The 7th Inning

At the risk of offending people, or being put on some type of FBI watch list (you can hear the reel-to-reel tapes already beginning to spin), I don't like what Bud Selig has done to baseball.

In actuality, it's not Selig that I despise, more so the fact he mandated that baseball play "God Bless America" during Sunday games. Can't we invoke some type of separation of church and state clause?

It's long, it's ancient and people don't know what to do during it. Do you remove your cap? Do you stand? Do you place your hand over your heart? After all, it's not our national anthem.

I understand that this all came about after 9/11. I get that - and we can thank the Yankees and their own version of Enrico Pallazzo for this (as if we need further reasons to hate them) . But I think enough time has passed where "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" and, in Milwaukee's case, "Roll Out the Barrell" (twice) is sufficient.

I believe that history will treat Selig's tenure in a positive light. He's done a great deal for baseball: attendance is up and inter-league play is cool. Revenues are high and we have moved beyond the horrible strike in 1994. It remains to be seen, but the steroid fiasco will blemish his legacy.

But I don't put all of the blame on old Bud. I put a lot of the blame the union. A very powerful one at that. And once everything comes to light, they will attempt to take zero responsibility for it.

Much like our friends up in Fond du Lac at Mercury Marine.

Look here, geniuses: when someone sets a deadline, especially when it is essentially a second chance and your livelihoods are on the line, you better get to the station on time. Better yet, be a couple hours early, wrap it in nice paper and put a pretty little bow on top.

Playing chicken during a recession is one of the most idiotic moves I have ever witnessed. But it's typical of union thinking. Guess what. You lost. You have nobody to blame but yourselves and your greed. Businesses have to do what they have to do to survive - people everywhere are taking cuts in order to keep their jobs. If you haven't figured it out yet, there aren't a lot of people buying boats these days.

One of the stewards was interviewed on the news last night. He was saying that it was all the fault of the management, that they weren't willing to negotiate and that they weren't living up to their promises. It's that kind of thinking that is going to destroy your lives and your community.

Someone said that under the proposed contract, they would make more working at McDonald's. Best of luck with that.

Don't forget to hold the pickles.

Esp!

I have been thinking a great deal about my trip to Europe last year. I visited a great deal of France, spent a few days in Spain and a day in Amsterdam. I had been through some of this area before, but it is always exciting to visit these wonderful places.

My thoughts keep drifting back to San Sebastian, Spain. Nestled on the Atlantic ocean in the northwest mountainous region of Spain (near the border of France), San Sebastian was both beautiful and awesome.

I enjoyed wandering its main roads and its narrower, crooked side streets. The older part of the city was filled with bars, restaurants and shops. Tapas was served nearly everywhere and people crowded the passageways as the day turned into night. There was a constant din of conversation - the air hummed with the sounds of both English and Spanish. I spent the days climbing its hills, exploring the fort that overlooked its gorgeous bay - filled with boats and swimmers (many of whom were topless - a plus!). A late lunch was enjoyed along the ocean, the salty air resting upon our lips.

We met many interesting people. A group of guys from Chicago, all airline attendants, were there in advance of the running of the bulls. They were loud, drunk and boisterous - straight out of Hemingway. Steve and I went for "one last drink" at around 11:30 - with Amanda's permission - and met a lesbian couple from Denmark that bought us round after round of shots. "One last drink" turned into 5:30 in the morning, and only after stumbling into a packed bar where the crowd was reenacting the "Shake Your Tailfeather" scene in "The Blues Brothers" were we able to successfully navigate to the hotel. I spoke, in broken Spanish, with a store owner about Mark Knopfler.

People went about their business casually, easily. Stores shut down in the afternoon for siesta, then reopened as people re-flooded the streets. There was a tranquility about it all.

If there was ever a place I felt I should be, it was here. And I wasn't the only one - Shawn also came to the same conclusion.

I've always felt a peacefulness when around the ocean. I was entranced by the city's magic.

I believe that we can learn a lot from these types of places. There's less focus on work and more on relaxation and family. If this current recession teaches us anything, I hope people remember how expendable they really are - if it's you or the bottom line, you're going to be sent on your way.

I can't wait to return. Could it ever happen that I might one day become an ex-pat? What besides a mortgage and fear is stopping me? Is it wanderlust or a pre-midlife crisis?

I'm ready.

Greenery on the Scenery

Last week Friday, I joined some of my fellow ComedySportz brethren for an evening we had been talking about for months. The pups of our litter are finally all 21 - the licenses to drink and stare have been legally administered. It was, in the great words of Brian Rogers, "game on".

I arrived around 8:30 with the intention of watching some of the open mic and hanging out with some of the stragglers at the CSz bar. My plans were quickly derailed when I was asked if I wanted to go to Silk.

I have been to this type of place once or twice in my life. Once, during a magical evening in Windsor, Canada - purely for cultural purposes - my father and I attended a exhibition of gymnastics and dance while enjoying copious amounts of LaBatt. I have also spent one or two Saturday afternoons at the Encore (located at 101 S. Dana Ct., Milwaukee, WI) waxing philosophical with the professors at this fine school of higher education. Sometimes it is hard to turn down a cup of coffee and good conversation. Who can say no to a gal in hot-for-teacher glasses?

Friday night started with the obligatory pre-game. We then hopped into Honni's "2 Fast, 2 Furious" car and headed up to the north-side of metro-Milwaukee. The admission, much like our boyish fantasies and our spending habits that evening, was free (thanks to Ed).

There was a cast of characters that included large security guards, cocktail waitresses (who look like they could be on stage, but probably have the moral conflict not to), customers of all colors, sizes and genders (who don't even scoff at paying $5 for a bottle of Miller High Life). Shangri-La with glitter and a coconutty-peach scent!

My favorite of all is the DJ. Perched high above the action, he's the house ringmaster, barker, cop and comedian. They all sound the same - it's the 3-pack-a-day Marlboro Red smoker meets your 5 o'clock, wacky rock station announcer. The sayings, the meter, the music. It's all quite universal - or so I am told.

A few years ago, I knew a silent partner in a local gentlemen's establishment. As I talked to the owner, I expressed my interest in being the DJ for the night. I was certainly qualified, I told her: I have a vast knowledge of shitty rock songs and have a plethora of stingers ("put your cash on the gash", "throw your pesetas on the te-tas", " stick your euros on the hot hoes") and a college degree from a Big 10 university. She said I could! Albeit on a Monday or Tuesday night. Sadly, it never happened - did I miss my opportunity to fulfill my life's calling? Can you imagine Stefanie and Supreme tickling your fancy to Chuck Mangione's "Feels So Good"? Ass with class!

We all walked out two-hours later poorer, older and not a bit wiser. We also smelled like an orchard shit on us.

We'll be back. So dumb, but so fun. It's what we do and it's what they count on. I blame my friends.

Mr. Ed

I don't feel bad for Edward Kennedy.

1) He was born into a great deal of power and money.
2) Rode his brothers' coatails into a cushy job.
3) He spent his entire "career" sucking off the government teet.
4) He's always had health care.
5) Hardly accomplished anything of great significance.
6) Womanizer.
7) Got away with murder.

Oh wait. He's the PERFECT politician.

And It Has Morphed Into an Unhealthy Infatuation with Michael McDonald

Last night, I took my parents out for dinner and a show. I had promised them a night at the ballpark, but as the fortunes of our hometown nine continue to decline, the enthusiasm for an evening at Miller Park waned in direct proportion with the steadily increasing number of Brewers' losses in August.

After a delightful dinner at Sobleman’s (Milwaukee’s best burger, indeed), we headed over to the magnificent Pabst Theater – hands down, the finest entertainment venue in town – to bear witness to the greatness of Robert Cray and his band.

As we kibitzed on the corner of Water and Wells (while waiting for my cousin Tony, his girlfriend Kate, my pal Chris, his mother, and the legendary Michael D), I inquired where my interest in music came from. After all, as he admitted, my dad wasn’t a huge fan back when the music was political, trippy and incredible (he has since come around).

My focused turned to my mom. As mothers are wont to do, she’s done a great deal for me as I’ve grown up (and out), but one of the things I appreciate most is her steadying influence of the arts. To this day, I consider myself fairly cultural and mildly educated in the finer things of life.

Reflecting on my younger days, I recall many hours spent at the library reading books, trips to Chicago to look at the masterpieces of Monet and Renoir, movies on rainy Summer afternoons, and music – amazing music!

Film and music, two of the greatest things in life!

There are many musical memories in my life, many of which involve my mom. I recall listening to Grover Washington Jr.’s “Winelight” album over and over. She piqued my curiousity with the Doors the first time I heard “Light My Fire”. My first concert was Neil Diamond, in the pouring rain (we had grass seats), about 1986 at the Marcus Ampitheater. For my 16th birthday, she surprised me with tickets to see Eric Clapton and allowed me to go by myself (as long as I went with Dan Brunner).

One of my first memories is walking back from the South Shore Water Frolics in the late 70s or early 80s. We were with my uncle George and auntie Kay and some other people. I heard a song called “Breezin’” and was mesmerized. I’m pretty sure I told my mom I liked it (quite a bit for a 3 or 4-year-old brain to wrap itself around).

Tonight I get to see the author and musician of “Breezin’”, George Benson. It’s a strange excitement, and it can’t help but make me think of my mom.

Thanks, mom, for the extraordinary gift you’ve shown me. The answer to last night’s question was right in front of me (and during the show, 2 seats over).

The GLORIOUS Basterds

Went and saw 'Inglourious Basterds' last night.

I remember how cool it was, circa 1994, when we stood in line in to see "Pulp Fiction" on State Street. We got there early, a mass had gathered under the Orphieum marquee and the line was down the street. It was freezing - there were winter hats, and gloves, and plumes of breath floating toward the nearly dark, late-afternoon sky. There was a buzz in the theater and people were excited. It was packed and people clapped at the end of it. There was consensus that Quentin Tarantino was the man.

The prince of Hollywood was now its king.

His future had promise. "Four Rooms" was so-so. "Jackie Brown" was overlooked (but very good). "Kill Bill" was enjoyable.

Then came "Death Proof". Goddamed awful. Long, boring, talky.

The king was dead.

"Inglourious Basterds" is a great movie - the best I've seen this year. Gory, hilarious, over the top. Perfect dialog (there's a scene involving one word in a foreign accent that completely pays off Brad Pitt carrying a weird southern drawl for 2+ hours). We will be quoting this one for years.

Part WW2 mission flick, part film noir, part Altman, part Schindler's List, part Coen brothers. An amalgamation that feels completely unique.

The acting is solid, the directing is amazing. There are a couple of long tracking shots that are mind-boggling. Not sure how he can top this one.

I heard an interview with Tarantino on Howard Stern last week. He had the basic story line in his head for years and was able to sit down and write this in 6 months. He may be nuts, but he is also be a creative genius.

Put it on your movie-night list. As a Tarantino fan, you will love this. As a film fan, you will relish it (and during certain parts, squirm). A masterpiece - most likely. An Oscar winner - a sure thing.

Long live the king.