Let Go, Mets: Part II

History repeats itself, so this blog repeats itself. To quote from the April 14 entry: "It's hard living in a city where your favorite team isn't the hometown one." Over the past few weeks, I found myself urgently leaning into the car stereo, trying to parse each Mets game on WFAN amid the crackle of a station broadcasting from more than 200 miles away. (Who cares about a team with as luxurious a record the past decade as the Sawx?) When Carlos Beltran hit the game-tying, two-run home run in the bottom of the sixth Sunday, I shouted so loudly in the car that the drivers around me and the people walking down Mass. Ave. on the other side of the road thought I was screaming in maddening anger. It felt so wonderful to hear such good news. "Let go, Mets," I said several times. (Again, I'm not sure what that means.)

To continue quoting from the April 14 entry: "After the truly excellent core of Jose Reyes, David Wright and Carlos Beltran, the line-up is mediocre and aging fast. The starting rotation is far above average, especially if Pedro can pitch injury-free and dashingly for the second half of the season (will there be a better pitcher in my lifetime?), but the bullpen again appears to suck." Well, Carlos Delgado, while aged, joined that excellent core, but, ironically enough, that line-up became surprisingly young at times and bewildering -- when did the Mets sign Ramon Martinez let alone make him the starting second baseman on the weekend's final year? Pedro wasn't up to the task, but the starting rotation was quite good. And the bullpen sucked dead frogs like they were lollipops. It was beyond tragi-comedy how manager Jerry Manuel could only average two-thirds of an inning per pitcher once the starter left. The Mets imploded as expected: The bullpen yielded the season-ending runs.

Better the suffering end sooner rather than later, I suppose. What to do now? Jump on the Sawx bandwagon, as hard as it is to run at the front, thought little compares to watching in Spirit last year Manny's game-winning home run against the Indians -- an electrifying, incomparable adrenaline climax to an otherwise soporific game.

Joshua Robinson also had a nice piece in today's Times about yesterday's defeat also being Shea Stadium's last game. The description and photo of Mike Piazza and Tom Seaver, the two best Mets ever, were poignant, though it's hard to romanticize a ballpark that didn't have much to romanticize, unless you're a fan of auto-body repair shops and landing and departing planes, of which there were many beyond the centerfield wall and overhead, respectively. I went to my last game there in August -- ironically enough a superbly pitched game by Oliver Perez against the Florida Marlins. It was perfect.

What's a "Winter Wooskie"?

Part of what makes Belle and Sebastian so appealing is its allegiance to the EP, already antiquated when the band started releasing them in pre-mp3 1996. For most bands, they're rarely standalone works -- released either to hype a forthcoming or album proper, expand on a single, or secrete more experimental material.

Not so for Belle and Sebastian. Theirs are complete entities, that sound much like Belle and Sebastian on all the other records (see "The Loneliness of a Middle Distance Runner"), but tweak the template just enough to pique your interest (see the psychedelia of [the song] "Legal Man," among others). And then there's the "A Century of Elvis"-"A Century of Fakers" combination, on two of the EPs in the "Lazy Line Painter Jane" boxed set: "Elvis" ends an EP, "Fakers" starts the next one, and they use the exact same music, but one is spoken word about cats and marriages in reverse, while the other is -- oh, I don't know what either is really about. Brilliant! I've told my girlfriend about this so many time it exasperates her each time I start anew, largely, I think, because I always act as though I've never told her before and am revealing some profound secret of music composition.

But the best song on all of them is "Winter Wooskie," from "Legal Man." It bounces along with a jaunty bass line and pleasantly staccato piano chords, and then in the second verse, Murdoch, in one of the few songs where he doesn't have lead vocals, comes in with delicately syncopated backup vocals. The lyrics are about longingly staring at a lovely girl from your window in the winter -- and that's exactly what it sounds like. I love it when that happens. (For a more recent vintage, see Beach House, which sounds like a echo-filled, empty beach house.)

Pitchfork reports Matador is releasing this fall a collection of Belle and Sebastian's BBC appearances, though the dispatch also unfortunately says the band is on hiatus and has no plans to record new music anytime soon. Even if this could be a release to fulfill contractual obligations, guess who'll be spending $12.98 soon?

Should "Top Chef" Ever Need To Replace Padma...

...there's always former Prime Minister Samak Sundaravej of Thailand. Not only is he looking for work, but he was deposed by the country's Constitutional Court because of the payments he received for being a guest on a cooking show while in office! And he's a former cooking-show host himself!

This is, by far, the best story in the past six weeks, if not years. "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me..." could use this as fodder for a whole show. It's a real-life version of that mediocre movie "American Dreamz," where the president, a Bush 43 parody, appears on an "American Idol"-like show to boost his approval ratings. Why any sitting president would want to appear on a cooking show puzzles me, but why a constitution would ban receiving guest fees from it is also odd. Though, on second thought, allowing your president to receive a salary from another company/entity while she's in office certainly greases corruption's wheels, whether it's dicing at the cutting board or pushing for deregulation at the bank's board.

Reading farther into the Times' story, it turns out Mr. Sundaravej faces three separate charges of corruption and a two-year prison sentence for defamation. Um, maybe he shouldn't be allowed to be a guest judge. Oh, and he stands in for Thaksin Shinawatra, who's a billionaire, been ousted in a coup, fled to England to avoid corruption charges (his wife's already been convicted) and will soon be the former owner of Manchester City. Oh, and Sundaravej's party nominated him to replace himself as prime minister, which not only defies the Thai Constitution, but all logic. This is beautiful.

The name of that cooking show, "Tasting and Complaining," is also great. It reminds me of dinners at my family's house.

Post, like "Katie Lee," dedicated to Padma, that bewitching, drawling, stoned(?), puzzlingly unattractive host of my favorite TV show.

Farewell, Merrill and Lehman

By now, it is abundantly clear we are living in a historically profound time. The abrupt collapses of some of America's most hallowed financial institutions are not the only reasons, but they are certainly near the top of the list.

Listing everything would lead to a obscenely long post, so how about: Name an industry or even facet of American life that has not been dramatically reshaped in the past five years.

If Only He Chose Daddy Yankee To Be His VP

Unfortunately lost in the bloated political pageantry of the past two weeks' conventions was Daddy Yankee's endorsement of John McCain for president. "Who's Daddy Yankee?" my over-35 readers and everyone who'll be voting for McCain ask? Why he's the leading light of Reggateon, the Spanish-language, mainly Caribbean variation of hip-hop that would be soporific if it weren't so loud. His main hit, "Gasolina," from about three years ago, sparked lots of stories in the press about the genre's imminent mainstream breakthrough. (It never really happened.)

When I first heard this, I thought, Now wouldn't it be great if the McCain campaign actually tried to twist "Gasolina" into a paean for (the largely discredited) idea of expanding off-shore drilling, as McCain has come to embrace the past few weeks? As a further note for the over-35 or and all Republicans, "Gasolina" is not about gasoline, but vague slang for vulgar things that would make most moms, most especially Gov. Sarah Palin, blush. Unfortunately, McCain didn't take the opportunity; he's only courting the Hispanic vote. But, as ABC notes here, Mr. Yankee did on the campaign bus! That's actually kind of funny.

Other thoughts from the past couple weeks of politics:

* Watching Ted Kennedy's public death is fascinating. The last true embodiment of a Kennedy, his death will be the end of an era. He could retire, slyly engineer the election to replace him and cement his legacy as the most profound senator of the past 25 years. Instead, he gives the most stirring speech of the whole Democratic convention -- after having spent the previous night in a Denver hospital with kidney stones! (The story was obviously given to the press to amplify the heroics, but it really was the Willis Reed of speeches.) The Globe pretty much published his obituary the day his brain cancer was announced and devoted the top half of the front page to him. What will they do when he actually dies? Even the Herald venerates him these days. Here's the speech:



* Bristol Palin's pregnancy is news. First, if it weren't news why would the McCain-Palin campaign send a press release about it? Second, for a vice presidential pick who likely only believes in teaching abstinence and opposes educating about condoms and other forms of birth control given her conservative Christian positions, shouldn't her own teenage daughter's pregnancy suggest that maybe, um, abstinence doesn't work? As my cousin recently noted in his Gmail away message, the face of Bristol's new fiancee at the convention was priceless. He was meeting the in-laws at the convention. Beautiful. And even though his first name is Levi, he's not Jewish -- he has Bristol's name tattooed around his finger; huh?! -- though it would be amusing if a Jew were joining the Palin family considering she probably thinks we're all going to hell. Is it inappropriate to say here that the Palin daughters, but not the really young one, are kind of attractive in that "Real World" kind of way?

* By any standard Sarah Palin is woefully unqualified to be vice president. Six years ago she was the mayor of an 8,000-person town. She's governed Alaska for less than two years. Would you say the mayor of that small town near where you grew up is qualified? How about the mayor of Boston? No and No. That McCain's campaign points to both positions, including her time leading Alaska's National Guard, as examples of executive experience is offensive. Her boisterous talking points -- declining "The Bridge to Nowhere"; selling the state jet on eBay, among others -- have been debunked by the press, yet she obstinately soldiers on repeating them. She repeats the same speech on the stump, over and over, and won't talk to the press. Overall, the whole campaign is treating the press -- and, by extension, fact -- as useless. TNR, as always has some great blog posts, highlighting the lunacy of it all. McCain-Palin's bump in the polls is tragically just another example of this country's general preference for someone who "seems real" (and likely isn't) over the truth.

* How is McCain genuinely running an underdog, part-of-the-minority campaign? He (and now Palin) rail against Washington's bloated, liberal incompetence as though even though he's been one of the leaders of the party that's run Washington for most of the past 28 years. Huh? Those who try to counter with McCain's "maverick" sensibilities, please note his general apostasy on that the past four-plus years. Please read Rick Hertzberg's thoughts here to understand fully how idiotic this and Romney's pitiful RNC speech are.

* Should Sen. Joseph I. Lieberman, independent of Connecticut, be banished from the tribe for speaking at the RNC? No, not the Democratic tribe (as some high-ranking ones are thinking); the more spiritual one. That comment took my parents by surprise a couple nights ago, and, yes, there are lots of Jewish Republicans around. But Republicanism circa 2008, largely thanks to Bush, Rove et al -- and being prolongated by McCain -- is about bigotry, intolerance, a drumbeat approach to news that borders on propaganda, and a culture of disregarding the truth. We all know where that's brought us historically.

Go Away, WEEI

Three weeks have passed since WEEI held its annual Jimmy Fund telethon and I still can't get over how absurd it is. WEEI should not be applauded for sponsoring this, least of all because all of its talk show hosts can't stop congratulating themselves for doing it.

For the 363 days of the year it isn't raising money for the Jimmy Fund, WEEI is at best boorish and domineering. Most of the time it's a mean-spirited, insensitive, derogatory, and homophobic and racist station (while the last two sentiments are always latent in its commentary, they were never more overt than when "Dennis and Callahan," the morning drive-time hosts, compared inner-city, black teenagers trying to improve their futures to gorillas; yes, this actually happened). Yet, because they spend 48 hours raising money for cancer, we should all praise them?

Their hosts adopt these odd personas during the telethon, too. While on all other days they belittle anyone who disagrees with them (callers and other sports reporters) and athletes or anyone who make mistakes (in Boston and elsewhere), they become well-behaved, kind, articulate, deferential hosts who endlessly admire cancer patients, particularly pediatric ones during the telethon. Now, of course, who wouldn't behave that way while next to those courageously battling a deadly disease? They deserve that and heaps and heaps more. But if WEEI's hosts can comport themselves like this on these two days, why can't they do it on all others? (I realize my language is starting to sound like the Four Questions' here.)

It seems the implicit message is: "Some people's jobs require them to be jerks. Ours is one of them. But we're really nice guys (and yes, we're all guys, who have such deep yearnings to kiss a man that we endlessly deride everyone who does). Really, we only pretend to be jerks because that's what sells. But today, because of the content, we'll be true to ourselves and be nice." If so, again: Why not be kind everyday? Respectfulness and good sports analysis are not mutually exclusive. Or maybe the message is: "Look, even we can be nice to people have cancer! Everyone can rally around it!" If so, why give them the honor of hosting this?

Now, one of those morning hosts, if he were ever to read this, would probably use this post as proof that I hate people with cancer -- as he somehow extrapolated in another way with a recently dispatched, wayward Boston sports celebrity (unfortunately, much of the link is hidden behind the Herald's ill-conceived archive wall) -- but I think it's just proof that he and all his WEEI colleagues just hate everyone but people with cancer, and that's unfortunate.

In Which I Am Subpoenaed

What do Judith Miller, Matthew Cooper and I have in common? We've all received subpoenas for our reporting! But while theirs dealt with affairs of state, mine concerned a dog -- a golden retriever, to be exact.

Without getting too specific (links will purposefully be omitted so as not to draw the judge's ire), I wrote a couple stories in March about a woman from Hawaii who sued her son and daughter-in-law to share the breeding rights of their stud golden retriever. When they went to execute the agreement -- essentially, her flying into town for one week for visitation rights to extract the retriever's semen -- the Hawaii woman never returned to the suburban Boston town where her children live and, instead, absconded with the dog to JFK Airport in a rental car, flight to Hawaii already booked. Local police were contacted; airport police were contacted. They convinced this woman that maybe returning to Hawaii with the dog wasn't the best idea. She drove back to Massachusetts and was arrested in her lawyer's office the next day on a count of larceny. Unbelievable.

Obviously, her flight violated the settlement. Not so obviously, the son and daughter-in-law's lawyer decided my testimony might be needed to prove this. The call I received from her office notifying me was peculiar. Paralegal to me: "Attorney X wants to let you know the case is going to trial next Friday." Thinking to myself as she talks: "This is great! I'd lost track of this side of the case. No lawyer has ever notified me ahead of time when a case will be resolved. She's so nice." Paralegal to me: "You should be receiving that trial subpoena in the mail later this week."

Huh? What? Subpoena? In my three years as a reporter, one lesson that resonates forcefully is, "Tell your boss the moment you hear this word. These are a drag. Do you still have your notebooks? Were the conversations on or off the record? We'll probably fight this." All of the above happened and proved true.

As humorous as it was -- I was subpoenaed over a dog, his sperm and implanting it in bitches -- it was a drag. I spent parts of the next week leading to the trial thinking about how I would talk on the stand, going over my notes fives times to make sure I remembered everything. No matter how much judicial formality and seriousness can be subverted by such magnificent folly, it's still mildly unnerving. (I hope my attempts to coat it all in a smile didn't irritate my bosses too much.) I spent a Friday morning sitting around, waiting to get a telephone call telling me to drive to the courthouse. (This was the arrangement I had with the lawyer.) It never came. At noon, my lawyer rang to say everything was over. The way he said it was like someone had just gone through surgery and "Don't worry, everything is over and it's fine."

As great a conversation piece as this has been, and as amusing it was to say "my lawyer" for the first time in my life, getting subpoenaed is not fun.