I thought I might stop in this weekend and upload another mix for you, given the whopping demand we received after the last one.  This one is less timely: a few favorites that might all fall roughly into the category of non-blue-eyed soul music.  Not entirely comprehensive (at the very least it’s missing songs I acquired during Apple’s DRM era), it includes a few classics along wth some less well-known tracks off regional compilations.  Hopefully you’ll find the whole thing worth your time–these are definitely staples of my dj sets.  

Mediafire download link and track list are after the jump.

99 Pounds....................................Ann Peebles 
I take what I want...........................Ann Peebles  
Cut Your Motor Off...........................Black Nasty 
Across 110th Street..........................Bobby Womack 
Between The Lines............................Charlie Whitehead
Looking for a Fox............................Clarence Carter  
You're No Good...............................Dee Dee Warwick 
Your Love Was Strange........................The Dramatics 
You Don't Know What You're Missing...........The Exciters
Nothing But a Heartache......................The Flirtations
She's Better Than You........................James Carr
Lipstick Traces (On A Cigarette).............The O'Jays 
Soul Man.....................................Sam and Dave  
Having A Party...............................Sam Cooke
Give it Back.................................Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings
They Won't Let Me............................The Unemployed 
I'm Mr. Big Stuff (That's Who I Think I Am)..The Wardell Quezerque Band

Download right here.  If there’s any interest in further genre or new music comps, please just leave a comment with your request.

In the meantime, I’ll be periodically posting mp3 mix tapes.  This one is basically for stoners, and it’s best enjoyed outside on randomized order.  A soul one is coming soon and you can probably expect more after that (depending on how long the redesign takes).

Tracklist and a mediafire link are after the jump.

DOWNLOAD ZIP FILE HERE (7zip is a free and user-friendly unzipping software, if you don’t already have something)

Song......................Artist..........................Album
You and I.................Washed Out......................Adult Swim Singles
Take Shelter..............Active Child....................Curtis Lane 
Strangers In The Wind.....Cut Copy........................In Ghost Colours
Sometimes.................Beach Fossils...................S/T LP  
Round And Round...........Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti...Before Today 
Just Wait Til Next Year...John Maus.......................Songs  
Friend of the Night.......Teen Inc........................Fountains 7"
Fly Like an Eagle.........Steve Miller Band...............Fly Like an Eagle
Feel It All Around........Washed Out......................Life of Leisure 
Do Your Best..............John Maus.......................Love Is Real 
Darlin'...................Dead Meadow.....................Three Kings  
Cortez the Killer.........Neil Young......................Zuma 
Chinatown.................Wild Nothing....................Gemini  
Can't Hear My Eyes........Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti...Before Today
Air Supply................Sweet Trip......................You Will Never Know Why

If you like this, allow me to also plug Rachel and my DJ night (every 2nd Thursday of the month at Enid’s) as well as DJ Overgold’s (wayyyyy to many to mention, but he’s highly google-able).  See you all again when we land,

Guten Morgan

A New Hope?

Well it’s now late May and the Mets are sitting right around the .500 mark that they were projected at for the season. There have been some expected things, like Oliver Perez and John Maine not really being people you want to bet 40% of your starts on, or Carlos Beltran’s lack of knees. There have been some positive things, like Mike Pelfrey’s surprising decent-ness as a starter, Rod Barajas’s home run total, or Ike Davis’s emergence as an above-average big-league first baseman.  There have been some negative things, like Jose Reyes’s batting average, Elmer Dessens’s presence on the roster, or the sheer number of players’ last names that end in “s”.

So far this year, every time it looks like the Mets are going to flame out completely, they’ve had a good run to get back to mediocrity. Witness the recent surprises from R.A. Dickey and Hisanori Takahashi (especially Takahashi, who has been far better overall this year than anyone really expected), which have lead to a nice 4-game winning streak against the Yankees and Phillies.

So, great, they’ve managed to hang in the race so far, so where do they go from here, both this year and over the next couple? To begin with, they’ve got to look at adding some real solutions to the pitching staff. Takahashi may be good for a bit, but as the league gets used to his delivery, it becomes more difficult to believe his stuff will play. Even if he hangs around as a decent 5th starter, and Niese comes back and can be a decent #4, it is still silly to hope for Maine as a real #3, and even the splitter-toting 2010 version of Pelfrey isn’t really a #2 for a contending team. There’s little to mine, pitching-wise on the farm, as well, with Brad Holt getting completely shelled at AA and Kyle Allen having an ERA over 4 and a low K rate in the FSL. The only real hope for help is Jenrry Mejia, but he hasn’t exactly been lights-out in relief so far, so it’s tough to project him as a dominant force in the rotation right away.

Offensively, the team isn’t exactly Murderer’s Row right now, but there’s still a decent core and potential future pieces already on the farm. Most notably, Kirk Nieuwenhuis is hitting pretty well in AA and could be worth something as soon as next year, and there’s still Ruben Tejada, Josh Thole, Fernando Martinez and eventually Wilmer Flores and Reese Havens.

The payroll is sunk into a lot of big name players right now, and it’s unclear if the team would be willing to pony up the salary and prospects to get someone like Cliff Lee or even Jake Westbrook, but there’s at least a shot of competing this year if they do. It isn’t really going to be cheaper to go fishing on the free agent market this winter, though, so I’ll hold out the small hope that one of those two guys can be had for a price that isn’t too painful.

The most exciting thing happening for the Mets this year may be the 7th pick in the draft. In general, you’d like to take the best available prospect, regardless of other considerations, but the Mets’ system seems pretty unbalanced to me, with many more solid hitting prospects than pitching. There are reports that the Mets have been eyeing Christian Colon, the Cal State Fullerton shortstop, assuming he doesn’t get snatched up before they pick. His best asset is his defense, but he’s also a good hitter who has been showing more power recently. He could provide a long-term solution at second base, if Reese Havens doesn’t claim the position and Wilmer Flores ends up in the outfield, but given the lack of strong pitching prospects, he might not be the best fit. Yasmani Grandal is a good defensive catcher for Miami who has been on a tear at the plate. Some recent mock drafts have him going to the Mets, but I don’t see that as a good fit for similar reasons to Colon – I’d rather take a pitcher and hope that Thole can stick in the majors. As for pitchers, there are few if any real gems in this draft class. Jameson Taillon is probably the best available, so he’s unlikely to still be on the board by the 7th pick. Drew Pomeranz might be the top college arm, though his stock has yo-yo’d a bit recently with concerns over a velocity dip lessened by its return in his last outing. Deck McGuire and Chris Sale are pretty close behind him; one of the three should be available and would probably be the best fit for what the team needs right now. However it plays out, it will be fun to worry over, get excited about, and then probably bitch about once it’s done.

Since I’d been trying to meet up with a friend of mine for a while for dinner, and since I only had about half of what I needed to achieve my burger dreams and since those burger dreams demanded achievement, I suggested dinner at my place – halfsies on ingredients.  Of course the beers were a bonus, and the cheese might have been a little pricey, but I think we did well for way less than we would have paid eating out.  Right, Bryan, right?  Those burgers were delicious.  The kind of thick, heavily laden burgers that need to be squashed flat before being eaten.  Bam.  Burger magic.

Mostly, I find that there’s rarely really nothing to eat.  There’s just stuff you don’t want to eat or other people who have the food you want to eat.  And in the latter case, it’s so easy.  You just knock on their doors and say, “Let’s make dinner.”

My neighbor and I do a lot of community cooking.  And it hasn’t failed us yet.  If, around 12:30, my doorbell rings, I know she’s come by to say, “I have vegetables.  What do you have?”  Or, I’ll be at her kitchen table, drinking green tea and say, “I just want melted cheese” (not a rare occurrence) and she’ll say, “I have some mozzarella.”  And I’ll say, “I have bread and some canned tomatoes.”  And she’ll say, “I think this basil I grew in my windowsill is ready to eat.”  And I’ll say, “Let’s use my toaster.”  And then, wow:  we have mini pizzas with pesto, chopped kalamata olives, tomatoes, green onions, mozzarella cheese, and basil on toasts.  We high-five a lot when we cook together.  This is because we’re total bros.  And totally awesome.

And we’re also totally awesome because we throw together desserts like this in about ten minutes just because I say, “I want something sweet.”  And she says, “I have frozen blueberries.”

It’s not just loners I target for my cooking fun – I invite them all to potluck.  And then, sitting around a coffee table, we talk and eat an eclectic assortment of pastries and pizza, hummus, chips, salsas, cheeses, and doughnuts.  Exciting in their lack of cohesion.  Appetites already whetted by wine.  People really like bringing wine to potlucks.  Simply chronicling a trend.

This is my injunction.  Find someone and cook with them (grammar, I know).  Find lots of people and cook together.  If it’s good, you can gloat, and if it’s bad, at least you can laugh about it with someone else.  Like when you’re walking up the stairs of the subway and manage to trip most of the way up and everyone pretends nothing embarrassing happened and you laugh but really it just ends up being embarrassing because no one else is laughing.

Just like that.

Little Women, Sex and the City, and Foucault’s Repressive Hypothesis

In The History of Sexuality (1976), Michel Foucault writes about the “repressive hypothesis” – that, in human desire to become fully liberated and the masters of our sexuality, our overbearing discourse and need to tell about it has actually made us more subject to it than ever. The more we voice how incredible our new Magic Wand is; the guy we met at our friends’ party who we gave an anonymous and simultaneous hand-on-genitals to; the more we admit our complete and utter lack of power. This example of duped self-owning can perhaps best be seen in two works about infuriatingly zesty women written over two centuries apart: the March sisters (Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy) of Little Women (Louisa May Alcott) and the “fashionistas” of HBO’s Sex and the City (Miranda, Carrie, Charlotte, and Samantha). While all of these women openly discuss their liberation ad nauseum, one cannot help but notice their slavery to the heteronormative white male regime. And above all: none of these women can really grasp how truly annoying they are because of this.

Carrie Bradshaw/Jo March are writers: by nature, they reveal all, and think their lives are the braver for it. Carrie writes orgasm after orgasm and metaphor after metaphor, and Jo writes demure romances and vampire stories (which, updated on scale to today’s standards, are probably similarly soft-core). Carrie lives in a bizarre world where she is a “celebrity journalist” who appears on the sides of buses for writing about her empowering search for penetration, while Jo March searches for similar acclaim in serializations of horror stories. Carrie/Jo assume all the stylized zest that comes with being a “writer:” having witty reparte with men, claiming their genius, wearing progressive clothing, and being incredibly selfish. And yet, despite all of their assuredness, they trick themselves into denying how backwards they really are! Carrie, by writing about sex, is obsessed with it. She tells and tells all day, and is utterly controlled by men and their opinions of her. Jo March is, simply put, a hypocrite. While she is a teacher in a male profession and writes her memoirs and urges her sisters to be strong – especially in the film version – she does not achieve true happiness until she is married to Friederich Bhaer, does not write about “women’s issues” until Bhaer tells her so, and, when she inherits money, she opens a school…for boys. Jo is “so the Carrie” – with all her big words about changing the regime, she only works to further it. The more these women talk about their control, the more it slips away.

The other sisters, too, fall neatly in line. Meg and Miranda are fussy and goal-oriented and work hard as a governess and a lawyer to save; but despite how loudly Miranda speaks her liberation (”You two are crazy to get married. Marriage ruins everything,” she says, loudly promoting her vibrator), she is the first to become ensnared in a marriage, and punished from a fun lifestyle with pregnancy and her husband’s infidelity. Meg resists her suitors but then suddenly finds herself with twins and a redheaded bore of a husband. This is what being sarcastic and practical and voicing your aspiration yields: proof of lack thereof. They claim to like being old maids while they silently freak out and ultimately settle to solve their husbandless crises.

Amy and Charlotte are young, foolish, pretty, and fanciful. (For proof of this, check out any reaction shot in the film or the television show; primness does not know its name until Samantha Mathis is seen painting china by the countryside, or until Charlotte shows a painting.) They loudly profess their spoiled natures and their desires to be a lady in a way that is similar to a sexual repressive discourse: as they discuss their aspirations of delicacy and admirations of nice things, they admit their utter lack of charm. Amy, to be a sophisticate and a show-off, steals citrus fruit, proving herself an utter rube; Charlotte claims to be worldly but still treats all gay men as novelties and accessories. Charlotte works in an art gallery and discusses art all day without producing it herself, and Amy produces maudlin landscapes for consumption in tea parties and other domestic atmospheres. They are also extremely reliant on men, although they insist otherwise. While Amy talks about travel and art, she quickly rushes into a marriage with drunk Laurie with little urging. While Charlotte pretends to be a fierce and independent city girl, she also rushes to intense relationships and marriage with any man she meets; many of whom are far below her standards (one is bald and Jewish, and she is punished for not marrying a normative Gentile with – gasp – an adopted Asian baby).

And finally, there are Beth and Samantha – both characters of much derision, but, I would argue, the only characters with any sense of irony about how fucking awful their cohorts and existences are (for which they are rewarded with consumption and cancer, respectively). Beth is a wimp and does not pretend to be lively or vivacious like her other siblings do. She knows her place is to gather rolls and sew. She does not talk about her freedoms or her goals, and thus retains some shred of likeability, and goes to heaven for it – finally her chance to “be first at something.” Samantha Jones is a joke, a drag queen, and entirely one-dimensional – but unlike the other Sex and the City girls, she completely realizes this and winks to the camera. Her delivery is pure camp, unlike Carrie’s earnest “if men were pairs of shoes…” monologues. She is Mae West among a gaggle of Doris Days and Katherine Heigels. She is loathesome and when she talks about sex she admits she is entirely its subject and controlled by it. When Samantha coos a painful pun you wince, but it’s just because of the bad script writing, not because, like the other three girls, she is living a lie. When Beth dies, you’re sad, not because the character dies in such a sappy way, but because that’s one less character to buffer yourself from the others; repressed even by the the standard of the 1800’s.

With the impending release of the new Sex and the City movie, and the “Carrie Bradshaw as teen” The Carrie Diaries hot off the presses, it looks like these dubious heroines and archetypes will remain on the American conscious for a bit longer. What new questions will the new film introduce? Will it follow Jo’s Boys, Alcott’s sequel to Little Women, and present a beautiful and normalized picture of domesticity; a Foucaultian schoolhouse of discipline, punishment, and normalization of unruly students into “little men and women”? Or will these women remain their sex-crazed selves, rebelling with overactive sex lives to obtain their ultimate goal of subduement via marriage? I assume the latter. On a psychosexual level, when we consider the backwards and decidedly anti-feminist patterns of these four “little women” (most of whom, I believe, are now deep into their fifties), one is left wondering…maybe Beth and the gang didn’t have it that bad.

The face of the Met-killing franchise.

So, here’s the thing- I should be happy. After winning 9 out of their last 11 games, the Mets are only ½ a game out of first, and seem to have turned things around after a dreadful start. But unfortunately, I knew there was a catch (there’s always a freakin catch). And the catch here is that while they may look decent on the surface, this Metropolitan squad will never, ever beat this current Philadelphia Phillies team.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, we’ll win some games here and there. But when the chips are down and we need a W against them, either to make a statement (as we needed to do last night) or just to stay in the race (I’ve got the August 13-15 series circled on my calendar as the weekend the season effectively ends), such wins shall not be readily forthcoming, methinks.

Look, I realize last night was only one game, but when you’ve been wallowing in Met-dom as long as I have, you begin to recognize significant moments in the season as they occur. And any Met fan worth his Wally Backman rookie card collection knew that when Johan Santana walked Jaime Moyer with the bases loaded last night, any chance we had to compete with the Phillies this year essentially flew down the toilet with the force of a Charlie Manuel dump.

If you don’t believe me about the Phils’ superiority over the Mets, let’s do a little position-by-position comparison. Sure, anyone can tell you that the two teams are both managed by losers named Manuel and have fat Latino catchers, but let’s delve a little deeper:

1B- On one hand, Ryan Howard hits 50 HR’s per year. But on the other hand, Ike Davis is promising and has lit a Jewish spark under Mets fans yarmulkes. But on the other hand, Ryan Howard hits 50 HR’s per year.

Edge- Phillies

2B- Chase Utley is perhaps the best offensive second baseman ever. But you gotta admit that Luis Castillo is pretty solid and HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh god, please kill me.

Edge- Please.

Icon of Liberty- We have the statue, they have the bell. Ours is a sickly shade of green and a constant reminder of French arrogance, but at least it doesn’t have a big crack in it.

Edge- Mets

SS- I’m tempted to say this is a push, but let’s be real here- Jimmy Rollins does things like say the Phils are the team to beat and then go out and win the MVP award. Jose Reyes does things like get thrown out trying to steal 3^rd with two outs and then do a dance on the dugout steps.

Edge- Phillies, though the Mets have more fun.

3B- Ok, we win this one. But Placido Polanco is pretty damn good. And, even though I’d rather have sex with David Wright, I’d rather snuggle with Placido- he’s just so darn cute.

Edge- Mets

OF- Francoeur has been decent this year, Bay is turning it on, and Beltran should in theory play at some point. On the other hand, Werth is just a better version of Francoeur, Ibanez may be just a better version of Bay, and Victorino is certainly a better version of  the crap we’ve been running out to CF so far this year.

Edge- Phillies

Starting Pitching- Here’s all you need to know- needing a win, their Ace shutout the Mets in a 10-0 victory. Needing a win the following day, our Ace walked a 112 year old pitcher with the bases loaded and then proceeded to give up 58 runs.  And I’m not even embellishing those numbers, I swear to god dude. Even ask my mom.

Sure, so far the rest of our rotation looks a little better than theirs, but if I were a betting man, I’d say an ERA under 2.00 is probably what those in the environmental world would call “an unsustainable way of life.”

Edge- Halladay = God

Bullpen- Honestly, it doesn’t really matter.  A good pen is nice, but if you have great hitting, fielding, and starting pitching, bullpens just aren’t that important. In case no one noticed, the Phillies made it to the World Series last year with their closer having essentially the worst season by a reliever in history.

Edge- Fuck Joe Morgan

Regional Cuisine- There are about as many crappy cheesesteak places down there as there are branches of “Rays Famous Pizza” up here, so that’s a wash. But, the Philadelphians also have this going for them:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scrapple

Edge- Hog Offal

Fans- For those who have somehow managed to avoid this story until now, enjoy:

http://www.myfoxphilly.com/dpp/sports/mlb/phillies/041610-Philadelphia-Phillies-Fan-Pukes-On-Girl

The vomiter’s face alone should cost the Phils 4 games in the standings, in my objective opinion. The link to the worst Philly fan moments found within this same article is pretty entertaining too.

Edge- We have our faults, but at least we don’t vomit on children.

Well, there you have it. And I didn’t even get into other areas where the Phils have a clear edge, like the front office, the bench (what I wouldn’t do to have Greg Dobbs “Ferry” on the Mets), etc.  But don’t get too cocky Philly fans, for as the great Montgomery Burns once said,

“Pfft. I don’t even know why Harvard bothered to show up. They barely even won! Well, I say let Harvard have its football and academics. Yale will always be first in gentlemanly club life.”

So, you know. Yeah.

I’m not really sure what Chinatown buns are actually called, mostly because the sign on the outside of my favorite bun establishment is in – duh – Chinese, and I don’t really have a working knowledge of the language.  (In fact, looking at my picture now, I’m not even sure if that is Chinese – is that Chinese?)  I do, however, recognize the amicability of buying a bun for eighty to ninety cents (cents!) and strolling through the crowded streets being offered handbags of various ancestry and wondering just how the frogs in that bucket are used.

Buns come either steamed or baked and in a variety of flavors from savory to sweet.  Although usually a savory person, my one encounter with a savory Chinatown bun left me feeling a little … mmmm … interesting.  But the sweet buns are delicious.  I love red bean and sesame and coconut and the not bun-shaped but totally delicious egg custard tart.  They come wrapped in a little wax-paper packet and are then handed to you in a brown paper bag, just right for carrying around town.

I have to credit a friend from work for introducing me to Chinatown buns.  She’d been raving about them for a while, and finally, one day after work, she took me and another friend of ours to the little bun place on the corner and also to the pancake man, whose small, steel cart is every now and then right up the street, and who turns out these adorable miniature pancakes which fit in the palm of your hand.  We ate our goodies in the park, shivering in the winter wind, gossiping, and snacking on the sweet, doughy loaves.  And that was the beginning of this risqué (my hips, my thighs…) romp.

So, I may not have any money, but I do have Chinatown buns.  And besides being cheap, they’re also comforting, somehow reminiscent of childhood, even though coconut-stuffed dough was never a part of my pre-adolescent lore.  Maybe it’s holding that packet in your hands, having the freedom to walk around and look at the overwhelming colors and sounds of Chinatown, like a giant State Fair.  Where I come from it was Apple Fritters at the Apple Festival or pastry on Founder’s Day or kebabs at the Amani Festival, so I guess that’s how it’s like childhood, for me.  But these are just buns in Chinatown, and the great part is, there’s no festival involved, just the daily celebration of being alive and present and sentient and full.

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FUN POP-QUIZ!!!

Circle the Jim Jones who led to the deaths of over 900 innocent people!

________________________________________________________________________________________

An eerie tape-recording of Jones’s voice opens the excellent 7” release from a young NYC band called Cults, who is the flagship signee of Gorilla Vs. Bear’s new record label, Forest Family Records. On the opening track “Go Outside” Jones echoes “but to me, death is not a fearful thing, it’s living that’s treacherous” underneath a wistful xylophone hook and some reel-to-reel hiss. The two-piece soon expands their sound into something like 60’s girl-group pop crossbred with dreamy/dreary psychedelica—lots of reverb guitar, toy piano, echoed vocals, and of course: xylophone. Have a listen:

Go Outside Cults – Go Outside

Most Wanted Cults – Most Wanted

The Curse Cults – The Curse

Forest Family only pressed 400 of these puppies (which sold out pretty quickly), but you can nab a free download of the whole thing… here!

PS – Todd P will be hosting Cults along with Sleigh Bells at Ridgewood Temple on May 11^th.

It’s been a trying first couple of weeks to the season.You know things aren’t going well when you:

1. Sit down on a Saturday afternoon in mid April to watch the Mets/Cardinals and realize that your enthusiasm for the game is on par with Frank Catalanotto’s slugging percentage (.154).
2. Realize that the only reason you’re watching the game is for fantasy purposes (I gave the Mets “the done” on opening day), to scout out the Cardinals rookie hurler nobody has ever heard of who just made it back from Tommy John surgery .
3. Realize that the Mets have just been no-hit for 5 innings by the Cardinals rookie hurler nobody has ever heard of who just made it back from Tommy John surgery.
4. Continue to watch this shitfest of a game despite the fact that it’s gone on for 20 innings and 6 hours, just to say to yourself after the Mets take a dramatic victory: “Nice win.  Too bad you still blow.”

Any casual observer knows that a distinct feature of many Met fans, SNY and WFAN “experts”, and especially Mets management (on-field and front office) when things are “not going as well as we would have liked,” is that they truly believe that things are always about to get better.  A Met resurgence is always around the corner and everyone knows exactly what must happen for it to occur.  It’s always an interesting exercise to examine some of the things that these experts, fans, and managers think are sure to jumpstart the season.  Shall we?

“We’ve just gotta move Jose Reyes into the three hole.”

The Logic: The Mets problem is obviously not the players that they have on their team but where they hit in the order. The problem of course isn’t that Louis Castillo is the Mets number two hitter; it’s that Jose Reyes isn’t the number three. 

My Take: Beer before liquor; never been sicker.  Liquor before beer; I’m vomiting anyway.

“Dan Warthen has gone back to the tape!  This time it was to see what John Maine was doing during his successful 2007 campaign and the news couldn’t be more promising: Warthen the genius has identified a mechanical flaw in Maine’s delivery!  Problem solved!”

The Logic: All the work that pitcher and coach put in during the 2009 season and throughout spring training that yielded negative results was basically just a strategic error.  All along, if we had just looked at the 2007 tape we would have noticed that John Maine’s left foot was landing a few inches to the right of where it should.  We’ll just tweak that before his next start and you will soon see a career turned around!

My Take: Funny that Maine developed this “mechanical flaw” after he underwent season-ending arm surgery in 2008.  I guess the amnesia that Maine developed from surgery rendered his memory of the mechanics of pitching useless.  His throwing arm is, however, just fine.  If you believe this, I have a pair of Mets 2010 NLCS tickets to sell you.

“It’s about time to stretch Jenrry Mejia out to become a starter.”

The Logic and My Take:  My good friend and co-blogger Jay Camhi once famously noted how Mets minor leaguers who you’ve never heard of have a mysterious way of becoming top prospects over night.  And they are hyped like no other team’s prospects are ever hyped.  I don’t have to tell you the cast of charactersfrom over the years  to whom this has applied (although I will): Jay Payton, Butch Huskey, Aaron Heilman, Grant Roberts, Mike Jacobs, former “closer of the future” Tyler Yates, Justin Huber, and Lastings Milledge (where oh where have you gone Ryan Church and Brian Schneider?).  The list of course goes on.  Now the Mets front office seems to have found their next specimen in Jenrry Mejia.  Something is telling me not to get my hopes up.

I’ll leave you with this gem, courtesy of SNY’s Bobby Ojeda:

“The Mets problem is that they just aren’t running enough.  Once they start putting runners into motion more they will put pressure on opposing defenses and start winning some games.”

The Logic and My Take:  Of course.  If the Mets were the fictional dog, Old Yeller, dying of rabies, Bobby Ojeda would be the little boy telling his family “he’ll be fine.  He just needs to drink some water.”  Ojeda, like all Mets fans has to accept the fact that the 2010 Mets are a dying rabid dog.  Let him go Bobby.  Just let him go.

Johnny, raised by a single mother in a meat-and-potatoes town, nears the end of his senior year football season to be greeted by  a slew of enticing scholarship offers. In an attempt to win this top athlete, competing universities fly Johnny cross-country for weekends of sex, parties, and a bit of the local flavor. All of this wining and dining presents Johnny with a major dilemma: does he go to state school to be with his girlfriend* and remain true to his values, or does Johnny throw them both away for bigger and better things elsewhere?

*His girlfriend is played by a young Uma Thurman, in what I believe to be her first major role.

Good or bad, Johnny is not my particular focus. Let’s talk RDJ. Apparently, Robert Downey Jr. spent the bulk of the 1980s playing the quirky sidekick, as evidenced yet again by this film. I can only guess that RDJ’s performance must have been severely drug-influenced. There is a level of weirdness and out-of-the-blue dialogue that seems unique to the rest of the film, not to mention the buggy eyes, twitchy gestures, etc. Watch below and see what I mean.

And with that, I shall bit you adieu. See you next week with 1969.