I missed you, here is a shot of most of us and you can all thrash me later.

Last, but not least, Tex. Sis, I can't tell you how much it meant to me for you to come up from Texas for my first visit to Fenway. And it's sort of appropriate that my first picture taken at Fenway was with you. It meant the world to me you were there.

Finally, candaon. You are without a doubt my brother from another mother; thanks for letting me crash at your place, thanks for making me laugh for 5 straight days, and thanks for just being my boy.

I love you, man. And I'm not ashamed to admit it.

::clink::

PS: Nance? You were awesome. Please tell Bob thanks for letting me hug you for so long.

::Riverdances::

New Year Wishes

A while back somebody mentioned on the board that Surviving Grady was like an online version of a neighborhood pub. I really liked the analogy; you've got the regulars, the recurring characters, the folks you see every now and then, and the random, odd visitor who you can tell right away is in the WRONG place. All of us talking about the Sox, baseball, music, politics, and whatever random topic comes up while usually drinking something judging by the number of monitors having stuff spewed on them.

With all that said, I just had a few wishes for some of the "regulars" that I'd like to pass along. Apologies to anyone I may forget but as it's well documented, I'm a tad slow. And Miles, I'd like to apologize for any grammatical errors that I'm POSITIVE will pop up.

For Tex, a chance to meet Beckett even though the world would never be the same.

Cyn, a year with some good health for you and the family and a year of no "FIRST" comments.

Tom, a 4.0 GPA and a huge demand for doorknobs. Also, maybe an intervention; we'll see.

Nancy, a bigger basement for everybody you have hidden down there. It's getting crowded.

Jersey, a new untraceable "cookie mix".

JD, a new pole and for nothing to go wrong with the house.

Rob, you've got JD. You don't need anything.

C, lifts for your shoes and a chance to play on some of those New England golf courses.

hayes, patience for putting up with candaon.

Becks, a new president. BTW,this is the ONLY wish I'm positive will happen.

Trot's Hat, a pint of Guinness, a new table to hide under, and the quietest library patrons EVER.

Horshamscouse, a years supply of Prozac to help recover from the visit to my house last week.

Kelly, someone with clout to see your pictures and offer you a job in photography.

Beth, a group of kids who appreciate what you do and how hard it is to be a teacher.

Cindy, see Beth.

Alexis, a job you love in the field you want.

JET, some flucking recognition for the volunteer work you do at the hospital.

Zac, a new eggplant turtleneck. The one you've got is getting faded.

SotB, a new job with a new boss who doesn't have a mindless stick for a girlfriend.

Stephen, a trip to England.

Varitekchick, hopefully you can beat your son at Guitar Hero and a big year from Tek.

KDB, an antidote for Kryptonite and a tab at Shula's in Baltimore.

Deathopie, a new pair of jeans for the ones with radiation on them.

BB, the addition of another keg for the cave.

AB, a mild Maine winter and a new Magnum PI shirt.

Finally, Red and Denton; An unlimited supply of patience for putting up with all of us for another year.

Again, sorry for forgetting anyone. It wasn't intentional; blame the weakwaters.

Happy New Year everybody.

Updated 1-1-08.

KNEW I'd forget some, and I'm sure they'll be more.

Sideburns, steady work with the music and some new shirts for Tom to make fun of.

Brenken, health for the cats and family.

Poprocks, a ticket to Augusta.

If you see anyone I've missed, feel free to edit away.

Suggested Viewing

Surviving Grady people are now people. They're the kind of people that put the "Pop" into Pop Culture, the "New" into New Media, and also, curiously, the "Foulke" into Folk Music. The transcendent art form of the last goodness-knows-how-long is cinema, and we've noticed. With our eyes. The comment board is freely scattered with allusions to all things celluloid, and in the expiatory spirit of this weblog it seems only right that we discuss some of the movies you probably should have seen (and if you haven't you must occasionally wonder WHF we're on about, or indeed, just on.)

As Liberace used to like to say, "Let's begin with the classics." Before his irresponsible lifestyle caught up with him.


Bull Durham

Auteur Ron Shelton was a Minor Leaguer in the Orioles system in the late Sixties and brought his experiences to the big screen in living colour, laced with philosophical overtones and a dollop of Eastern mysticism. The performances are first-rate but the script's the thing; the cynicism of the ball-players always sharply at odds with groupie Annie's faith in the perfectibility of man. And it's overflowing with appropriate baseball-related lines for every occasion.

Okay, well, uh... candlesticks always make a nice gift...


Office Space

The frustrations of the 9 - 5 were never more precisely captured than in this small gem of a film. It's not about baseball, but hey, we've all got proper jobs, right? Ron Livingston is a perfect blank everyman (with a plan). The supporting cast are everyone you ever met or worked with, except Diedrich Bader, he's too good to really exist. Generously, unassumingly, Writer/Director Mike Judge dissects the human folly of the workplace, reflecting the underlying futility of labour in the cause of capital gain. It's nothing more or less than a Catch-22 for Generation X. Okay, maybe that's overstating it a bit. But it's one of those movies that gets better with repeated viewing, and again, it's strewn with memorable dialogue. Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

I uh, I don't like my job, and, uh, I don't think I'm gonna go anymore.


Shortbus

Filthy sex club shenanigans in the moral vacuum, nay cesspool, that is New York City. Unlikeable characters, little in the way of plot, a vile, depraved trainwreck of a movie. I haven't seen it myself you understand, in fact from what I've heard only the bestially prurient or truly perverted would take any interest in this disgusting waste of film stock. But hey, Nancy liked it so perhaps you might want to check it out! Kids - is not for you.

That's Alice. She's got a c#~t like a wizard's sleeve.


Snakes on a Plane

John Farrell has the calm demeanour of a man who knows what he's doing, and who knows he's doing it well. I have nothing but admiration for the guy, and the ladies tell me he's HOT. It's great that he's on board. But let's imagine if his responsibilities were assumed instead by Neville Flynn, the hot-headed Fed played by Samuel L Jackson in this recent Megahit. It's the bottom of the Fourth in Yankee Stadium and a shaky Daisuke has walked the bases loaded with nobody out. Flynn emerges from the dugout, approaches the mound, nods politely to his Japanese ace, wipes his brow, then launches into a lengthy, expletive-laden tirade at the bemused pitcher, before pointing out a flaw in his delivery and returning to the dugout. Daisuke strikes out the next three batters.

Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking Yankees on the motherfucking bases!¹


The Usual Suspects

A gang of rough and ready hoodlums are randomly assembled at the bidding of a shadowy, unseen figure, whose creepy underling has them perform a series of senseless, seemingly impossible tasks which draw them progressively deeper into a world of pain and betrayal. No-one knows what their true mission is or who's really in charge. And there's a really nasty twist at the end.

Yep, I'm sure we all recall the 2002 Red Sox with a shudder. Inexplicably Jose Offerman, instead of being shot and dumped in a cave, was traded to Seattle. Joe "Kobayashi" Kerrigan is again employed by a twisted despotic criminal, and Dan Duquette has gone underground. Rumours circulating the underworld place him somewhere in the Eastern Mediterranean, still pushing his questionable wares.

The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. And poof. Just like that, he's gone.




¹This might be a Josh Blue paraphrase. Not sure, haven't seen it.

The Legend of MARCO... ... SCUTARO

This legend began on the day that baseball celebrated a #42 ( Jackie Robinson) and the Oakland A's humiliated another ( Mariano Rivera). On that fateful day Marco, 1-20 on the season to that point, stepped up to the plate to face Mariano Rivera, "the greatest closer of all time". A veritable David vs. Goliath, a meatball sub vs Roger Clemens, a pack of Big Red vs. Tito.

Before the dramatic blow was struck, Kelly claimed that were she an A's fan she couldn't resist the urge to chant Marco!! Scutaro!! ( to the theme music of Marco Polo) at the games. The diminutive A's utility infielder proceeded smash a two out 3 run HR off Fruitbat, which was followed by a round of Kelly's suggested mantra, and the legend was born.

A legend takes time to cultivate though and the next appearance was just as astonishing. During the "Doc Halladay should choke the shit out of John Gibbons" game, Alex Cora came up in the 9th inning with a man on and the Sox down by 1. I, candaon, proclaimed MARCO... which was quickly followed by Dover's ... SCUTARO, inspiring Alex to triple in the tying run. Alex was then driven in by a Coco Crisp sacrifice fly.

This warriors cry can be heard during the 9th inning of Red Sox and MFY games alike.

... and the legend of MARCO... ... SCUTARO grows.

Go to the comments section to see how we came oh so close to an embarrassing tradition, involving a favored poster.

SG fantasy football league

C'mon, you know you want to! We also need to come up with a snappy league name. This is just kind of a test balloon to see if we have enough people interested to do it. Post in the comments ideas, suggestions, and how much money your willing to put on your mad skills. I think we could do the draft here or through e-mail.

And We Will Greet You With Beer and G Strings

One anonymous poster has stated that the SG comments section is analogous to a friendly neighborhood tavern. Therefore, when a new poster (noob) reveals him-/herself for the first time, they are warmly welcomed with an offering of Guinness and strippers. Sadly, this being a virtual tavern, neither is real. But the sentiment is heartfelt.

HOT

HOT - 1. Caveman language to describe humans of the female gender who have (this list is not all inclusive) boobs, a sense of humor, drink alcohol (drinking good beer automatically rates a SMOKIN' HOT), hate golf (the only exception is chicks who play golf and show cleavage), love the Red Sox, live on the east coast, west coast, gulf coast or the mid west, north west, eastern seaboard or the south United States, or almost anywhere else.

Examples
- "Chicks who think jeter's gay are HOT"
- "Chicks who dig dudes with mustaches are HOT"
- "Chicks who shop at Trader Joe's are HOT"
- "Chicks who ____________ (fill in the fucking blank) are HOT"
- "Pink is HOT"
- "Chicks who wear special tinfoil hats are SMOKIN' HOT"

2. HOT is also an authorized adjective used to describe non-homosexual manlove for Red Sox players.

Example
- Mike Lowell is HOT