for fans of the blog out there--i'm looking at you Pioquinto--I've decided to make a legit looking blog to house my articles as I go in pursuit of further freelance writing work. You can view the new blog at reptastic.wordpress.com

which you can reach by just clicking here: Reptastic

It's normal for people to regret decisions they made in the 80s. From junk bonds to hyper-color, from power suits to parents beating the crap out of each other over Cabbage Patch Dolls, America's decade of excess was excessively error prone.

Despite the foibles and flights of fancy, unless you knocked-up your secretary during a drunken office Christmas party tryst, the mistakes of the 80s probably aren't still biting you in the ass to this day. After all, the stock market recovered from Black Monday, our collective fashion sense improved enough to exclude thermochromic shirts and the bruises inflicted by fellow shoppers in pursuit of a doll have long-since healed. However, there is one group--in addition to the parents of the bastard children--who still suffer from their miscalculation of two decades ago: the members of the Writers Guild of America.

In 1988 the writers who bring us the sitcoms, dramas, late-night talk shows and movies that we love and love to hate, signed a contract with the studios which produce their work, which they regret to this day. Back in the 80s a new technology was emerging which threatened to change the way people watched their favorite shows: VHS. However, because home video was in its infancy, the studios argued there was no way to gauge the possible revenue streams, thus they sought to limit the residual payments on VHS sales to writers.

 

A five-month long strike ensued to fight over the residual payments and a host of other union demands, which ended with WGA begrudgingly accepting the studios' assertion regarding the inability to estimate the significance of VHS sales. So with a paltry 4¢ payment to the writers per video sold, the studios and WGA ended their long labor impasse. Unfortunately for the writers, this deal on home video sales didn't foresee the advent of DVDs, the sales of which became covered by the 1988 agreement. The introduction of DVDs to the market sparked an explosion in home video sales, causing revenues to soar whilst under the 1988 contract the writers could merely watch studios disproportionately profit from their work.

 

Having lost mightily from their fateful contract 19 years ago, the WGA has adopted the mantra "fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me," becoming resolute in ensuring that profits from future revenue streams will not pass them by. The WGA have a profound sense of déjà vu when they hear the studios argue, much like they did in the home video debate, they can't predict how much revenue internet and new media will produce in the future. They contend the studios' justifications for not paying writers residuals on things such as streaming video over the internet are at best shortsighted and at worst patently false.  

Studios point to a lack of profitability of their current streaming efforts as one justification of their stance against residual payments and further contend such online efforts are merely promotional, thus not warranting further pay to writers. Writers counter that the studios are in fact profiting from streaming video and downloadable content via venues such as the iTunes Store and Xbox Marketplace. They also disagree that streaming videos online is purely promotional, by stating money is being made from advertising being sold in conjunction with the video, thus this isn't just a promotional tool--it is in fact another for-profit distribution channel for which the writers should be compensated.

Through their efforts, writers have brought to the forefront a discussion over how we will receive media in the future. Will it be streaming through our computers? Will it be on our cell phones? Or will it come at a price through downloads from places like the iTunes Store? Writers envision a world where traditional means of content delivery will no longer take a majority-share of revenues; therefore they need to make sure they can get a more equitable piece of the pie when this eventuality occurs. Just because streaming isn't profitable now, is not a good enough reason for them to accept a deal that will hamper their chance at its profits in the future.

The two sides' respective stances concerning the profitability of new media have put them at loggerheads, causing the WGA to commence a strike which began on November 5^th. To this point the effect has been to immediately shut down late night shows of a topical nature such as the Late Show and The Colbert Report. Other shows have ceased production with networks left to air only the new episodes that were already completed when the writers took to the picket lines.

Currently, the effect being felt by people outside of Hollywood has been minimal, with only the shows that rely on daily productions being immediately forced into reruns. The Late Show, Daily Show, Colbert Report, Tonight Show, Late Night with Conan O'Brien find themselves torn between supporting the writers who craft much of the show and the production crews that go unpaid as long as they honor the WGA's picket line by not producing a show. Eventually, these shows may need to cross the line for the sake of all of the non-writing staff, much like Johnny Carson did back in 1988. Rumblings have been reported that say these shows will coordinate their return to the air, possibly before the end of the year.

So far one variety show has broken with the rest of the group and failed to honor the strike, with Ellen DeGeneres giving a less than sincere effort to justify her crossing of the picket line. Although Ellen was able to skip nearly a week of shows because she was upset about her lapdog Iggy, she only stood with the writers for one day before resuming her regular production schedule. With this the WGA East and West has had a field day, issuing press releases condemning Ellen and accusing her of violating the strike by performing written material for her monologue, to which Ellen denies.

For the rest of television, it won't be too long until we feel the effects of their halt in production. While many showrunners have refused to cross the picket line the complete episodes already in production, a few have covertly gone back to produce everything they already had a script for. Regardless of whether a show has completely halted production yet, soon scripts will no longer be available and networks will only be able to air what they currently have in the can. So those waiting to find out what will happen with Lost can only hope for nine episodes in the foreseeable future. Anything after those nine air will be left up to when this strike will be resolved.

So what will the networks do if they run out of new shows and grow tired of reruns? Well, a prolonged stoppage will likely lead to further reality programming which will most likely be more ghastly and trite then the current crop of unscripted television we're offered today. So if you thought Skating with the Stars was a crappy knock-off of an already terrible show, Dancing with the Stars, and you found Fox's Temptation Island to be a poor use of the airwaves we allow the networks broadcast over for free, then you'll likely root for a speedy resolution to the strike. But if you're a reality TV nut who's been praying for a day when American Gladiators will return, then this strike is the answer to those prayers; the gladiators will be back January 6^th.

Although this is expected to be a protracted strike, there are positive signs being shown that it may end sooner than expected with sides expected to come back to the table on November 26^th to resume talks that broke off back on November 4^th. Whether either side will acquiesce, it can't be predicted, but for those fans of TV and movies, a speedy resolution is hoped for although not expected.

 "I read the news today, oh boy…" sang John Lennon nearly 40 years ago. If he were alive and writing the song today, he would have followed that line with "about an England team who shit the bed."

With everything on the line for a floundering England squad, needing only a draw to qualify for Euro 2008, the men with the three lions on their chest were humbled 3-2 at the hands of Croatia. With the loss, England concludes a hugely disappointing qualifying campaign that finds them on the outside looking in as Crotia and Russia advance from their Group to the finals next summer. So for the first time since the 1994, England will not be playing in a major international and for the players who failed to perform and a coach who failed to inspire, this will be a cross the will have to bear.

The recriminations must begin with Steve McClaren. His term as England boss has been an abject failure, which over the course of the last 14 months, has exposed him as inferior both tactically and in matters of personnel. Today represented a glaring example of his inefficiencies as his big gambles to play Scott Carson, despite him never starting in a competitive England match, and his benching of Beckham both proved to be mistakes. 

Firstly, Scott Carson allowed an absolute howler in the eight minute, letting a ball he should have easily corralled hit his arms, pop up over his head and into his own net. His mistake changed the complexion of the game on a soggy night at the new Wembley as the team's original plans had to be torn up not even 10 minutes into the match. After going down another goal, the only player capable of turning the tables was given the opportunity coming in after the half. Global sports-marketing mega-icon David Beckham entered the match for the second stanza, infusing the team and supporters with the energy and skill needed to engineer a historic fightback. 

And fight back England did. Lampard converted from the spot to bring the score-line to 2-1, then Beckham struck, delivering a perfect cross to Crouch who chested down the ball and slotted it home to send Wembley onto cloud 9. If the match would have ended there, England would have stamped its ticket for Austria-Switzerland '08, but like much of the time under McClaren, the Three Lions were simply not good enough as they conceded a third goal 13 minutes from time.  England couldn't find a final reply, so as the clock wound down, the former most powerful country in the world watched their dreams of a victorious Alpine summer in '08 fade away.

Now England must regroup. The Board of the FA has called for a meeting to take place tomorrow morning at 8:30 am, and when they emerge, the only acceptable result will  be McClaren's head on a platter. As to who will take his place, there are many names being bandied about including former Chelsea manager Jose Mourinho and current Portugal gaffer Felipe "Big Phil" Scolari. Whether either of those men will want to enter the maelstrom to fend off the ravenous English media scrutiny that is endemic of England's top spot remains to be seen.

But there are questions facing this squad beyond who will succeed McClaren, such as: Will Lampard and Gerrard ever be able to play together effectively? Who will be the keeper of the future? How will this setback effect England's qualification for WC 2010? And was this the last we'll see of Beckham in the Three Lions?

In the final analysis, the failure of this England squad is at the feet of McClaren. A fan who posted to the BBC's website best summed up this sentiment and the disappointment of the English people and England fans around the world with this loss when he wrote:

"Without doubt, the defining image of McClaren's short reign. With their backs against the wall, England need blood, sweat and tears, and yet McClaren stood there helpless, umbrella aloft, not even prepared to get his hair wet! What would Churchill say?"

    The barren, scorched earth of 1980s West Texas is unforgiving, unrelenting; the same could be said for Anton Chigurh, a man who's chillingly violent pursuit of $2 million cash is at the epicenter of Joel and Ethan Coen's latest film No Country for Old Men. The Coen brothers' adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's 2005 novel find them at the peak of their talents, beautifully conveying the jagged and jaded Texas terrain familiar to McCarthy's many western novels, expertly building tension in the cat and mouse game that drives their plot and conveying a wariness that comes with watching helplessly as the world changes before you.

    Tommy Lee Jones plays Sherriff Ed Tom Bell and it's hard to imagine anyone else capturing the sardonic, ill-at-ease, old lawman who doesn't recognize or at least doesn't want to face the world which surrounds him. Bell is a third-generation officer who longs for the days when his father and grandfather before him weren't even required to carry guns to perform their duties. He shudders at the ebbing morality in society and the rising tide of violence and drugs which now plague the only place he and his family has ever really called home. The violence he will encounter on his pursuit of the various men mixed up in a failed drug deal will offer him no respite from his world-weary state.

    Llewellyn Moss is a poor welder, living in a mobile home with his young wife when while he is out hunting happens upon the failed drug deal which will offer him an opportunity of a lifetime. There amongst the carnage he finds one man clinging to life and begging for water; more importantly, he finds $2 million cash. What he does next forever alters the trajectory of his life—he decides to make off with the money. Although his chances of making a clean break with the cash are slim to begin with, his guilt over leaving the parched man at the scene leads him back to where he must begin to run for his life, leaving behind his truck which through its VIN betrays his identity.

    Llewellyn knows people will be coming for the money, however there is no way he could anticipate a man as psychotic and adept at killing as Anton Chigurh would be the one on his tail. Javier Bardem's portrayal of the film's unnerving executioner is unbelievably effective. Chigurh moves across the landscape like an unstoppable force. The inevitability of his killing is striking. When he kills there is almost a catharsis to it for him, as we see early in the film when he murders a young Sherriff's Deputy with his handcuffs. At other times, whether it involves him calmly killing a man with a pneumatic cattle gun or flipping a coin to decide the fate of another, he seems as coldly detached from his violent acts as a banker making a simple transaction.

    With the money in Moss' hands there is only one acceptable transaction for Chigurh, he must claim the cash and as Woody Harrelson's character explains to Llewellyn, "kill you just for inconveniencing him." With the three central characters established, the chase is on, but this movie is about so much more than these three men's pursuit. Sherriff Bell represents an old order and he attempts to prevent the coming violence by trying to find either Chigurh or Moss before they find each other. Anton embodies a cold, impersonal, opportunistic violence that knows nothing but to destroy the lives it infiltrates, just as capitalism tears asunder the traditions of the worlds it inhabits. Residing in the middle we have Llewellyn, a man who is neither good nor bad, more a product of his environment than anything else. He is us. He works, he has a wife and he lives by modest means, however given the opportunity to profit from the very forces which Bell believe are eroding society, he barely hesitates. With the decision to ignore the values of the past, Llewellyn stands to gain everything, but can also lose everything as well.

    Josh Brolin as Moss turns in a remarkable performance. You can't but help root for Llewellyn as he runs for his life, using a mixture of cunning and daring to try to stay one step ahead of Chigurh; this owes largely to Brolin's infusion of charm, wit and depth into Moss. The same can be said for Tommy Lee Jones, who truly appears pained as he reads the paper to find people everywhere are killing each other. He suffers over the violence; he has no desire to return to the carnage of the failed drug deal when the Feds arrive. For him, he has already seen too much, the decay cuts him too personally.

    For the Coen Brothers, this may be their greatest triumph as filmmakers. Their ability to build the onscreen tension to edge-of-your-seat crescendos and their creation of the most disturbing killer I've seen on the big screen in the past 15 years is a testament to their skills. And although the violence of No Country for Old Men is disturbing and frequent, unlike Michael Bay's beloved excessive CGI effects, the violence in No Country has purpose and meaning. It's meant to disgust you, chill you to the bone--make you fear for the inevitability of the dark force in pursuit of Llewellyn. It also represents a change in the world which Sherriff Bell sees as a dark force, an inescapable destroyer of the world he once knew and longs for. A force which makes the place he has always lived no country for an old man such as he.

The LA Times has a feature in their Television Section that's devoted to tracking popular shows. "Show Tracker" breaks down each new episode of selected series, leading conversations about the show on their message board. Most of the shows are tracked by LA Times staff columnists, but there are a couple freelance writers which write for them and I hope to become one. I noticed this weekend they don't currently write about my favorite show, 30 Rock, so tomorrow I will be submitting this article for their consideration:

30 Rock, Season 2-Episode 6: "Someone to Love"

In the decades to come, long after the conclusion of what will hopefully be a fruitful run, fans and TV critics alike will offer up their final analysis of NBC's 30 Rock. As viewers sit back to wax nostalgic about the show, they may come to agree that 30 Rock's true comedic voice emerged in episodes four, five and six of Season Two. Where they'll disagree is whether this increasingly topical voice was too much the zeitgeist to allow for 30 Rock to be as significant and funny in 2057 as it was in 2007. Will Tina Fey and her gangs' skewering of misguided liberal do-gooderism coupled with their parody of right-winged corporate avarice and a sprinkling of zany humor still be resonant in the distant future? Will 30 Rock be the show of its times or an all-time show?

Although I'm excited about the possibility of the world of tomorrow where I'll be able to travel in my flying car powered by garbage placed in my "Mr. Fusion," the prospect of living in a future where people actually feel the need to debate whether 30 Rock is funny or not, is enough to make me embrace the present. It's in the present where we get to fully enjoy the last three offerings from the show that is establishing itself as head-and-shoulders above its fellow sitcoms, without worry or care about its timelessness.

At the beginning of Season 2, we could see the seeds being sewn for 30 Rock to infuse more social commentary into the plotlines. Early on Liz, Jenna and Jack wrestled over the weight problems of Jenna and thusly were debating social norms for female body image. Although that episode provided a dose of social commentary, "Rosemary's Baby" was the first episode to use an exaggerated stereotype of Hollywood liberalism as a comedic foil. The approach produced the best episode of the season to that point as Liz struggled with her feminist idol who she finds has beliefs not exactly rooted in today's reality. In the following episode, "Greenzo," a failed actor becomes a holier-than-thou embodiment of environmentalism while Donaghy represents a corporate America which disingenuously "cares" in order to profit from people's increasing desire to seem "eco-friendly."

Well, if once is an occurrence, twice is a coincidence and three times is a pattern, then the third episode of the aforementioned trio is where 30 Rock confirms the emergence of its political, snarky, subversive tone which has transformed it into a hilarious and non-preachy social satire. In the episodes "Rosemary's Baby" and "Greenzo" 30 Rock sought to strike a balance between showing Liz Lemon's struggle to reconcile her lefty ideals with the real world and Jack Donaghy's indulgence of his capitalistic, chauvinist tendencies. "Someone to Love" finds that perfect balance of Lemon and Donaghy and keenly adds the exploits of Tracy Jordan, Kenneth, Jenna, Pete, the writers and a couple celebrity cameos for an expert mix of political satire, social commentary, pop culture references and quirky weirdness.

"Someone to Love," finds Lemon suspicious of her new Middle-Eastern neighbor Raheem, played by SNL's Fred Armisen, who appears militant and stand-offish with the two first meet. Pete does little to sway Liz from her mistrust of Raheem, as he explains to her that, "he's a really nice guy—he's always helping. He rewired the toaster oven and showed me a back way to the airport!"

Lemon is left torn between her liberal beliefs that she shouldn't judge people and her gut instinct which makes her exclaim "I think that little pita pocket over there may be a terrorist!"

Meanwhile Jack Donaghy is attending a party in honor of Robert Novak being thrown by Republican stalwarts John McCain and Jack Bauer. While there he happens upon C.C., played by Edie Falco, and the chemistry between the two is immediately evident. After a night of passion Jack learns this promising new lady-friend is--in his eyes--the worst type of person: a Democratic Congresswoman who fights against the very things Donaghy holds dear. We later learn that C.C. took up the mantle of fighting corporations because she was shot in the face by her neighbor's dog. Her incident was made famous in a made for Lifetime movie: A Dog Took My Face and Gave Me a Better Face to Change the World: The Celeste Cunningham Story.

Liz, after seeing Raheem with another Arab man doing what looks like paramilitary exercises in the park, gives-in to her suspicions and with the prompting of Jack, turns her neighbor in as a terrorist. Then in a move that echoes 1950s McCarthyism, she threatens Pete when he stands-up for Raheem, telling him he could just as easily lumped-in with the terrorists if he didn't get off her back. Unfortunately, after Raheem is detained and tortured, Lemon learns the truth: all of his seemingly suspicious behavior was in pursuit of entering the Amazing Race.

               Just as Lemon's guilt over turning-in Raheem eats away at her, Jack and C.C.'s mutual attraction gnaws at them as the political gulf between them keeps them as divided as blue and red states, as diametrically opposed as "Capulets and Romulans." But Donaghy cannot resist his new lady friend and in Tracy Jordan Jack finds counsel to help navigate the chasm that separates him from C.C. After all, Tracy is no stranger to forbidden love, intimating to Jack his similar attempts to find love despite one's differences, "I'm black, she's white. I'm black, she's light skinned black. I'm black, she's 17." With Tracy's help Jack meets C.C. in Harlem where they agree to ignore their differences and stay together while the sex is still good.

               With a sly, engaging wit 30 Rock has positioned itself as more than merely a show about making TGS with Tracy Jordan, it has found its voice and morphed a hilarious social and political satire. "Someone to Love" deftly skewered the timeliest of issues—our political polarization, racial profiling, and the fear of terrorism. Hell, they even found time to take a jab at product placements and crappy made for Lifetime movies. Whether these issues will still be resonant in the future, I'm not sure, so who knows if future generations will find 30 Rock funny. But for now, episodes like "Someone to Love" are so entertaining, I'm perfectly happy with 30 Rock creating a timely voice, even if it may mean the show won't be timeless.

Well, I'm not a huge fan of the title, mostly b/c I didn't make it up and I didn't agree with all of their edits, but I think it turned out pretty well. So for those of you unable to purchase a Seattle Metropolitan Magazine, here it is, my first freelance article that isn't from Soniczone Magazine:

Seattle Metropolitan Magazine, Nov. 2007

Field of Screams

Hope, horror, and joy run rampant when Liverpool meets Milan in a Fremont pub

Two years ago I stood under the setting sun amidst a throng of suede-headed, disaffected young men in a stadium in Vienna. Green and white flags waved around us, an incessant drumbeat led our cheers, and we hoisted our scarves toward the sky. Did it matter that it was my first time at the Gerhard Hanappi Stadium and I didn't know a single person around me or understand a word of what we were screaming? No, no, and no. At my first European soccer match, all that mattered was that I was rooting for the home team, SK Rapid Vienna. I belonged.

Over the course of that match I felt all the things that made me love sports in the first place: camaraderie, a sense of identity, naked displays of emotion, and a healthy dose of escapism. More than 5,000 miles from home, I felt at home.

Ever since that memorable match, I've searched Seattle's sports landscape, from the shores of Lake Washington to the stadiums of SoDo and the heart of Seattle Center, trying to recapture that excitement. My quest remained unfulfilled until I learned what hordes of local soccer fans have known for years: that as far as this area is concerned, a modest pub in Fremont called the George and Dragon is Mecca.

I had enjoyed my visits to the George before, but I'd never ventured there for a major soccer match, thus I didn't appreciate the intoxication that its mixture of fish and chips, bangers and mash, and beer and the world's game could produce. That all changed on a Wednesday morning in May when I blew off responsibility to watch the Champion's League Final live at the George.

A little background: The UEFA Champions League is the world's premier football club competition; its television audience nearly matches the Superbowl's. Europe's best teams compete from August to May, when one is crowned the finest on the continent. This year, five-time winners Liverpool FC navigated the group stage and knockout rounds to earn a date with six-time champions AC Milan. In 2005, Liverpool overcame a three-nil halftime deficit to capture the cup from Milan in what many call the greatest Cup Final ever. This rematch had all the makings of a classic.

I thought I'd come early, but 30 minutes before kick-off the George was packed shoulder-to-shoulder. A line formed out the door and the pub began turning people away. I wondered how many of them had jobs.

I waded through the human mass to the bar. Some fans were easing into the morning on coffee or water. Others ordered pints or Bloody Marys. The guy next to me had a Manny's Pale Ale and a Bloody Mary. Something told me this wasn't the first time he'd started drinking before noon.

Pint in hand, the air thick with anticipation, I readied myself for the match. The George and Dragon crowd let out its first collective cheer as the camera focused on the two teams gathered side-by-side in the tunnel the field. If the Europeans have one thing over us, it's their innate ability milk such moments for everything their worth. Entering the field may seem banal, but as the players begin their slow procession, the Champions League Anthem played, and the stadium erupted in cheers, a chill went down my spine. I looked into each combatant's eyes and knew that for the next few hours nothing else would matter to him or me but this game.

At kickoff an odd, tense silence fell on the pub; all eyes fixed on the screens positioned around it. But it took just a few moments for the patrons to snap out of their stupor and begin oohing and ahhing at every minor chance and clever move. Keeping one eye on the match, I glanced around the room and think to myself what great unifying forces soccer and a good pub can be. Race, religion, age, economic status, political bent… nothing mattered except whether you pulled for the Reds of Liverpool or the Rossoneri of AC Milan.

The first half was a roller-coaster ride of emotions. The patrons, mostly Liverpool supporters, went into halftime disappointed at their club's conceding a late goal to Milan's Pippo Inzaghi. But hope still reigned as they returned to the bar. I enjoyed my halftime ale with two 50-something Norwegians who hailed from the same town as Liverpool midfielder John Arne Riise. We started out talking about the game but soon diverged into discussions of our mutual Norwegian roots and the cruelty of the lutefisk my mother and grandmother used to make me eat each Christmas.

All discussion of disgusting lye-soaked cod halted as the match resumed and the fans resumed living and dying with each build-up on offense. Each time Liverpool moved forward their exclamations rose to a crescendo, invariably ending in collective groans as the Reds squandered their chances. Just when they thought it couldn't get any worse, it did: Milan's brilliant midfielder Kakà received far too much space as he dribbled toward the back four and slid a perfectly weighted pass to Inzaghi, who ran onto the ball and calmly slid it under the keeper to score his second of the day. A young Merseyside fan stared into his beer, trying to come to grips with his team's collapse. I knew how he felt, helpless and empty and gutted. The final whistle confirmed our despair.

Most patrons closed their tabs and filed out, unable to watch the triumphant Rossoneri hoist their seventh championship trophy. I felt deflated by Liverpool's loss but triumphant at having finally found all that I had longed for in sport since I left the Hanappi Stadium two years before. Once again I was in a place where the crowd and the play seemed joined as one, where total strangers could share a beer and cheer in unison. I felt at home, and I knew I wouldn't have to travel 5,000 miles to recapture the exhilaration of that Viennese night.

 

Random thoughts from a few weeks in the life...

-I went to Sasquatch Festival on saturday of memorial day weekend and saw the Arcade Fire's set and I'll tell you, their performance was blistering; that show was so hot it nearly melted my face.

-Last night I saw "Knocked Up" and it was absolutely hilarious. I'm a huge Paul Rudd fan, he has the ability to steal most any scene he is in and in "Knocked Up" he had one of the best non-sequiturs in movie history. It happens in a scene when Rudd, his wife, Rogen and the knocked up chick are having dinner and laughing at a nice restaurant when Rudd chimes in with "You know what's really funny? How when you get married and have kids, all of your hopes and dreams go out the window!" That line was so well delivered and hilarious that I nearly pissed myself I was laughing so hard. Bravo Paul Rudd.

-After getting home from the movie I noticed I had a missed call from a (646) number and they had left a message. Well, since I had no idea who it could have been I was wondering what the message would say; when it finally queued up in my voicemail I was surpised to hear that it was just a woman laughing for a few seconds then hanging up. It was kind of off-putting really, I mean, it's bad enough having to deal with women in my life that I actually know, now I have women I don't even know, from places I've never been to calling me just to laugh at me. This is not a positive development.

-I worked at Folk Life Festival over Memorial Day Weekend at a Gyro booth run by a group of Greeks. Watching a bunch of Greek people lounge around while a couple of us anglos did all the work, I quickly realized why Romans were able to run roughshod over the Ancient Greeks and took accelerated the demise of their civilization.

-I wonder if Al Gore will run for President; I think it'll be pretty interesting if he does b/c Democrats don't really give second chances to presidential candidates (republicans gave a second chance to nixon and that worked out, right?). Regardless of whether he runs or not, Al Gore has a had a pretty full life: 8 years as VP, 4-term congressman, 8 years in the Senate, Academy Award Winner, best-selling author and the man that presented the 1994 World Cup Trophy to Brazil. I'd say that's not too shabby of an existence. Sure Bill Clinton was president and Hillary may become prez too, but they only have Grammys; I'd much rather have an Oscar.

-The Mariners aren't terrible this year, that's a surprise.

-Bill Maher made a great point a couple weeks back after Giulliani tried to play the whole "if you elect a democrat, they can't protect you from terrorists card". Maher on his show countered with "How is it that Republicans think they can protect us from terror better than anyone else? On 9/11, the city attacked had a Republican Mayor, in a state with a Republican Governor, with a federal government controlled entirely by Republicans in the house, senate and white house--oh yeah guys, you've done a great job so far, great track record."

-I had a party for the FA Cup a few weeks back. Sure, Manchester United lost, but it was a great breakfast and the best excuse I've ever had to start drinking at 5 am.

-I'm going to try not shaving for awhile, see how far in the gutter I can look.

-Republican Presidential Debate on tonight, hopefully they'll talk more about how they think torturing people is the best way to win a "war" on terror. Yeah, abusing people to get information from detainees about groups that hate us b/c we abuse our  power sounds effective enough to me. That won't help those terrorist cells recruit new members at all...

-I've recently learned that my roommate Ted's family has many acres of Olive trees in a village in Greece so I'm trying to convince him that we need to move there to harvest the Olives and make artisan olive oil. The village we'd move to is called Achladokampos and I am really trying to make the hard sell for us to move there. We'd live for free and we'd get out of the rat race for a year or two, how awesome would that be? Ted is hemming and hawwing at the moment, but I've really put the bug in his ear. I hope to meet with his father soon to figure out exactly how much land and resources they own over there. This could be one hell of an adventure. If he says yes, i'm as good as gone.

I'm convinced I'm a curse. Oh, not to the wide world out there--for the most part I find myself to be a blessing to all those my presence graces--but when it comes to the Seattle Supersonics I must be a curse.  In my time as an intern and a full time employee the team has been significantly worse-off. I mean, take a look at what's happened while I've been on their payroll:

traded Gary Payton and Desmond Mason

drafted Mohammed Saer Sene with the 10th overall pick despite the fact that he only avg. 2 pts and 2 rebs. per game in a Belgian B-League

made the bonehead move to switch from a sports radio station to a ultra-conservative talk station in the most liberal market in the country effectively pissing off our fanbase

had Howard Schultz fuck up the KeyArena remodel negotiations

Sold the team to out of state investors

Robert Swift's knee blew out

Danny Fortson gained 200 lbs and eventually had to suspended for surliness

Rashard tore a tendon sheath in his hand during his contract year

Ray Allen has developed bone spurs

While begging the taxpayers for $300 million it is revealed our new owners are some of the biggest backers of the anti-gay marriage movement, not smart when you consider that the most devoted Storm fans are lesbians and we live in a state that is about to approve partner benefits

The team has a 87-109 record with me as an employee

However, in the two seasons I was living in San Diego the team went 95-80 (including the playoffs)

So there had to been some measure of relief for Sonics fans everywhere when I turned in my resignation this week. Looking at that track record up there, you could argue that I, not Wally Walker, was the worst thing to ever happen to our storied basketball franchise. But now the Sonics and Storm can move forward as I will be doing when my last day rolls around on Friday March 16th.

On March 19th, I start anew as I move from working with a basketball team to working with video games; that monday will be my first day of a short contract to work in the XBOX360 Marketing group. With Microsoft I will be working with concerts and music festivals as well as with companies like Kelloggs and Burger King to do cross-promotions to market the xbox360. Hopefully the curse of Jeremy doesn't bring down Microsoft like it did to the Sonics--we wouldn't want Microsoft to relocate to Oklahoma City or Kansas City like the Sonics are about to.

Random thoughts from a year (ok, the first two weeks of '07) in the life…

-I still can't believe how pathetic Seattle drivers are, seriously, one flake of snow on the ground and they practically go into convulsions.

-I was approached by a hobo (or tramp if you prefer) in a darkened parking lot asking for money. I kinda shied away from him a bit, but can you blame me? I'm the guy who was punched in the chest by a bum a few years ago while I was minding my own business because he thought I was a statue. Yeah, that actually happened.

-I sat courtside for GP's probable last game in Seattle when the Sonics played Miami on Wed. I talked so much shit to D-Wade that night, I was in that kid's head, well that was until he dropped 25 in the second half against the Supes essentially winning the game by himself.  So after he had pretty much decided it, he was back on our end of the court, I yelled at him "fucking stop it! You're too good!" To which he just smirked, so I GUESS he won in the end. Regardless, it was one helluva night.

-According to my iTunes, the top-5 most played songs in my iPod right now are:
            -Marching Bands of Manhattan by Death Cab for Cutie
            -Ashes by Embrace
            -Wenn es Passiert by Wir Sind Helden
            -Drive by The Cars
            -Autograph by The Tears

-I'm not sure what that wet spot on my carpet is, from that drunken night. I'll just chalk it up to the window being open and I'll continue to think positive thoughts.

-As you know, I run the fan email for the Sonics and send a weekly report to bigwigs. This week in my email to the execs I threw coach Bob Hill under the bus, and rightly so, he sucks.

-I may be a Democrat, but I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't enjoy sitting around with some of my republican friends at work to rip on those damned hippy liberals as we like to call 'em.

-The VP of Marketing for the NBA's Charlotte Bobcats had my favorite quote of the year, owing mostly to its beautiful bluntness. Here's some background: right after the Bobcats decided to cut their losses and give up control of the WNBA's Charlotte Sting, it forced the league to fold the franchise. So when the WNBA announced that the Sting would no longer exist, their former marketing guy and current Bobcats VP said, "It's sad, the team meant a lot to people in this city. On the same token, not enough people." Ouch.

-Is it inappropriate for me to walk through my parents' house and mentally tag everything I plan on swooping in and grabbing just after my brothers and I have to take them to the crooked old folks home we plan on dropping them off at?

-I just slightly burned some chicken I was preparing, but I've decided to give this whole ordeal a silver lining by calling it "cajun style." No one will know the difference right?

-Believe me, "phlegmy" is the last answer I want to give to the question: "how do you feel?" But I've got to be honest, that's how I feel, phlegmy.

-Groundhog's Day is coming up soon, hence the movie is in my Netflix queue. I may have said this before, but ever since I started working in the corporate world—where most of my days look and feel exactly the same—the underlying theme of the movie makes so much more sense to me than ever before.

-Although my DVR didn't record the end of the Saints game, perhaps throwing it in front of a speeding bus wasn't the most mature way to deal with my anger.

-David Beckham has signed a contract with the MLS's LA Galaxy worth a reported $250 million. Damn, I wish I were completely washed up so I could make some real money. But hey, I'm still young, there's still hope of me burning out and cashing in.

-I was at Safeway in the checkout line and there was a gentleman in front of me who was missing an arm and trying to move some heavy items from his cart to the conveyer belt. I was about to offer my services when his wife started helping and thank god she did, b/c I was about to say "can I give you a hand." It took me a few seconds to sink in how inappropriate and dickish that would have sounded. Sure, I'm already going to hell, but I'm pretty glad I didn't get the opportunity to say that.

-One of my favorite co-workers revealed to me this week that he doesn't believe Global Warming is real. I guess it's not as bad as former Mariner Carl Everett not believing that dinosaurs actually existed—but it's close.

-Gilbert Arenas aka "Agent Zero," aka "Hibachi," is now my favorite player; I just love how he's all sorts of crazy.

-I enjoy a frosty mug of root beer so much that I considered naming my first son after it, but then I reconsidered—not b/c it would be a really weird name, but b/c if my son turns out to be a douchebag then I'd be reminded of his douchebaggery every time I had a mug, thus diminishing my love for it.

And finally…

-Pat Benatar claims "love is a battlefield," but at the same time she believes "we belong together" and that's what I like about Pat—her optimism in the face of her own pessimism.