Matt on a carphone

It's not you, it's him...

2011-06-08T18:25:00.000-07:00

Eleven months ago, on this very space, I wrote: “And here we are, innocent as a child, and yet shaking and guessing and hoping and trying to reason with ourselves that tomorrow the sun will rise, and same goes for the day after that…” I wasn’t talking about a job or a woman or an election. I was talking about the apparent coin flip that was Lebron James’s decision regarding where he would spend the next seven years of his career. I want to look back at that and laugh, and discuss how silly and trite I appear; how utterly insignificant that moment has become in the ever-changing landscape of the bullshit news cycle and flaccid technocracy we live in. A lot has happened in the last eleven months that, at least in the minds of many, dwarfs that moment that I magnified to a world event. But still, for many people in my hometown, that moment still resonates with the amplitude that it did then. The NBA Finals may have even re-magnified that decision to July 2010 levels. And to tell you the truth, it’s a little embarrassing.

I have, since the moment Lebron took his talents wherever the hell he took them, compared this decision, and the ensuing series of events to a very dramatic breakup, many times. Maybe I have too much Rob Gordon—the fictional record-store owner in Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity—that I have no trouble finding elements of romance and breakups in any circumstantial news. Maybe I have heard three or four too many Bright Eyes records to separate free agency from love. Maybe, paradoxically, my breakups more resemble free agency than the other way around…

“What came first, the music or the misery…”

But literary musings aside, the comparisons are there for the taking. One party, content with the status quo, understanding that the relationship has not blossomed into what both parties had hoped for at consummation, but hopeful that a little more work on both sides would lead to a place in which both parties would be satisfied. The other party, obviously the party with less baggage; doesn’t necessarily see it that way. Maybe that party has stayed in a little better physical shape than the other; maybe that party doesn’t necessarily agree with the other party’s group of friends and personnel decisions; or maybe, as is the case with both Lebron, and many of my early relationships, that party just sees the grass a little greener with someone else. The relationship to one is steady and satisfying, while to the other, there just seems to be something a bit stale, a bit rudderless, perhaps a bit contentious, and a fresh start with someone else, seems like the answer. This allegory would appear particularly apt if relationships required multi-year contracts every couple of seasons.

So Lebron left. Women have left me. I’ve left women. Sometimes they had something better already lined up, whether that be freedom or a better looking, more successful, funnier guy, who may have already had a championship ring. I’ve left women for similar reasons, although I have universally regretted my “decision” moments later. But at the end of the day, noble or not, “right” way or “wrong,” traitor or not, that’s what Lebron did. He said “Guys, thanks, we’ve had a great run, but at this point I think it’s best for me to move on.” And looking at it from this perspective, it’s hard to be down on the guy. We all know a lot of people in relationships that have gone on for too long, and we are often relieved when one party has the decency to end it. The problem with this breakup was that the other party, the breakup-ee if you will, was the population of the Cleveland Sports Fan Base…a group of people very proud, but also very tightly knit thanks to years and years and more years of collective heartbreak. These are the people that watched John Elway, and Michael Jordan, and Jose Mesa. These are the same people that lived through Art Modell, Albert Belle, and Josh Beckett. And we did it together. We are one giant Elliott Smith, without the butcher’s knife sticking out of our chest, although it certainly feels this way.

Three years ago, I wrote a paper for a class called “Space, Place, and Architecture.” In it, I argued that the civic identity of the industrial Midwest is a product of our bleak weather, our crumbling industrial economies, and of course, our love for our sports teams. The paper was the first time I was ever published, and I was very proud of it. I ended the paper with a quote from Lebron James, noting that he has become the lone symbol of hope for our collective consciousness. That our identity, one forged in steel mills under gray skies, with championship failures, had become hopeful. I compared it to the first day of spring. We, as a city, as an identity were in love with Lebron James. So, when Lebron, seemingly one of us, seemingly, not merely cause for our hope, but an effect being that he was born and raised under the spires of Akron rubber mills, told us that he had met someone else, that he was moving on, that he was FUCKING TAKING HIS TALENTS TO SOUTH BEACH, it stung like the time that my high school girlfriend told me she didn’t want to be with me anymore. It hurt like the time my college girlfriend told me she was dating someone else. And I’m sure it hurt like the times I did that to all of those girls.

“Love’s an excuse to get hurt. And to hurt. Do you like to hurt? I do, I do, so hurt me….”

But guess what? After all of those girls broke my heart; after they told me they’d cheated on me, or got sick of me, or told me they weren’t attracted to me anymore…I got the fuck over it. Sure, my therapist will tell you that with some of them it took me a while. Maybe a little too long. Sometimes, SHAMEFULLY too long. There were late-night phone calls, and 4000 word e-mails. There were sappy love songs, and sleepless nights. Maybe a few of my less-proud hookups in attempts to either rebound myself or shamelessly, and always unsuccessfully, conjure even the slightest bit of jealousy. But in time, I moved on. I met new people, I talked to new girls, I turned back into myself, not forgetting the lessons that love and rejection had taught me. And like all of those times, the Lebron thing followed the same path. That night was tough. So was the night he hung 35 on us in Cleveland. But over time, I began re-appreciating things I had neglected in our sometimes tumultuous relationship. And I started to realize that all good things have to come to an end.

The bitterness of him doing it on national TV wore off. The sadness of watching my favorite NBA team become a joke sucked for a while, but became relatively palatable when I remembered this was exactly what it was like to be a Cavs fan eight years ago, and I still had no problem watching every game back then, and going wild the night Wesley Person tipped in an errant Lamond Murray prayer at the buzzer of an overtime game against the then-mighty Sacramento Kings. And my hatred for Lebron dimmed and dimmed when I remembered so many reasonable aspects of his decision.

1. - I, like many of my friends, left Cleveland the first chance I had. For weather, for women, for men, for jobs…whatever. We left because we weren’t as happy in Cleveland as we could be elsewhere.

2. - Whatever went on behind the scenes with Delonte, and Mo, and Shaq—and trust me, we will never really be sure—obviously had some effect on what went on.

3. - Two of his best friends wanted to spend a few years in their mid-to-late twenties playing basketball together in a city that Will Smith once sang a four-and-a-half minute rap song about.

4. - He’s a fucking grown-up, and he was done putting in time to a relationship that he thought wasn’t going forward for him

So he left. Do I resent him? Of course. Do I wish he stayed? I won’t even answer that. (Which certainly poses the question, “then why did I ask it?”) But do I think he is a bad person because he wanted to play ball in a city that I haven’t even been able to call home since Barack Obama was in his second year as a senator? No. He’s a twenty-five year old who gets to spend nine months a year under palm trees with his boys. So why is it, that so many people in Cleveland, so many people that I have a lot of respect for are so vehemently angry with him, eleven long months later?

I look on my facebook page, and every time the Mavericks win, it looks like the Cavs just won the Finals. There are people changing their avatars to Maverick logos, and people who rooted for the FUCKING Boston fucking Celtics for two regrettable weeks. Seriously? You guys are that fucking juvenile that you haven’t gotten over it? Look, I don’t think you need to root for the guy, or even that passive resentment is wrong, but the passion with which so many people are rooting against him, and spewing venom at him and his teammates, is…honestly…sad.

In 2007 I broke up with a girl that I had dated for a short, but passionate amount of time. We lived together for a bit, but never really got along. And after a few tumultuous months, I ended it. Days later I regretted it, and tried to win her back, but she, wisely, resisted. Months went by of me chasing her, losing sleep, grilling her about where she was the night before, and resenting her for a lack of affection despite ME ending the relationship months earlier. It was some of my least proud moments, and quite frankly, a period that shaped a lot of who I am today, not merely in the realm of relationships, but in life. I no longer allow my own emotions get the better of me to the point that I become a nuisance to both myself and anyone else. Eventually, but not quickly, I moved on. I started dating again, I started leaving the bedroom with a smile again, and she ended up moving back to Cleveland and moving on as well. I, to this day, hold no ill-will towards her, and genuinely hope for the best for her. But I remain utterly ashamed of my behavior for those several months when I acted as immature and childish as I did when my first girlfriend broke up with my when I was seventeen years old. I also have no doubt that those close to me were relieved to see such an unceremonious period of my life come to an end.

Yet these same people, the same ones that surely chided my behavior and my inability to cope with reality, are the same people that are staying up on weeknights, ACTIVELY resenting a guy who left them almost a year ago. It’s gotten ugly. It’s gotten stupid. It’s gotten to the point that by default, I have started passively rooting FOR the Miami Heat. I am rooting FOR Dwayne Wade, a player I think is as overrated and artificial as any in the history of the game. I am not standing and cheering baskets, or even paying close attention to the series. But at the end of games, I want Lebron to hit shots. I got upset (but admittedly familiar) when he missed two fourth quarter free-throws yesterday. I don’t necessarily want him to win, but I find myself, in response to the downright infantile hatred of an NBA free agent, overcompensating. Almost like when I convinced myself that the Kings of Leon’s later albums were crap because I hated these bandwagon business majors discovering a band I was into when they were still in Intro to Macroeconomics.

My point is that we, as Clevelanders, as an incredibly passionate and devout group of people, need to collectively move the fuck on. Don’t forget about him; don’t miss the lessons of what he this situation taught us about singular love for an athlete, just start rooting for the Cavs to win and not the Heat to lose. It’s over. It happened. He’s not coming back, and he’s never, ever, ever, no matter how many signs or chants or websites we construct, going to regret his decision. He, like my first girlfriend and her husband and twins, is history. We are all making fools of ourselves, and I for one am embarrassed.

"It's time to move on, it's time to get going, what lies ahead I have no way of knowing..."

Hopefully, next month, we’ll meet a new guy, Kylie, or Derek, or Kemba, and we can go on a few dates, and work through some shit, and get back to the place we were with Lebron. But until then, the sun is out, girls are wearing tank tops and playing Frisbee. The Indians, even after the worst stretch of baseball I remember since the first montage of Major League, are STILL amazingly in first place, and if you haven’t noticed, one of the best NBA Finals I can ever remember is starting to get even better. Cleveland, please grow up and move on…it will be better for both parties.

Favorite New Neighborhood that I live -2010

2010-12-16T16:11:00.000-08:00

Favorite New Neighborhood to Live

Downtown LA

Tis no secret to anyone that knows me, even on a peripheral plane, this past February, my roommate Olsen and I moved to Downtown LA. I’m not sure that “Downtown” is supposed to be capitalized when merely describing geography, but in this form, the form describing an almost living, organic entity, it is most definitely capitalized. Before we moved downtown, I didn’t know how the grid system worked, I didn’t know the layout of the neighborhoods, and I certainly didn’t know what to expect with the people I would be calling my neighbors. At first glance, after observing the surface of downtown, particularly my neighborhood, The Historic Core, one could imagine a pretty standard gentrification army or artists, skinny jeans, and big plastic glasses. The homelessmen begging for change, the Mexicans parading up and down Broadway, and the old, worn-down architecture are all certainly consistent with that type of white person. And to a man, these people are around. But they are well ingrained into a minority, a minority that co-exists well with the dominant, but certainly does not drive the aesthetic or culture of the neighborhood.

And to me, it is that fact that makes the current Downtown, the Downtown that I live in so special. As of now, and I’m sure this is very likely to change in the somewhat near future, there is no truly dominant aesthetic. There is no real way to categorize the people of Downtown, particularly those east of Broadway. Sure, there are definitely large pockets of artists, and pseudo-artists, and the lofts around the core, the warehouse district, and the arts district obviously lend themselves to accept the scenester type, but look around; in my building there are artists, professionals, bartenders, families, whites, blacks, Mexicans, Asians, people grilling on the roof, people ordering chili burgers at 2 AM, everyone lives here. And then you walk outside.

Outside my building is an insane amalgamation of people walking to the bank, walking to their cars, walking to ask for change, walking to the store. There are people eating lunch at LA Café, and people riding their bikes to and from work all over. On my block alone, we have two bars, a nightclub, a café, a Mediterranean grill, a dry cleaner, a convenient store, a juice store, and a dessert place. These businesses cater to so many creeds, walks, and ages of people that it’s impossible to locate who exactly makes up our culture. Of course if you go one block west, the beats and drones of mariachi music pollute the air, and thousands, literally thousands, of working class latinos are walking to and from unknown destinations. Furthermore, a few blocks east, and you’re literally on skid row; a tent city filled with so many homeless shelters that the neighborhood has developed its own aesthetic of homelessness.

So here is my little pocket, specifically bordered by Broadway to the West, 2^nd to the North, Main to the East, and 7^th to the South. A total of ten city blocks makes up this impossible to place, difficult to comprehend, collection of people, businesses, and apartment buildings.

A lot of people try to compare it to New York City, specifically the lower-east side, and there are definitely some similarities. The lower-class grifters co-existing with twenty/thirty something artsy set; the ancient buildings converted into classy lofts, I get it…but to me, the biggest difference is that Manhattan has been developing its culture and aesthetic for a century-and-a-half. Sure, there have been iterations and radical moments that have changed a particular neighborhood at a particular time, but all of these moments have merely enriched the already dynamic culture of Manhattan. Every Armory Show, or Beat Movement, helped create the neighborhoods we think we know today. DTLA is different. DTLA, especially this neighborhood, has been sitting pretty abandoned for much of the second half of the twentieth century. Only in the last decade did this part of Los Angeles really start to develop any aesthetic at all, let alone the one it’s trying to form right now. And so you have so many competing cultures, still not ready to stake claim to the ground, but definitely not ready to just move out and make room for anyone. Despite the opening of more than a handful of nice bars in the neighborhood, the grifters haven’t exactly slowed down, and most importantly the people in those bars don’t at all represent some sort of categorical archetype. The only thing we have in common is that we found this somewhat secluded corner of the least secluded city in the world, and we also found parking. That’s it. There is a common sense of irony shared by a lot of the people walking around, but that ironic mindset merely comes from the age, level of education, and level of pay that the city accommodates down here. Some are wearing plaid button downs, others are wearing dress shirts. Some girls are wearing high boots and carrying purses, others ride their bikes and roll up in long-sleeve t-shirts. Downtown can’t be placed. Downtown can’t be described, or authenticated, or confirmed. It can merely be romanced and mythologized.

To that last point, I have noticed a trend outside the confines of DTLA. When I encounter people, particularly those older the age of 35, but not always, that don’t really know downtown outside of the LA Times and the film 500 Days of Summer, they almost inevitably have the same reaction. “It’s supposed to be really cool down there now, do you live in one of those lofts?” It’s become like the church bells at Notre Dame…right on schedule, every time. And let me tell you why: Because it’s still a tiny bit, but just enough, intimidating to try to understand the complexities of what exactly is going on down here. Sort of like when a music movement begins to occur and those on the outside, without the ability or thoughtfulness to begin to try to understand the origins, complexities, or foci of the movement, they concentrate on one visual aspect of the mythology. To this day, flannel shirts are associated with grunge, almost more than the music. Spiked hair was punk. Backwards caps with early hip-hop. And with downtown LA, it’s these precious “lofts” they read about in the LA Times two or three years ago. These lofts have become our flannel, our spiked hair, our metonym for what it’s like to live downtown. There is no visual or aesthetic trait that binds the state of downtown together like skinny jeans of echo park, or the beach cruiser of Santa Monica; they don’t bother mentioning the pre-prohibition era cocktail movement that is now beginning to spread out of downtown, nor the incredibly vibrant arts scene; just the fact that people are living in old banks converted to lofts. I guess that’s good enough mythology for me. We aren’t hipsters, or artists; we don’t dress a certain way or behave like each other; we don’t all line up at the same restaurants because we’re too dim to think for ourselves (my obligatory subtle jab at the west side, not in caps); we just all live in lofts.

Well except Olsen and I. We have an apartment.

My interpretation of the Inception ending

2010-07-24T16:09:00.000-07:00

I don’t think that I’m going too far in saying that Christopher Nolan’s last two films were very heavy on themes of philosophy. In fact I can say that this is actually a flaw in the Dark Knight as he spent so long trying to dial up the difference in Harvey Dent’s carnation of Kantian rationality with Bruce Wayne’s Hegelian reasoning that the film ran twenty-five minutes too long and knocked it out of Oscar contention. I think that Heath Legder’s Joker, not unlike his best supporting actor predecessor (Bardem’s Anton Chiggur); act as a point of reference for amorality, which actually earns some minimal sympathy from the audience as both the Coen’s and Nolan illustrate the difference between amorality and immorality. But the Dark Knight’s best moments come not during Nolan’s explorations of moral philosophy, but the sweeping panoramas, the tensions (particularly the game theory exercise on the two boats), and the great performances by everyone not named Christian Bale. Furthermore it was a technical masterpiece that won several technical Oscars while being shut out of the marquee nominations.

Inception is only somewhat different. Instead of an action movie with themes of philosophy, it is an all-out exploration of postmodern philosophy with some great action scenes. And I think Nolan even one-upped himself making a film even more technically breathtaking with this one. Analytically, despite several smaller themes throughout the 148 minutes, the over-arching theme, to me, is that of blurring the line between perception and reality. Cobb’s sub-conscious projection of Mal, a character who appears in almost every dream, is obviously not real in the sense that she is a living breathing organic organism, but she is “real” in the sense that she is involved in almost every plot turn, and more pertinent to this discussion, she is real in the sense that Cobb treats her as if she exists. He makes decisions based on how they will affect the not-so-real Mal.

To take this one step further, real Mal was consumed by the idea that her perception was not reality, so much so that it eventually killed real Mal, only to spawn “real” Mal who has accepted her perception (limbo) as reality and is comfortable with that. I think what Nolan is using “real” Mal to do is show Cobb’s subconscious struggling with his own grasp on reality.

Inception explores this question. Unlike the Matrix, which, based on Beaudrillard’s Simulacra and Simulation, argues that nothing is real and one cannot truly be free until they learn that, Inception merely asks the question “What makes real?” To me, this question comes from the ideas of Juan Luis Borges, which not-so-coincidentally was the primary influence on Beaudrillard’s philosophies. So, instead of coming outright like Lawrence Fishburn’s Morpheus in the Matrix who illustrates that despite perception, your reality is not real, Nolan is asking a simple question: If one perceives reality to be real, does it even matter if it’s not? Or in other words: at what point does perception become reality? See, real Mal questioned reality and paid for that with her life, but in Nolan’s world, she didn’t so much die, as change worlds. In one world she questioned her own perception of reality; in another she had no choice but to accept her perception as real. This theme is the overarching theme of Inception.

This brings me to the ending (or at least my own interpretation). I’m fairly certain Nolan wanted to leave the question as to whether or not the top was still spinning ambiguous. It definitely looks like it’s going but there are several clues that it might not be, in particular sound designer Richard King’s audible clues that it might be slowing down. It should be mentioned that King won one of those aforementioned technical Oscar’s for the Dark Knight for sound design in that film, and could very well win again for Inception. King is obviously a master and it’s not a coincidence that the audience hears SOMETHING happening to that top as the camera cuts swiftly and without mercy to the title card. Nolan wanted us questioning what was happening. However, there was one very conspicuous person unconcerned with the fate of the top and that was Cobb. He spun the top, not unlike he had done several previous times, but unlike those previous times, he walked away not bothering to question his own perception. And this, I believe is the coup-de-grace: IT DOESN’T MATTER. Whether or not that top falls and Cobb is truly home to his same-exact-age-as-the-were-before-he-left children, or if he is in a dream created by Ariadne to believe he’s home is irrelevant. He is home because he perceives he is home. Unlike The Matrix in which perception is merely a figment of someone’s imagination, Nolan is saying that Perception=Reality. What we believe to be real is real not on the merits of its existence, but it is real because of our acceptance of it as “reality.” It’s a question that seems to be asked throughout the film and I think he doesn't use the ambiguity to leave the audience guessing, but instead to illustrate that any conclusions the audience come to are irrelevant as Cobb has accepted this perception as reality.

I get a boner for this type of philosophical exploration and I think this is one of the reasons I find myself thinking about the film more and more as the days go by. Of course I could be way off and trying to inject my own overly-academic mental masturbation into a 160-million-dollar action flick, or I could be onto something. At this point, I think I’m onto something not for any other reason that I perceive things this way, hence—at least in my own deranged consciousness—it is real.

I'm a mess

2010-07-08T16:28:00.001-07:00

Dear Future Matt,

First off, I want to make sure this letter gets to the right person. When I say future Matt, I don’t mean fifty-five-year-old Matt, getting prostate exams and trying to lower my cholesterol Matt. I mean near future Matt. I mean the Matt that will start tonight, and exist forever Matt. Now that that’s out of the way, one more disclaimer: I’m not OK right now. I’m not drunk, I’m not high, I’m slightly delusional, but I’m definitely not “right.” My heart rate is over 120, my mind is doing triple axels around itself as we speak. The last place I should be right now is at a keyboard typing my thoughts, but I’m doing it for posterity. If I don’t have a memoir of the innocence right now, I might forget it as quickly as it disappears tonight. So I might misspell some words, or say something that doesn’t make sense, but I want to have said some things. When I say innocence, what I mean is that a potentially life-changing moment will be occurring in 120 minutes, and yet I don’t know what it will be. In fact, I have no clue as to the degree that I will be affected by it. But as of right now, as far as the fate of my life as a sports fan is concerned, I am innocent.

Which brings me to my point: to anyone who thinks that the admiration of a sports figure to the extent I have engaged in over the past seven years is shallow, or trite, or even foolish, I need you to take a step back and understand some things. For one, about two years ago, I was published for the first time in my academic career. The paper was a thesis on Midwestern regionalism in which I hypothesized that the character of children of the rust belt, particularly those in my generation, have the curse of Cleveland area sports ingrained in them. The narrative of our story, the lifeblood of our character, the common bond in all of our consciousnesses is, unfortunately for all of us, intertwined with the fates of the Cleveland Indians, the Cleveland Browns, and the Cleveland Cavaliers. It’s not something I woke up one day and chose to dedicate massive amounts of time to, it is in my fucking blood. Secondly, this athlete, is not one I merely chose to admire because he was good, or the way he wore his hat, or he batted like me or something. This athlete is someone I first watched playing against my brother when he was fifteen years old. I watched him fucking grow up. Unlike Kobe, or Favre, or Jordan, he was already one of us. We had the same friends, we went to the same mall, we braved the same fucking atrocious winters, and the same disgusting summers. We rode the same roller coasters at Cedar Point, at the same wings at the Winking Lizard, it was like watching a friend or family member “make it.” There is something intimately special about that relationship. He was fighting for us, because he was one of us. And finally, and perhaps most applicable, it should be mentioned that for nine months a year, the equivalence of a school year, I, my friends, and my family have spent our evenings with Lebron James. Not in an intimate setting, and no, he doesn’t know, and obviously doesn’t care for us. But anyone that doesn’t understand the emotions of participating in the roller coaster (first time I’ve ever used the words “roller coaster” in the same paragraph twice) of a professional sports season, can’t really get it. You care, you give, you rejoice, and you cry. And then when it all comes crashing down in the cruelest and most twisted of ways, you shrug your shoulders, say “We’ll get em next year,” and get ready to do it all over again.

Until Now.

This time is different because this time there may not be a next year. This time there may not be a relationship. And that’s why this is so important. There is a decent chance that tonight, he comes on TV with Jim fucking gray, and says “I’m coming home.” If that is the case, then the last two months will merely be another memory to add to the growing banks. Seriously, this “decision” will merely be a slide in the powerpoint presentation. But if he chooses to end the relationship, to go off to some bigger city, then this is the only thing we’ll have. The bitterness of tonight will envelope the shot over Turk, it will eat the 25 in a row, it will destroy the first Wizards series, the triple doubles, the SI covers, the draft, the lottery, the “You see, we’re gonna light up Cleveland like it’s Vegas” promise. It will all be for naught. And that’s really the magnitude here. The memories can live on, or they can explode in our minds on national television. And here we are, innocent as a child, and yet shaking and guessing and hoping and trying to reason with ourselves that tomorrow the sun will rise, and same goes for the day after that, and reminding ourselves that there’s oil in the sea, and there’s lunatics screaming for the president’s head, and this fucking guy isn’t one of us anymore. But in ninety minutes, we’ll know. We’ll no longer be innocent, no longer be left to wonder. It’s either wait til’ next year, or fuck him in the ass.

By the way future Matt, at 4:26 PDT on the day he makes his decision, my guess is “STAYS.”

Sincerely,

Fucked up, crazy, wants this all to be over so I can laugh about it Matt.

P.S. WYLD STALLIONS RULE

Lebron is no Curt Flood

2010-07-08T10:07:00.000-07:00

I think Lebron has really misjudged the sports landscape. This whole thing, start-to-finish, was more than a ploy to garner attention, to “build his brand,” to do what’s best for him and his family; no, this is too much, this is too heady, even for the most doted-over superstar of the times to think is ok to do. I don’t think that even he thinks that hijacking the sports media and his home city for the sake of his “brand” is morally comprehensible. Nor do I think that Lebron is a selfish maniac who doesn’t understand the havoc he has created. On the contrary, I think he is one of the most self-aware athletes of the time, a child of the post-Jordan, post-ESPN News, post-internet sports landscape. I think what Lebron is trying to do here, is to change the power structure within the world of sports. I also don’t think that this is necessarily a nefarious motive. Not only that, but I also don’t think this is the alpha moment of this plan, but actually the culmination of what he thinks he started several years ago by jettisoning his management team to make way for his own creation.

Several years ago, Lebron came into a power structure that was, let’s face it, somewhat outdated. In the mid-1980s, David Stern, Michael Jordan, David Falk, and Sonny Vaccaro literally changed the way that we view individual athletes. Furthermore, they augmented the limits to what the individual athlete can accomplish. Jordan actually absorbed more of a “bigger-than-the-team” backlash than we would care to remember. Jordan was often criticized for being selfish and losing sight of the concept of “team.” Six rings later, everyone seemed to forget how selfish this immature ball hog was. But what Jordan and Falk couldn’t accomplish in one generation was the structure of how the money and power was distributed. Jordan still answered to Nike, still was somewhat of a politician, unable to fully capitalize on his own brand without the support of the league or Nike. Jordan’s recent purchase of the Charlotte Bobcats speaks to this: he wanted to be the one that not only scored the touchdowns, but also the guy that called the plays.

Enter Lebron. Lebron is not merely a product of the Jordan era, but an honor student. He has studied and remapped everything about the Jordan era to fit this new post-Jordan landscape, and he has, from day 1, been interested in building on Jordan’s legacy. He is the Plato to Jordan’s Socrates, or the Lennon to Jordan’s Elvis. Lebron wants not only to be the guy that shows up on the Wheaties box, not only the iconic silhouette (whether he is flying through the air or throwing up chalk), but he wants to be the guy who makes the cereal, names the shoe, and calls all the shots. Why should he merely be an admittedly extremely-well-paid tool to make other people money, when he can do it himself? I really think this is, and has been, Lebron’s thought process during this whole thing.

Not only that, but he has anticipated this backlash. He thinks of himself as a modern-day Curt Flood, absorbing the brunt of the force so that those who come after him will not have to. Existentially, there is something radically unselfish about those motives. However, paradoxically, his motives are to create a world where selfishness is more acceptable. It’s weird that many in the media, and millions of bloggers and commentators have called him selfish and a glory-hog because they think he is merely doing this for attention. That he is losing sight of his own mortality and trying to become some sort of post-modern media demi-god. I’m sorry, but after watching him for the last ten years, and observing him as one the most self-aware, cold-blooded characters to come to the stage in this media era, I find it hard to believe that he, only now, needs to create some sort of stratospheric “buzz” around his brand. He knows what he’s doing, he’s just wrong.

You see, the landscape that he has perceived as in need of fixing is not broken. I will agree that it is not entirely fair. We still live in a world where NFL Owners make gross profits by limiting guaranteed contracts to the players and exploiting the fans. We still live in a world where baseball players have it in their best interest (often their only interest) to abandon loyalty to teams and cities that reared them for greener pastures elsewhere. And we still live in a world where even the most successful athletes owe answers and money to agencies, management teams, ownership, and sponsors. But Lebron trying to knock down these barriers with one fell swoop, in an attempt to remodernize the power structure of athletics by hijacking the media and the hearts of the millions of northeast Ohioans who have adored him for the better part of the past decade is not only disingenuous, but it is downright mean.

Tonight, when Lebron announces on national television that he is leaving for Miami, he truly believes he is changing the way athletes are seen. He is thinking, why should ESPN, the news-media conglomerates, and a league made up of Donald Sterlings and Clay Bennets get to break this story, sell ad time, and put up the marquee for the biggest news of the summer. Why can’t he? And to some extent, he’s not wrong. But, unfortunately, he has left many Ohioans, most notably myself, sleepless over three days. He has created far more of a shitstorm than he ever could have anticipated in the national media, and he has altogether destroyed his precious “brand.” He set out on a mission to change the sports landscape, and for all intents and purposes he actually may have succeeded. Unfortunately it was at the cost of millions of fans, and years of dedication and admiration. I will now go put the finishing touches on my rooftop launching pad.

I love Kobe, kinda

2010-03-02T16:39:00.000-08:00

This entry will be both a defense and an indictment (something he's not foreign to) of Kobe Bryant. Angelinos seem to come after me, calling me a hater; telling me that I support Lebron in some non-existent dichotomy. I have defended Kobe many, many times, and yet these cries go unheard. I have called Kobe the greatest player ever but to no avail. This is going to be the final time I make this defense. Please, refer to this from now on.

In his Bulls career, including playoffs, Micahel Jordan played 1,109 games and logged 43,361 minutes. Assuming his short-lived Wizards run never happened, we'll call that his career. Comparably, Kobe Bryant has played 1,162 games and logged 42,873 minutes. Pretty similar number right? However, after Jordan hit the 1100 game mark, he quit. He hung em up. He stopped playing (at least until he became GM of another team and drafted himself). Kobe will finish this current season somewhere near 1200 career games played. He will (undeservedly) finish second in the MVP race, and most likely lead his team to the NBA Finals. So, 100 games after Jordan retired, Kobe Bryant will still be near his peak. This is a stat that no one has bothered to mention in the media. This number is fucking staggering.

Added to which, Kobe already has four rings, with a really good fucking chance at five or even six. Which would equal Jordan's total. However, Jordan's six rings came sandwiched in a transition era of the NBA, an era without another transcendent star playing in his prime. An era when the style of basketball that Jordan spearheaded was still in its infancy, and Jordan's last ring was won when Kobe Byrant was in his second year, Tim Duncan was a rookie, Dwayne Wade was a sophomore in high school, Carmello Anthony was in 8^th grade, and Lebron James was in 7^th grade. The superstars that have made the NBA more competitive today than any era other than the mid-1980s were not stars yet. The stars of the old guard were all retired or playing out the string. Jordan was left alone to win ring after ring after ring with arguably the greatest coach of all time, and arguably the greatest second banana of all time. Kobe has a chance to match Jordan's ring count, and do so in an exponentially more difficult era. To not mention Kobe in the greatest players of all time discussion is fucking ludicrous. He can defend, he can score with the fucking best of them, and he is arguably second only to Jordan in the competitive drive department. Jordan's mythology will always outweigh Kobe's, much to Kobe's very visible chagrin—but mythology does not make history, and Kobe's career is second to none. I mean that.

But on the other hand…

This season has to be considered one of Kobe's strangest seasons. Let me preface this by saying I am about to throw out numbers or "stats." A certain Kobe apologist currently reading this seems to think that while stats are important, relying to heavily on them is unwise. He has taken to calling me "a stat guy," as if my reliance on science, math, and numbers is some sort of political alignment akin to being pro-choice or pro-gun control. Let me set this record straight. We are all "stat guys." Every one of us. Yes you can learn a lot from watching and observing, but honestly, all you're doing is keeping your own stats. When Kobe makes a long jumper with a hand in his face, it does not count for more points in the stat book, but nor does when he misses an open jumper. Stats will show that Kobe makes less shots with a hand in his face, so the successful jumper probably happened with a frequency consistent with how often Kobe makes well-defended jumpers. The stats refuse to lie. I am not a stat guy. Stats are simply numbers that tell you what happened. You can't argue with them. They're fucking science.

In 55 games this season, Kobe has shot from the field less than 40 % fourteen times. To put that in perspective, Lebron James has done so seven times. Kobe has shot less than 35% eleven times, Lebron has done it twice. Kobe has shot less than 30% six times. Lebron hasn't done that all season. I'm not trying to draw a dichotomy here, I'm simply arguing that a guy whose name is being mentioned for MVP ahs had six games in which he shot respectively: 5-20, 7-24, 4-21, 4-19, 2-12, and most recently 3-17. That's 88 missed shots (essentially turnovers) in 6 games. That's almost 15 MISSED shots a game. Now I will concede that these six games represent the worst games he's had all year, and in those six games, his team managed to go 4-2. I will also concede that for two of those games, he was hurt. However, I am not arguing that Kobe Bryant doesn't have unfathomable ability to score the basketball. I am arguing that in those six games, his team won DESPITE his horrible shooting night. I am also arguing that those missed shots (the second worst result of a given possession) are products of Kobe buying into the same belief that Laker's fans continue to buy: that Kobe is the best player in the NBA. Perhaps if Kobe did not have this maniacal drive to prove himself INDIVIDUALLY, he wouldn't have games in which he missed a staggering seventeen shots.

I have to go to work now, and I will continue this tomorrow, please read tomorrow too..

#1 The Hills

2010-02-23T09:10:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24
# 19 The People
# 18 Sushi Eyaki
#17 Raymond Chandler
# 16 Jumbo's Clown Room
#15 Skooby's
#14 The Arclight
# 13 The Well
#12 Runyon Canyon
# 11 Canter's
#10 Hotel Café
#9 Body Factory
#8 The Troubadour
#7 Barney's Beanery (The Real One)
#6 Thai Food
#5 The Jukebox at Café 101
#4 The Lights
#3 Village Pizzeria
#2 Amoeba Music

#1 The Hills

And now, the time has come. I have been deliberating over this entry for a week (actually six weeks). Do I make this funny, nostalgic, whimsical, romantic? How do I draw this thing up? I feel that I'm a pretty good writer, and I could throw this blog entry down any way I want. I feel like I can take all of my emotions and put them into writing and make them ache, or I could ignore them and make a really cynical and funny list of things I will miss about the geological idiosyncrasies in Hollywood. I'm just going to start writing. This is how I will miss the Hollywood Hills.

Technically, my neighborhood was called Whitley Heights. But the Hollywood Hills, the not-so-tall, not-so-beautiful change in altitude in between Sunset and Ventura was still one of the more majestic hills I have ever crossed. Everything good about Hollywood either owes itself directly or indirectly to the eastern expanse of the Santa Monica Mountains.

The Santa Monicas are the very little baby-sister to the giant transverse ranges to the very-near north; the San Gabriels and the San Bernadinos. As they travel west towards Santa Barbara, they grow and become a little more "mountainous," but in the city they really are just a series of hills. On the north side of the hills is the San Fernando Valley, flanked by the San Gabriels to the north and the Verdugo's to the east. The Valley is the suburbs of LA, a never-ending string of strip-malls, three-star dining, and inexpensive cookie-cutter apartments. On the south side of the hill is Hollywood, and the hills never let you forget that. Resting on the south side of the hill, Griffith Observatory, Runyon Canyon, the countless lit-up dots that the millionaires call home, and nine gigantic letters, cut and pasted to the hill as a giant letterhead reminding every poor speller in town exactly how to spell H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D.

And everywhere you go in Hollywood, those hills follow. Whatever major north-south thoroughfare you pass—from Doheney to Vermont—they look over you. The lights of Hollywood, described very poorly in my previous entry, are strewn across the greenish backdrop of the Hollywood Hills and it is within that framework, that Academy Award winning lighting scheme that my Hollywood exists.

If you take all of these entries, all of my puff and romanticizing about a mythical place that only exists in my imagination, all of my love for a place known just as much for traffic, parking, and other nuisances as it is for movie stars and swimming

pools, all of my affection for the place that I made Hollywood in my head, all of that, it all goes back to those hills.

Part of me wants to go into the magic and mystique that the hills bring. Part of me wants to get into the geography of Hollywood and mention Los Feliz, Beachwood, Laurel, and Coldwater. Part of me wants to talk about the painted sky that the hills brush every evening as the sun goes down, or the names of the streets whose iconography outweighs their avenues. Part of me wants to talk about what it's like to bike north up the hills, or look down from them. But none of this really matters. You got all of this in my last twenty-nine entries. And that's the point. The point is that while I was talking about bars, and food, and hikes, and parking spots; while I was going on about lights, and homelesses and record stores, I was always talking about the fucking hills. I've already said it all.

OK, I'm going to get this out and then end this project. Hollywood really is a magical place that you can't truly understand until you embrace it. At the risk of turning this into a Travel Channel piece, I say without irony, that Hollywood is as deep and complex a city as you will ever find. It is layered and hard and very difficult to take in without and eye for subtlety, and appreciation for history and literature, and a very keen ability to experience. It can be dirty, dangerous, and pristine all at the same time, at the same intersection. People can be frightening, friendly, and crazy merely while walking by you. Everything I've mentioned in this blog has two sides to it, and I have merely chosen to appreciate the side I have chosen to experience. While I understand why people who live elsewhere choose to hate the archetype of what Hollywood represents, I resent these people for judging a place as complex and layered as Hollywood without ever truly experiencing it from the inside.

My new bedroom looks west towards the city that I have been writing about. I am high enough up, that I should be able to see about ten miles out. But I don't live in Hollywood anymore. My view is obstructed by buildings much taller than my own and my view stretches barely over six city blocks. Ironically, this is the view that I desired when moving here, it is the trump card that makes our new place, Bar 1207, great. But now, with my house, my job, and my view broken off from Hollywood in both literal and figurative ways, I am left merely to romanticize and remember the Hollywood I built in my imagination. I will always look back on the last eighteen months of my life as some of the best, I will always remember Hollywood fondly, but I will always feel as though there was more that I never got to. More fictional smoky bars, more dark and hard corners, and more crazy people that never got to open my mind. Thankfully, I've been able to chronicle exactly what created that reality in my head over the last six weeks. Thank you for taking part in remembering this adventure with me.

Now onto the next….

#2 Amoeba Music

2010-02-19T09:48:00.000-08:00

#3 Village Pizzeria

2010-02-16T08:43:00.000-08:00

#4 The Lights

2010-02-14T09:18:00.000-08:00

#5 The Jukebox at Cafe 101

2010-02-12T06:54:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24
# 19 The People
# 18 Sushi Eyaki
#17 Raymond Chandler
# 16 Jumbo's Clown Room
#15 Skooby's
#14 The Arclight
# 13 The Well
#12 Runyon Canyon
# 11 Canter's
#10 Hotel Café
#9 Body Factory
#8 The Troubadour
#7 Barney's Beanery (The Real One)
#6 Thai Food

#5 The Jukebox at Café 101

This isn't really fair. It's not just the jukebox I will miss. I will miss the whole place. Everything about Café 101 other than the food. The food at Café 101 is about a step above Denny's and a marathon below Fred 62. It's not inedible, it's just not good, and I won't be missing it in the least bit. I will however be missing going into Café 101 late night and playing that juke box.

For those who are either not from LA or just LA stupid, Café 101 is a coffee house on Franklin just east of the 101. It is most famous for being the coffee shop in Swingers that they eat at four times. It's in a million other movies and TV shows, but it's Swingers that made it legendary. It's built inside of an old-timey Hollywood hotel. It's extremely close to my house, and outside of the food, it's perfect.

On the eastern exterior wall of the place, there is a giant mural with a cup of foamy coffee. The copy reads "Last cappuccino before the 101," as if the 101 represents the end of humanity and cappuccino represents a universal need before passing. Inside, the décor has changed a bit since Swingers but I think it's perfect. Combining googie elements with modern Hollywood, there are very few places in the city that say "welcome to Hollywood" the way this does. The walls are large rocks, the countertop is old-school kitsch, the servers are just cute enough to be in Hollywood, but still normal enough to be servers at a coffee shop. The booths have that tattered coffee shop feeling that makes you feel like you're sitting talking to George and Elaine, and the crowd is self-aware enough to make Swingers references without overdoing it and drunk enough to be up for some hijinks. Then, in the corner, is what has to be the best jukebox in LA.

The jukebox rotates, and this is not a music blog, so before I start naming all of my favorites on the jukebox, let me just say that there is enough on there for me to put in a fiver, and from the moment we sit down, to the moment we get up, the soundtrack is perfect. From old Pearl Jam, to James Brown, Funkadelic, and The Flaming Lips, the jukebox represents everything that is right about Hollywood. Let me try to explain this in better, snobbier, more cynical terms.

I have a theory that my generation is unique because while college attendance—and hence the amount of educated people—is at an all time high, we are in one of the worst job markets in the history of this country. So there is a surplus of over-educated, underpaid, kind of lost 26-33 year olds running around bartending, collecting useless graduate degrees, playing in bands, giving acting a really long shot, and refusing to grow up in the traditional sense. We don’t have real jobs, we can't afford families, so there's no reason to latch onto societies norms and start playing along. This is comforting to me because recession or no recession, I'm not working a bullshit job, so this just means more people for me. I have argued that this phenomenon is responsible for the popularity of seemingly inaccessible intellectual type music that has been a little too popular for traditional American music in the last several years. There's no reason that bands like the Arcade Fire, the Shins, Wilco, or the Flaming Lips should be as popular as they are now. Evidence to this is the fact that Wilco and the Flaming Lips put out their best stuff fifteen years ago, and no one noticed. Only now, with a surplus of neo-bohemians does this music work.

And to bring this back to Café 101; the reason that a jukebox, serving young, drunk, Hollywood-types is able to be so good, is because we're the ones eating the gross French dips and tuna melts. We're the jerk-offs coming in, being loud, acting like teenagers. And for us to be happy, we need some good 90s shit, some classic 70s shit, and some cool new shit to distract us from the rubbery eggs we're eating. Go hop over to Swingers in Santa Monica, tell me how many neo-bohemians you see there. The answer will be none. But in this corner of the city, we are the majority; actors, writers, bassists, and other assholes without real jobs, need real music to get us through shitty drunk meals. And so yes, I will miss all of Café 101, but it's the jukebox that represents everything I will miss about Hollywood.

The jukebox at Café 101, to me, is a big fuck you to the young professional set. I know you think I'm reading way too into the meaning of a jukebox, and perhaps in several years I will look back at this entry from my desk in some office with a boss looging over my shoulder, and I will laugh about this, but as a self-proclaimed native anthropologist, I insist that the jukebox at Café 101 is our New York Armory show (look it up), and that we, like the young professionals, need a place to eat late at night. Even if the food is garbage. So, in closing, yes, I will miss Café 101, a lot. Ok, fine I'll ask, excuse me, do you know where the high school girls hang out? Oh, I'm the asshole…right…I'm the asshole, you know I would never eat here anyways.

#6 Thai Food

2010-02-11T06:37:00.000-08:00

#7 Barney's Beanery

2010-02-10T22:57:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24
# 19 The People
# 18 Sushi Eyaki
#17 Raymond Chandler
# 16 Jumbo's Clown Room
#15 Skooby's
#14 The Arclight
# 13 The Well
#12 Runyon Canyon
# 11 Canter's
#10 Hotel Café
#9 Body Factory
#8 The Troubadour

#7 Barney's Beanery (The Real One)

Before this one gets going let me set something straight. When I say Barney's Beanery, I don't mean all of the Barney's Beaneries. I have no problem with the one in Pasadena, I've never been to the one in Burbank, and despite my patronization of the one on the Third Street Promenade almost every Tuesday during the 2009-2010 Cavaliers season, I despise and loathe that location. I wish nothing but the worst for the staff, the clientele (except me), and the structure itself. As long as it can wait until a Tuesday Cavs game is over, I wish for bad things there. This entry is about the real Barney's Beanery: the legendary, mythical, historical Barney's Beanery on Holloway and La Cienega. (because I don't have footnote capability on blogger, let me explain why I even set foot in the last one: I work until roughly 3:00-3:30 PM on Tuesdays in Santa Monica, and then again from 6:00-1:00 AM. So from 3:30-6 I am free, and there are often Cavs games on at that time and Barney's on the promenade offers a cheap, REALITVELY unobtrusive viewing experience, as long as I can survive the meathead/retard beer conversations that go on at the bar, and the countless assaults on the last three-hundred years of social advancements that seem to occur during every encounter between the half-breeds that hang out on the Promenade. And I implore to you, that Barney's is the best of the worst.)

Anyways, (why do I feel like every entry starts with a paragraph of disclaimers that end in rambling digressions before the second paragraph, without fail, brings us back to focus) the real Beanery is a fucking special place. The food is juuuuust above average. The service is just below average. The clientele is as diverse as Hollywood can offer which can be both a blessing and a curse depending on who's sitting next to you, and who the Lakers are playing. The beer selection is a few steps above standard bars and a few large steps below new gastropubs. (my MS Word doesn't recognize the word "gastropub," probably because when I bought this computer in 2006, the latest version of Office available for Mac was MS Office 1964) On paper, Barney's doesn't really have a lot going for it, but it's the intangibles. It's like Barney's is the Tom Glavine of bars; 89 MPH fastball, four or five quality pitches but no "out pitch," nothing flashy or special, just comes to work every five days, hits its spots and gets people out. That's what Barney's does.

By saying Barney's excels at intangibles (a sports allegory with no clear-cut explanation) what I mean is that it's kind of hard to describe exactly what makes this place awesome. I'll try, but I think that my abilities as a writer are too limited to fully appreciate Barney's. It's historical, meaning it used to be a stop on the old Route 66. It's more recent history includes stars like Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin drinking there. They got an air hockey table, a pop-a-shot machine, and to quote Garth Algar, they got a pool table, too. The music is always played at a reasonable volume, the ceilings are adorned with license (single hardest word to spell without spell check, narrowly edging out "judgment" and "consciousness") plates from the past, there are TVs in every corner, and the bar is broken up into several rooms. The patio has two TVs and a plethora of people smoking cigarettes (cigarettes at a bar? My word!!) and watching the Hollywood traffic roll down Santa Monica and Holloway. Like I alluded to before, the crowd is pretty diverse, but the atmosphere, casualness of place, and accessibility lends itself to a pretty laid back group. People tend to get along there, not get in each other's way, and exist together unlike most places in Hollywood.

There's another element that makes Barney's special to me, and that's sports, and in particular NFL football. Anyone that knows me (or at least is facebook friends with me and hasn't already pressed ignore on me) knows the only thing I hate more than the NFL, is NFL fans. This is true for every corner of the world except for beneath the roof of Barney's Beanery. Here's what I love:

As alluded to earlier, Barney's is divided into separate rooms. Furthermore, the ceilings are abnormally low, creating an even cozier feeling to each corner of the pretty-large bar. No matter where you're sitting in the approximately 3500-4000 square-foot bar, you feel like you're in a small room. And because there are TVs in the strange, yet incredibly viewable places, you can watch your game from several different places. So on Sundays, small packs of five to fifteen fans of each team congregate somewhere inside the bar and watch their game. The result is a cacophony of cheers and groans immediately following every big play. A first down will be greeted by a shriek of cheers coming from one corner, while a chorus of groans will come from another. And because each part of the bar is so intimate, you can't really see all of these people, there's just an anonymous approval or disapproval of every major event in every major game from all corners of the bar. It's as if each fan's entire fan-base is spread sporadically through one bar, and those cheers represent the fortunes of an entire city. It's incredibly special, and something that only gets better as the playoffs begin. I don't generally like to watch sports at a bar but Barney's is my favorite place in LA to watch sports, hands down.

I'm going to miss this place. I'm going to miss mornings there, and lunches. I'm going to miss eating there, and drinking whiskey there. I'm going to miss one of the best crowds in Hollywood (or WeHo depending on if you work for Rand-McNally or not) and the most comfortable atmosphere at any bar I've been to since I left the Winking Lizard on Miles. I'll miss the drunkards hanging out on the patio on weekday afternoons, and the anonymous cheers after football team A does something they approve of. You can probably tell, this is a tough one for me; I really love this place. Via con Dios Barney.

#8 The Troubadour

2010-02-10T10:51:00.000-08:00

#9 Body Factory

2010-02-09T09:37:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24
# 19 The People
# 18 Sushi Eyaki
#17 Raymond Chandler
# 16 Jumbo's Clown Room
#15 Skooby's
#14 The Arclight
# 13 The Well
#12 Runyon Canyon
# 11 Canter's
#10 Hotel Café

#9 Body Factory

Ok, I have a feeling very few people are familiar with Body Factory, so let me do my best to describe it. Body Factory is a riddle to me. It is a store that sells candles and soaps and kama sutra bullshit, but also makes smoothies and wraps. They are constantly blaring the most annoying and strangest playlists that seem to be pulled from late-eighties work out videos; they have two plasmas inside that show—at least what appears to be—workout stock footage with crazy Japanese-style cuts and non-sequitur messages being given off. It makes absolutely no sense. Furthermore, it is nestled behind the Arclight, directly beneath the Hollywood 24 Hour Fitness, where, as a former member, I can assure you that only Hollywood's best and brightest work out. Quite simply, Body Factory is a vortex within the space-time continuum that should not exist outside of near-future science fiction popcorn movies (think Judge Dredd of Demolition Man). Everything about the place, from the meathead clientele, the obnoxious and offensive music, and the illogical inventory tells me to stay away from this place, but holy mother fucking shit are their smoothies good.

So you know when you go to a regular smoothie place—think Jamba Juice or Juice It Up—they use weird frozen fruits that look like something that came from the spaceship candy aisle? Body Factory skips the pretense and just throws weird ass powders in the smoothies. Yeah, there are some frozen pineapples or bananas or berries, but the key to Body Factory is the space-agey weird ass powders and what have you that give the smoothies a rougher texture and supposedly make them the healthiest things you can possibly put in your body. There's a decent chance that one Body Factory smoothie contains more carcinogens than eating lead paint, but according to their nutritional information, each smoothie contains thirty-five grams of protein. That's fucking insane. So I have been devouring these things like they're the antidote for a year and a half. I can't get enough. I usually stick to the "Body Fuel" which is described on the board as being they're house special and don't ask the ingredients. Ok, I won't. It's the tastiest fucking smoothie ever created. I think there's pineapple, maybe? Maybe coconut? But let's just think about how weird this is: a store, selling soaps and candles and bullshit, playing stranger than strange work-out music, showing non-sequitur bullshit on their two plasmas, selling me a smoothie that may or may not contain gasoline because not only do they not tell you what's in it, but they throw weird powders and things in it and then it tastes better than Filet Mignon and is supposedly the healthiest thing on Earth. To quote Lance's wife in Pulp Fiction "That's fuckin' trippy."

I'm not exaggerating when I say I devour these things. Rough estimate says that in eighteen months, I've had close to one hundred of these things, and I've never bought anything else at Body Factory. Oh, so there's another weird thing about Body Factory. Every time you go in, they ask you if you're a member. Apparently there's some membership that costs money to get, and you get nothing other than discounted smoothies. Like the membership costs twenty, and the discount is one dollar, so you have to think, "Will I have twenty smoothies from this place" before you sign up. I assure you, I never paid a dime, but for some reason they think I'm a member. But why the membership?!?! It doesn't afford you a newsletter, or special access to things not on the menu—it's just a fucking discount. You have to pay for a discount. Everyone breaks even! What the fuck is going on here?

As you can tell, Body Factory makes no sense at all to me. If you want to pay by credit card you have to pay fifteen dollar minimum for a five dollar smoothie, so they have a thing where if you pay fifteen bucks for a smoothie, your next two are already paid for, so sometimes I roll in, several weeks after my last smoothie, with a five dollar bill in my hand and they refuse it because I've already paid. So strange.

However, they are the best smoothies on the planet, they are supposedly healthy, and they are five dollars after the membership I never paid for. I could walk to Body Factory and did quite often, and now the pain-in-the-ass parking situation could mean no mas Body Factory para mi. This is mildly depressing but could be a good thing if they are putting fucking benzine in my smoothie. Anyways, Body Factory, I will miss the fuck out of you.

#10 Hotel Cafe

2010-02-08T22:04:00.000-08:00

# 11 Canter's

2010-02-08T14:54:00.000-08:00

#12 Runyon Canyon

2010-02-08T10:14:00.000-08:00

#13 The Well

2010-02-05T18:10:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24
# 19 The People
# 18 Sushi Eyaki
#17 Raymond Chandler
# 16 Jumbo's Clown Room
#15 Skooby's
#14 The Arclight

# 13 The Well

It's weird how on this list, of the first seventeen things I will miss about Hollywood, only three have been bars. One would imagine if my roommate, the Honorable Ebright, were drawing this up, we would have seen ten to twelve already. For some reason, I have found that things like eating, fantasizing about an alternate reality, and parking, are on equal footing with bars while rating a neighborhood. Bars are pretty much the standard for how I judge neighborhoods as I travel to them, one would imagine that I would feel the same way about my own neighborhood, after all, one of the draws to downtown is the bar scene. However, I guess that after you live in a neighborhood for eighteen months, and you know what each bar represents, they start to become archetypes. They cease holding meaning unto themselves, and start to mean what they represent as icons in your imagination. Jumbo's represents oddness and half-naked women more than it represents the actual events that may happen on a given visit. Bars like Velvet Margarita and Beauty Bar represent the crowd that drinks there—a crowd I'm not starting any fan clubs for—far more than the bars themselves. This doesn't happen during visits to neighborhoods when the bar represents the particular evening and the framework of what you notice amongst the neighborhood and crowd. This archetypal association is unfortunate considering that in eighteen months, downtown bars that—at least in my imagination—currently stand for the bars themselves and the experiences I've had there will be subject to this same iconic filing-cabinet mentality. However, one bar, more than any other, has eluded this filing away, so far: The Well.

I can't quite categorize The Well. On one hand, it is a sleek, loungy-type bar with hidden status. ("All the cool bars in LA need to be hard to find so that when you tell a girl you've been somewhere it's like you're bragging that you know where it is.") But on the other hand, the crowd can be dramatically down-to-earth (which is a relative of "amazingly average"), the jukebox is world-class, and it may be the most comfortable bar in Hollywood. While I like going to other places a little bit more (you'll see), The Well may be my favorite bar that I like merely for itself. It's the Lost in Translation of bars: no gimmicks, no games, no bullshit; a great jukebox, incredibly hot women, and a super-cool vibe. Furthermore, like I mentioned earlier, it's just avoided being pigeonholed. There's no doubt that it's a chic lounge, but without the arrogance, the hassle at the door, and the attitude, it's just a cool place. What's not to like.

Even the location is cool: right off Sunset east of Vine and across from the Palladium; it's walking distance there, cab distance home. A few months ago, I rolled in there with a few friends. We were well-dressed and eager to forget our hammers at the bar. As we walked in, the aforementioned jukebox was singing the Cold War Kids' "Something is Not Right with Me." Honorable Ebright pointed out that this was akin to a fictional movie (a movie that doesn't exist, as opposed to a movie that tells a story that is not true) scene. The guys, walking into the well-lit lounge, wearing their Friday best, strolling through the doors with the perfect soundtrack. That could only happen at a super-chic place that, admittedly are abundant in Hollywood—but how many are playing cool music and are within walking distance. Fucking great.

And of course, I'd be remissed if I didn't mention the bartender. When talking about a rating system that I mentioned in a previous entry, I noted that an LA girl's rating is multiplied by 1.1 and added to 1 (a 7 in LA is an 8.7 in Cleveland). However, at 8.18 that scale stops as they all become Cleveland 10s. Essentially, the hottest girl in Cleveland is by-law no hotter than an LA 8.18. The bartender at The Well (she knows who she is) is a fucking LA 10. She is the standard by which all other girls should be judged. I have even gone as far as tried to clear it with Katy to make her my celebrity freebie" under the assumption that a girl that hot in this town has at least done some commercial work, if not a feature that I just haven't seen. (This request was denied)

So essentially, you have a cool bar, with great music, good drinks, a rad location, and the world's hottest bartender; and this bar did NOT make the top ten. Hollywood is a good place my friends.

#14 The Arclight

2010-02-05T07:39:00.000-08:00

#15 Skooby's

2010-02-03T09:51:00.000-08:00

#16 Jumbo's Clown Room

2010-02-02T08:52:00.000-08:00

#17 Raymond Chandler

2010-01-28T09:53:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24
# 19 The People
# 18 Sushi Eyaki

#17 Raymond Chandler

Earlier in this countdown, I mentioned how I prefer my Hollywood to be dark, smoky, and moderately subversive. Perhaps the strongest cause for this desire is my love of crime fiction writer Raymond Chandler. I'm not knocking down any literary barriers here, Chandler is one of the most celebrated writers of the 20th century, so if your familiarity with his work is limited, either skip this entry, or google Raymond fucking Chandler.

The reason I have read Chandler's books so many times, is because I want to be in them. And I don't say this in the same way that a suburban kid listens to the Chronic and wants to be in it; I see it like, if I had my choice, I would be a P.I. in 1940s Hollywood. Phillip Marlowe is more than just a favorite literary character, he is my idol. And I say that with no irony intended.

For the last eighteen months, I have lived as close to that fantasy as I ever will. My home address is a short walk from Marlowe's office in the fictional Cahuenga Building. Many of the streets and hills that Chandler writes about are in my neighborhood. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, I believe that the corner of Hollywood and Cauhenga (the real, not the fictional) has been named "Raymond Chandler Square." This is where I live!

Look, I would be a fool if I didn't acknowledge that Chandler's dark, smoky gin joints and speakeasies have been replaced by trendy boom-boom clubs and high-end gastropubs. Furthermore, it is clear that the days of P.I.s and dames in red dresses has given way to the new Hollywood era of an amalgamation of people from everywhere, looking for anything. I know. And these concessions are depressing to me. But that doesn't mean I won't miss living in Marlowe's neighborhood.

As I walk or drive through my neighborhood, the hills, the tallish buildings, the forties-era architecture, the lights, the cars, the noise, they all conjure up the same emotions and sensations that Chandler's writing does, only these are real experiences. I can't describe how much this has meant to me over the last few years. Even Chandler's work in film is nearby. Bogart's Marlowe in The Big Sleep roamed around my neighborhood going to the bookstore on Las Palmas a short walk from my house. Gould's Marlow in Altman's The Long Goodbye lived in an awesome apartment building just up the hill from my house. I know this sounds silly and hopeless, but I have lived in a world of forties-era noir pulp for the last eighteen months, and in three weeks, I leave. I can't believe I put this at 17, because I think about Chandler every morning when I get up.

It is a non-existent reality that I have constructed for myself. Moreover, I haven't even so much as lived within that reality as much as I have fantasized about it. But I have fantasized about this reality from afar before, and I will be able to resume that projection when I move downtown, another neighborhood where Marlowe did a lot of work, just not his residence. In order to truly live in that reality, even in modern times, I would have had to quit my job, set up shop as a private investigator, and begin living in a life of subversiveness, crime, and darkness, something I would love to do, but is probably not within my reach at this stage of history. So what I will miss remains a non-existent reality, or what sane people call: a fantasy. My fantasy however was a little more real in Marlowe's hood, and that I will never forget.

#18 Sushi Eyaki

2010-01-27T10:16:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24
# 19 The People

# 18 Sushi Eyaki

People that live outside of LA (especially New Yorkers), like the think LA is a shitty food town. I can say this: It is no San Francisco. That is the truth. And if you are looking for super high-end chef driven motif restaurants, we are strong but well behind New York. Well behind. (though we are catching up) But what's quickly being learned around the country is that where people thought LA lacked, we're actually quite strong. See, unlike real metropolises like Chicago and New York, LA is just too spread out to form a coherent food community. To find the good places in LA, you have to search for them, like hard. Case in point, anyone that thinks that LA has no delis has never been to Langer's. Langer's is hidden away in a shitty neighborhood in MacAurthur Park and recently has propelled LA to the number 1 deli city in the country per David Sax's bestselling book, Save the Deli. The point isn't that we have great deli (which we do), the point is that people complain about our lack of deli after going to Jerry's and Canter's and nothing else. You just have to look.

One of the food groups that I think LA is a dominant force within is sushi. I'm sure that there are great sushi places in Seattle and San Francisco, and I'm sure NYC would have a few hats to throw in the sushi ring, but what LA has is special: quality and quantity. Almost every one of those LA-only corner strip malls has a non-descript sushi place hiding inside. Every neighborhood has every different kind of sushi, from 'spensive to dirt-cheap. And in my experience, they're all pretty good. Personally, I tend to get similar things wherever I go: Albacore, Ahi, Shrimp, Octopus, Yellowtail…and maybe a roll or two. That's generally it, and 95% of the time, LA sushi comes through. Now consider this fact, Yelp! lists 496 sushi places within driving distance (5 miles) from my house. That's almost six-and-a-half sushi places per square mile. That's insane. But as I mentioned earlier, it presents an interesting challenge: the search. The Search For Great Sushi (starring Matt Glassman and Katy Abramson – due out in March 2011 on Fox Searchlight) culminated in a trip to Sushi Eyaki, a tiny little strip-mall sushi place on the corner of Highland and Wilshire.

Completely non-descript and mildly uninviting, Sushi Eyaki is one of the 496 within driving distance and it instantly became our favorite. The place is maybe 650 square feet, it seats, at most, 25 people, and the parking lot (that it shares with a Starbucks) is constantly full. It is our own little sushi secret. Large pieces of fish, not that much rice, fair prices, good sake, extremely friendly service (every time we're there, the sushi chef gives us free shit), and the best seaweed salad in Los Angeles.

And there's something special about finding your own little sushi secret in a town without any sushi-tact. We eat a lot of raw fish in this town, and we eat it almost everywhere. So, like uncovering the Shins eight years ago and treating them like my own band, I have a kinship with Sushi Eyaki that goes beyond the large portions of fish and unreal seaweed salad. I, and Katy, feel a sense of ownership with Eyaki, from the moment we decide to go there, to the moment we pick out our steel chopsticks. It is our little secret and I love it for that.

Now, our new place is within walking distance to Little Tokyo, an incredible 217 sushi places within walking distance. I will be exploring these ones. However, I already have a relationship, a very good one at that, with a place that we searched and subsequently conquered. I do take solace in knowing that Katy's new place is a scant 2.1 miles to Sushi Eyaki, and I will not be leaving it by the wayside, but as I begin to explore a new realm of LA sushi, I will miss that chase. I will miss seeking out the diamond in the rough, and finding it amongst the craziness of Wilshire in the sushi hotbed of Hollywood.

#19 The People

2010-01-26T18:20:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway
#20 Kitchen 24

# 19 The People

We've reached the Bernie Kosar round here. I'm going to try to be as polite about this one as I can, but I've been waiting to do a little West Side bashing, and this is the entry I get to do so on. So if you live in Santa Monica, and you don't want to hate me, you may want to skip to the Anthony Parker round. This could be ugly.

I grew up in the suburbs. But my suburbs were somewhat different than what many people think of when they think of jewey suburb. In my neighborhood, we had people of all races and socio-economic backgrounds. And not just a few token members of each, but a pretty good chunk of our school was rich jews, and a pretty good chunk was rich black people, and a pretty good chunk was people without money. One great thing is that we were all friends. Sure, we usually didn't hang out in the ghet, we were usually at Brown's house or something, but the point is, I grew up around diversity.

I couldn't live somewhere without diversity. Hollywood is not quite as economically and racially diverse as other nearby neighborhoods, but it certainly doesn't lack. Juxtaposed to the city in which I work, a city completely absent of black people, authenticity, and a soul, Hollywood might as well be Bed-Sty. And that is the reality in which I live. Half of my time is spent in the uber-white, anti-other, gated community of a false but perceived "safety" and a lack of anything to do other than shop at overpriced boutiques and dine at overpriced fast food. The other half is spent here, in this zoo.

This place truly is crazy. On a given walk down to the corner, I could run into a guy dressed as Zorro (for no money or logical reason) chatting with a Spiderman. We have the weirdest, most creative homeless I've ever seen, like the lady by my corner who looks like the witch from Snow White, and sports a grown up cat on her shoulder while begging for change. If you go to the right bars, you'll see old men, who have been drinking at the same place for forty years, you'll see the future cast of every TV show on earth, you'll see B-level celebrities every single day who have us reaching for our blackberries trying to figure out what we know them from. We have poor people and rich people eating at the same taco stands.

When my close friend Z visited me last year he was flabbergasted. This is someone who lives in Brooklyn, and not in Park Slope either, in real Brooklyn. One time while at his house, we heard a guy get shot outside. He rides the NYC subway. And he spent his time in this neighborhood in awe. It is a fucking zoo, and I, for one, love it. To be fair, only our little corner of Hollywood is this crazy. The further from Hollywood and Highland one gets, the more normal and down to earth people get, but even those people are awesome.

I have never had such a great kinship with all of the strangers I encounter since I left Orange. Though Hollywood is quite neighborhoody, unlike the suburbs that I work in, it is most certainly urban. There are Bentleys parked behind 89 Escorts on every block. There are writers, and lawyers, and dishwashers, and actors, and bus drivers everywhere.

And here's where I get a little honest and revealing. Santa Monica isn't THAT bad. It's really not. But I always feel out of place there. I feel it is where the cool kids hang out, and I have never been, nor desired to be a cool kid. Whenever I'm in Santa Monica (which is VERY OFTEN), I feel a lack of independent thought, objectivity, and diversity. These are big problems for me, the person, not the society. Hollywood embraces me. It has taken me in, given me everything I have wanted from a neighborhood, and given me the urban experience I need. I will miss the crazies but mostly I will miss being one of a group, even if that group is large, and amorphous, and maybe even a little harsh. When I drive to Santa Monica now, and instantly feel like everything I care for and value in the world is wrong, so I will continue to resent the west side and always have a place in my heart for Hollywood.

# 20 Kitchen 24

2010-01-26T09:32:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity
# 21 Hollywood Freeway

#20 Kitchen 24

This one is kind of weird. I'm going to make this one quick. Kitchen 24 is a newish 24 hour diner/bar on that terrible stretch of Cahuenga that makes you want to shoot yourself in the mouth. The décor/ambience is consistent with the poopiness outside. The food is fine but forgettable, the service is terrible, the crowd is barely tolerable. I must really be selling you on the place.

OK, let me start over.

To many people, a neighborhood is defined by its bars. Because so much of your interaction with a particular neighborhood is sitting at a barstool, judging where you live based on what kind of drinks are poured and what kind of music is playing at a bar seems like a fine way to craft an opinion about a given neighborhood. I have no problem with this line of thinking. However, in my own judgment, I have a different criteria for how to judge an area: late night dining.

You may think I'm joking, but, as a career bartender, coming home at one AM, two AM, three AM, even four AM are normal to me. Weekend nights are almost always spent either behind the bar, or spending time with the people I don't get to see during the week. Going out is never THAT important to me. However, eating is. I get off work and I'm hungry. Sometimes I'm just home and due to circumstances ranging from lack of dinner to inhalation of smoke, I may be pretty hungry at an odd hour. This is one of the main reasons I couldn't live in Santa Monica. It is also one of the biggest draws to my new neighborhood. My current neighborhood, however, offers on of the best selections for this type of situation in LA.

Kitchen 24 is both the closest, and probably the most reliable of these places. Their menu is big enough, and despite what I said about it earlier, the experience could be quite enjoyable. Maybe I won't miss the people that much, and maybe the 24 hour dining necessity thing will be easily replaced by the soon-to-be-24-hour café that’s in my new building, but for a year and a half, Kitchen 24 has been my safety net. I have gone through the whole menu, from the breakfasts to the meatball sandwich, usually settling on the veggie chili. I have gotten drunk there, I've seen celebrities, I have been there at 9 AM for breakfast, and it's been a pretty big part of my life. Much like a lot of places back home that might not have been super good, but played a big role in my life, I will miss Kitchen 24.

# 21 Hollywood Freeway

2010-01-25T10:51:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle
# 22 Proximity#

21 Hollywood Freeway

This is a weird one. This is one of those symbolic appreciations for something that it is at once mythical and an everyday nuisance. Perhaps akin to New Yorkers' appreciation for Broadway or white America's obsession with macs, my love of the Hollywood Freeway is kind of stupid.

In California, the freeways are interwoven as part of our lives more than anywhere on Earth. For this reason, and to the why-the-fuck-do-you-care annoyance of the rest of the world, we refer to our freeways with the definite article "the" placed before the freeways titular number. Telling someone to take "the five" to "the one oh one" seems like the only way to give directions, to the point where I have often accidentally told friends that my parents' house is off "the two seventy one." It's just the way it is. Then, Californians go one step further by giving each freeway a geographic name to inform people of where they MAY be going. However, the logic behind this naming process is baffling. Sometimes, a freeway is named by direction such as the ten, which going west-bound is "The Santa Monica Freeway" but east-bound is "The San Bernadino." Sometimes the freeway is named independent of direction like 710, which is always "The Long Beach Freeway." Sometimes a freeway is named for it's terminus, such as the aforementioned Long Beach, or the aforementioned Santa Monica, but sometimes it is named for a minor city it passes through despite an incredibly small percentage of drivers actually exiting in that city (the Santa Ana freeway). There are funny idiosyncrasies, like the 405 being named the San Diego Freeway despite ending 80 miles north of San Diego, or the 90 being the Marina Freeway, despite being 3 miles long and stretching from outside the Marina to the Marina. But curiosities and incongruencies amongst the LA freeway system also give way to mythology.

No freeway, perhaps in this entire country, is as romanticized as the 101. The 101 leaves downtown LA, travels up the pacific coast, hops on the Golden Gate Bridge and keeps going until it rounds the Olympic Peninsula in the top left corner of the country. It was immortalized in America's "Ventura Highway," and has been mentioned in countless songs and films. But to me it's meaning is a something a little different. Living in Long Beach, south of the city, and coming into Hollywood was always intimidating for me. Getting through downtown on the 110, and rounding onto the busiest interchange in LA was always scary. But then you hop on the "Hollywood Freeway" and I always felt instantly like part of it all. The Hollywood Freeway lasts for exactly twelve exits, and about eight miles before it turns into the Ventura Freeway. But amongst those exits are the most exalted streets in America: Melrose, Santa Monica, Sunset and Hollywood. The stretch included sights of the Hollywood sign, Griffith Observatory, and the Capitol Building. Here's where I mention that this stretch of highway is almost ALWAYS jammed up, going both ways, at almost all hours. It is almost always to be avoided. However at dusk, read: evening rush hour, the view of the Santa Monica Mountains dotted with the lights of millionaire's houses is breathtaking, and the towering San Gabriels behind them remind us of our little corner of the country that without them would never be as temperate and desirable as it is.

From the other direction, coming into Hollywood through Cahuenga Pass, past Universal City and into the lights of Hollywood is equally as breathtaking. For romantic purposes, the sign as one passes Barham on the 101 that reads "Hollywood Next Eight Exits" is a beautiful and almost novelty reminder. And for the last eighteen months, I have been lucky enough to take one of those legendary exits on my way home. This may sound like the ultimate pain in the ass, but I assure you it's not. Five years ago, I lived in Washington, right off the 101 (although up there is was just called "101"), miles before its northern terminus, and now I've lived in Hollywood, miles before its southern start. My new exit off the 110 will be equally as bothersome, but not nearly as romantic.

# 22 Proximity

2010-01-21T20:49:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria
# 23 The Griddle

# 22 Proximity

LA is one of the most sprawling cities in the world. This sprawl can be both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, there is no easy way to get ANYWHERE in this city. Unlike New York, Chicago, or San Francisco, public transportation is the last thing you think about when getting around here. The fact that the city is so spread out makes it somewhat difficult to meet up with friends on a regular basis, but it has its advantages too. The thing I love about it here is the plethora of distinct neighborhoods dotting the city. Different bars, apartments, scenery, restaurants, people, and music assures that every time you leave, you're getting a unique experience. Which brings me to my place.

There's a saying in LA that everything in LA is twenty minutes away. This is never truer then it is from 6615 Franklin Ave. From my front steps, you can get downtown in twenty minutes, Echo Park in twenty, Silver Lake in fifteen, Los Feliz in ten, Franklin Village in five, Koreatown in ten, the grove in ten, Melrose in ten, West Hollywood in ten, Beverly Hills in fifteen, even the valley and the beach is in play. I work near the beach, and it never takes me longer than forty-five minutes to get to work. Never. There are plenty of places that are buried in this city. People that live in Brentwood can't get anywhere without bringing a few CDs in the car with them. And that completely changes one's view of the city.

To me, here, traffic is an issue, but never a problem. To me, here, any time someone invites me anywhere; I am never worried about how long it will take me to get there. To me, here, the city is large, and accessible, and vibrant, and diverse.

Furthermore, another great thing about Hollywood is the walkability factor. From my place, Yelp! lists 299 bars within walking distance, 369 restaurants, thirty-four theatres, and one music store that is the best place in the entire city (foreshadowing). People that know me, know I'm an explorer, and my location alone gives me the best possible jumping off point for exploring, for checking out neighborhoods, for drinking with friends, eating, and shopping.

Our new location will be pretty buried as far as LA goes, but one of the best places in town to disembark from LA proper and check out the rest of SoCal, so friends in the South Bay, and friends in Long Beach now are much more accessible, which is good. But the great City of Angels will become a little smaller with a move southeast, which is bad. Might suck a little bit.

#23 The Griddle

2010-01-21T11:57:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville
# 24 Loteria

# 23 The Griddle

What's always been off to me is the way that American high culture seems to revere food and drink in a way that's very stratified and separated. What I mean is that styles of foods are appreciated by intellectuals only as the style or ethnicity and rarely as a meal itself. For instance, rarely does a liberal intellectual faux-foodie discuss the actual dish they have eaten or plan to eat such as eating duck confit or seafood paella, but instead the discussion is about a particular restaurant's French or Spanish cuisine. Even subcategories stand in for actual meals such as "tapas" or "dim sum." Food is not any particular dish, but instead a collection of dishes making up a particular style of cuisine. These styles are grouped together, usually by cultural origins, but size, or temperature, or season of consumption also can play a part in a grouping. Angelinos LOVE to talk food, and despite most of their inabilities to tell the difference between a cabernet and a zinfandel, they are almost all experts. But throughout all of this stratifying and circle-jerk food discussions, very rarely will a liberal intellectual stoop so low as to discuss the merits of my favorite of the food categories: breakfast.

For a liberal intellectual to discuss breakfast, this discussion better consist of croque monsieurs or eggs Florentine, because the moment you begin discussions of pancakes and waffles, you are immediately low. Unfortunately, breakfast is the King of all Meals, and is not given the respect that other meals, like…say, lunch or dinner are handed. It really is a damn shame to live in a food city as diverse and beautiful as LA and have breakfast shoved to the same corner as chicken fingers and fish sticks. Even traditional foodie no-nos like hot dogs, burgers, and cupcakes are treated like fois gras out here, but breakfast is tossed to the side. Except for one place, on the corner of Sunset and Fairfax, at the Griddle.

The Griddle may or may not have my favorite breakfast in LA, but right now I'm leaning towards "not have." It's certainly not perfect, but every Saturday and Sunday, the line grows outside early and often. Even the celebrities get up early and show up for eggs, coffee, and the biggest pancakes you'll ever see on the planet. On one corner in the city, for two mornings a week, breakfast's place as an unimportant food group, eaten only out of necessity to get to lunch, is forgotten and we all gorge ourselves with espresso-packed pancakes and cholesterol–busting breakfasts.

At the risk of turning this entire project into a series of glorified Yelp! reviews, I'll do my best to limit the sausage sucking. I really just love the food here, I love the atmosphere, I am intrigued as to why the wait staff at a breakfast place consists of the best looking men in the USA, and I won't lie, it's a little intimidating; I love the line outside, I love getting up on a Saturday with friends on the couch and making the pilgrimage, I love missing NFL games in lieu of eggs and pancakes, I am also confused as to why my girlfriend always orders the veggie burger despite being surrounded by eggs, waffles, and pancakes; and I love walking out talking about the food despite the lack of port reductions and charcuterie plates. That's really it for me. It's a great spot, in the middle of the city, that brings out the best in people's appetites, during the best meal of the day. To me, the griddle stands for more than stunningly good-looking men and stunningly large pancake concoctions, it stands for breakfast in LA . . . and that's what I'll miss.

#24 Loteria

2010-01-20T11:13:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar
#25 Shmutzville

# 24 Loteria

Los Angeles is a city that is desired by many people for many different reasons. Most would argue the sun is the biggest draw, while I would argue the natural landscape is the greatest draw. There are so many fucking draws to this place that every morning I wonder why anyone lives anywhere else. I don't mean that in a condescending way, I mean to read between the sun, mountains, beach, women, music, food, proximity to other places, opportunities, people, shopping, drinking, and everything else, why are you not here already??? It's awesome here.

But of all the draws, one of the more underrated draws, a draw which I never realized I cared about until I would venture home for more than three days, is the Mexican food. I know that sounds retarded, not just because Mexican food is the cheap, overweight sibling in the global cuisine family, but also because Mexican food is not something that should be factor in where one chooses to spend their twenties. Before moving here, my Mexican food experiences were limited to Taco Bell and being dragged to bullshit chain Mexican places by an ex-girlfriend who was more in love with frozen enchiladas than she was with me. (In her defense, what girl can resist a "celebration of food?") Since moving out here, my Mexican food world has changed more than anything other than the way I rate women (in case you were wondering, the correct equation is to take an LA rating, multiply it by 1.1 and add 1, to get her Cleveland rating. So an LA 7 is a Cleveland 8.7, get it?). Taco shops on every corner, trucks parading through the city churning out tacos as if they were popsicles, Oaxacan places, Baja-style…essentially my world has been flip-turned upside down. There are so many different styles of Mexican cuisine that, though I never considered a part of my life before, it has become integral to my daily life here.

But from the proximitity to Mexico, the plethora of Mexicanos living here, and hence the authenticity of the Mexican cuisine derives a problem: Why is "authentic" better than Americanized. My answer to this is: it's not. American style Chinese food BLOWS away authentic Chinese cuisine. Authentic thai is often street cuisine eaten off sticks, which may be good, but cannot compare to my spicy thai noodles. Authentic Mexican however, is a fucking bullshit term because it changes every day. Which brings me to Loteria.

I don't know whether the newish, lightweight 'spensive Mexican place on a touristy stretch of Hollywood is authentic or not, but I do know this: Enchiladas probably don't cost 15 bucks too many places in Mexico. But to that I say, who cares. Loteria has the biggest tequila selection I've ever seen, most of which cost way too much for me to try. They have an incredibly diverse and original menu that has introduced me to many items I have never had before. They also are one of the few places on Hollywood to attract neighborhood people and actually has become a destination on the block. It is not necessarily "American-style" Mexican food; it is more "LA style" Mexican food. Small portions, large prices, original creations, and a clientele that resembles La Cienega and Beverly a lot more than Oaxaca or Ensenada.

And that is what I will miss. My new neighborhood is sure to be chock-full of the best tacos, nopolitos, y tortas in the ciudad. I have no doubt that I will never be lacking in Comida Mexicana in any way, shape, or form. My new neighborhood has throngs of Chicanos y Mexicanos Veros walking up and down almost every street. These are the people that have helped create such a rich culture downtown. But every time I bite into a $1.25 carne taco, or chile relleno, I will miss my 16 dollar enchiladas rojas with a side of cactus salad. I will miss sitting in the sterile, white LA dining room eating high-end cuisine that can paradoxically not be high-end and loving every bite. I will miss the gigantic Loteria cards hanging over the bar, and the tourists walking by and looking in wondering what it is we've found. God I'll miss Hollywood.

#25 Shmutzville

2010-01-19T09:18:00.001-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen
#26 Piano Bar

#25 Shmutzville

This one is personal, and any of the 3 people that have been reading this will have little-to-no mind for anything I'm about to write. I'm writing for me, not for you.

What is Shmutzville? That's where I've been parking for the last eighteen months. You see, in this neighborhood, finding a parking spot is like finding a white chick Tiger Woods hasn't fucked. It's like finding a book you actually want to read at Barnes and Noble. It's like finding a black person in Santa Monica. Quite simply, it's like getting struck by lightning twice at once. So, my roommate and I made a deal: He got the underground parking spot, and I got the bathroom in my room. This forced me to go out and get a neighborhood parking permit. The problem is that parking is only permit NORTH of Franklin. Everything on Franklin or below is open to every tourist, club hopper, or shitkicking businessman in the area. So for me to get a parking spot, I either needed to luck out with a below-Franklin spot, or find one above Franklin with my permit.

The stretch above Franklin closest to me is on Whitley, which consists of exactly 18 parking spots, that are 90% of the time full. So that left a stretch of Wilcox, about a quarter miler away. I ended up parking here about 75% of the time that I came home. It was so far away, that I deemed it Schmutzville. Worse yet, on Sunday nights or Monday nights, morning street sweeping prohibited people form parking on a particular side of the street making parking even harder. I ended up all the way down Wilcox, up a hill, and in some random residential area a good 15 minute walk from my place. I would quickly deem this area "Outer Schmutzville"

So why will I be missing this decrepit part of Hollywood? Because it is my own little corner. Quite literally, Shmutzville was about as close as you can get to the hills to leaving the neighborhood. It abutted the 101 Freeway. It sat quietly beneath the Hollywood Sign with everyone's cameras pointed directly over it, leaving Shmutzville a quiet and deserted stretch of bullshit road.

I will miss having this little corner on the busiest neighborhood in LA. I will miss the long walk past the homelesses, the auto-shop, and the other dry-cleaner that I never used (despite constant complaints about my old dry cleaner). I will miss the peripheral friends asking me "do you have to walk out here all the time?" as if a five minute walk is akin to the Israelites walking through a desert. I will miss game 6 of the 2009 Eastern Conference Finals in which getting out of my car in Schmutzville, and having taped the first half, unaware of anything that had happened, I got a text from SDP that read "Well that was a fun season," prompting me to throw my complimentary meal from work in the middle of the street, leaving it there for the luckiest homelessman. I will miss walking towards the Hollywood sign on my way to my car, parking in front of people's houses no where near my place, and trying to explain what "Shmutzville" is to my friends. And I will miss the serene sense of security that no matter how busy my neighborhood is with bullshit and more bullshit, there's a parking spot for me, no where near my place, but always with my heart.

#26 Piano Bar

2010-01-18T11:03:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards
#27 Genghis Cohen

#26 Piano Bar

Piano Bar, like so many gems, was a place that Katy and I stumbled upon. Last year on my birthday, after a lovely viewing of Woodie Allen's Vicki Christina Barcelona, we went out in search of her friend's DJ set at a local nightclub. After finding nothing but an unwelcome line and an unreasonable cover charge, we set out in search of a drink. We rounded a corner that I'd never rounded before and found a small, dark, and quiet bar called "Piano Bar." We went in and had a drink.

Piano Bar is just a bar. Nothing fancy, special, or particularly interesting. I order rum and cokes, or Jack on the rocks; just like everywhere else. That's not what's special. Piano Bar is literally footsteps from the boom-boom club scene on Cahuenga Corridor. This section of town is incredibly close to my apartment, yet can be so offensive and repugnant, it has turned me off from even traveling this street at the wrong time. However, Piano Bar seemed to be miles away. A long, crowded bar with an unbelievable outside smoker's patio, and great music such as the Black Keys or Wilco playing on the speakers when there wasn't a band playing. When there is a band playing, it can be garage-rock, low-key singer, or Friday night jazz ensemble. The people, the music, the drinks, the bartenders, even the volume makes this place the ideal bar for my tastes. In fact, now that I start to think about it, I am moving downtown to find more Piano Bars and less Velvet Margaritas.

This brings me to one of the keys about why I love Hollywood. When people from back home think of Hollywood, they think of Beverly Hills. They think of stupid MTV "reality" shows that don't really show anything authentic about what Hollywood is. When soulless phony white liberal intellectuals on the west side of LA think of Hollywood, they immediately begin thinking of crime, the boom-boom club scene, and parking woes. But the true Hollywood, the Hollywood I live in, is nothing like that. It is the most diverse scene I have ever been a part of. The music, the people, the food, and the drinks are so different from one corner to the next that you can be whoever you want to be. You can make Hollywood whatever Hollywood you want. Hollywood is a mythical place romanticized for years and this is why. If you want, it can be loud, gaudy, and the heart of the limo world. If you want it could be low key, high-end, and four-star. Or, for me, I want it to be darker, smokier, and exist among a world of exposed brick, low ceilings, and every different kind of person creating their own scene. The east-side scene is most certainly that: a scene. Same with the west side. But Hollywood ISN'T. Hollywood is itself, paradoxically authentic in its own inauthenticity. And that is what Piano Bar means to me. There is nothing "scene" about Piano Bar. Nothing "authentically" LA, and to me, that makes it authentically Hollywood.

Luckily, downtown, more Piano Bars wait for me, and I could make myself who I want to be there to. But I will miss the people, I will miss the music, and I will miss the little location, on Selma, in the middle of everything, yet hidden away.

#27 Genghis Cohen

2010-01-17T07:58:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro
#28 Hollywood Billiards

# 27 Genghis Cohen

I can't believe I'm moving away from Genghis Cohen's. The Chinese restaurant on the corner of Melrose and Fairfax has been a goto of mine since I moved to LA. I don't plan on giving up on Genghis Cohen's which is why it is so low on this list, but not being in the neighborhood is going to be a serious bummer. For those that live in LA, you know Genghis's well; you may have a friend who played there once, you may just be in it for the takeout, but Genghis Cohen's is no LA secret. For those who don't, allow a quick explanation:

Genghis Cohen's is a somewhat-trendy-but-not-really Chinese place in the middle of Hollywood. The name surely derives from its location on Fairfax just north of one of the more prominent Jewish neighborhoods in the city. Despite being off Melrose, it manages to retain somewhat of a hip LA feel despite being primarily patronized by the local Jewish community. The bar area is minimal, the wine list is incomplete, the service is standard Chinese food mediocre, but it's still KINDA cool inside. Off to the side there is a small but livable lounge area with nightly live music and an extra cover charge. The dining room is modest and usually filled with the banter of the most annoying people on Earth.

So upon further review, it seems as though I have just as many complaints about GC's as I do praises. While this may seem true on first glance, it is not the dining room or the service that draws me. It is the Gold Shrimp, the Queen Chicken, the full bar, and the location resting beneath the Hollywood lights and in the middle of everything. It is where I went after I got my first tattoo. It is where I went for my first Rosh Hashana in LA. And that's just it. Eating at Genghis Cohen's is just what Jews in LA DO. Almost like dining there is a rite of being-Jewish-in-LA; and now that Genghis Cohen's is a schlep for me to get to, perhaps my LA Jew privileges will be changed from "full" to "guest."

#28 Hollywood Billiards

2010-01-16T08:51:00.000-08:00

#30 Hollywood Walk of Fame
#29 Yamashiro

#28 Hollywood Billiards

Hollywood Billiards was the first bar I ever went to in Hollywood. I was there three-and-a-half years ago to watch a Cavs game when I still lived in Long Beach. It's just a great bar. Tons of really nice pool tables. An arcade. Pretty good bar food. TVs in every corner to watch whatever Cleveland Sports tragedy you choose. A pop-a-shot machine. It's just got it all. Let me address each of the above things separately really quick.

The pool tables are abundant and large; maybe a but too large. But their pool happy hour is fantastic, something like 4 bucks an hour for the table. There are really pote players all around, and it sparked a conversation about the bench on the corner of Hollywood and LaBrea that reads "Straight Pool: Jack defeats Ron 100-64." What the fuck is that? Did Ron lose a bet and need to buy the bench ad to shamefully display his pool ineptitudes to the masses? I don't get it.

The patio in the front is fucking awesome. The arcade is small, but contains Mars Attacks pinball; only the best pinball game in the world. Again, the happy hour is so good, that after a few incredibly cheap drinks, Mars Attacks pinball is just about the best thing in the world. Tack this onto the pretty dope bar food and you have a great 5 o'clock hour to drinky. Also let the record show that HB has a pop-a-shot machine, one of many in the City of Angels with my work branded as a high score.

Hollywood Billiards also will be the answer to a future Matt Glassman trivia question: "Where was Matt the last time he watched a crucial Cleveland sports playoff game outside of his own home?" In mid-October 2007 the Cleveland Indians lost to the Boston Red Sox in game 7 of the ALCS. I was at Hollywood Billiards. Never, EVER, again, will that happen. Every single Cavs playoff game has been seen from the friendly confines of my living room since, and will continue too. I woke up the morning after that game an absolute wreck, so much so that I broke up with my girlfriend before noon. However, I never broke up with Hollywood Billiards.

Also, shoutout to the Cuban Bakery, Café Tropical, owned by the same people over in Silver Lake.

#29 Yamashiro

2010-01-15T08:10:00.000-08:00

#30 The Hollywood Walk of Fame

Yamashiro

Yamashiro is a high-end sushi place just above Franklin, just below the Hollywood Bowl. Full disclosure, I've only eaten there once, I didn’t have a full meal, and I could probably never afford to do so. So why will I be missing an out-of-my-league sushi place that I only ate at once? Because standing 200 feet above my neighborhood, it is an almost constant reminder that I live not just in "Hollywood" but in "the Hills." I live just below a grandiose and famous Japanese restaurant that people drive miles just to see.

Yamashiro is a beautiful old Japanese style building with a beautiful picturesque pagoda and high-end clintelle. The food is interesting, décor is lovely, and most of all the view is something from a postcard. Standing guard over Hollywood, Yamashiro looks down on everything from downtown to the ocean. On a clear day, Long Beach, LAX, and even Catalina are all visible, and while this is true up and down Mullholland, this is the only vista with four star sushi, and a full bar. It's not even that I love the place as much as I love it's existence: though I rarely if ever do, I could walk to one of the most beautiful restaurants on earth. Every morning as I drive down Franklin, I see that little sign "Yamashiro --→" pointing me up a series of switchback roads up a hill, past a hotel, and into the parking lot of Yamashiro.

It is no secret that I am a romantic, this place just means a lot to me. I'll miss the view, I'll miss seeing it from the road, I'll miss the sign, the only thing I won't really miss, is the sushi.

#30 The Hollywood Walk of Fame

2010-01-14T17:48:00.001-08:00

The Hollywood Walk of Fame

Perhaps one of the most famous "landmarks" in LA, the Walk of Fame is also one of the closest. Just out my front door and down one block, I can reach a mile long section of Hollywood Blvd. dotted with stars with people's names in them. The people range from incredibly famous, to comically obscure. These famous people are never, I repeat, NEVER, seen anywhere near their own stars or anyone else's for that matter. In fact, in a town where I have trouble avoiding celebrity sightings on a daily basis, I don't think I've EVER seen anyone even remotely recognizable on this stretch of Hollywood. Yet, for some reason, thousands of tourists flock here daily to take pictures of semi-famous people's names on a sidewalk.

The scene is something that I am not a good enough writer to describe. Furthermore, there is nothing endearing or even nostalgic about this place. I find the tourists repugnant, the traffic a nuisance, and the commerce catering to them irrelevant. But for some reason, I will miss the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Perhaps some of it is feeling like a "native" amongst tourists in a town I moved to in September 2008. I think that has a lot to do with it actually. As I zip by on my bike armed with a dirty look and a New York attitude, I feel as though they are guests in MY home. With big bulky cameras hanging around their neck and annoying children in tow, it is clear that my life is better than theirs. At least that's how I subconsciously rationalize life amongst a sea of pointless tourist attractions.

Perhaps it’s the fact that the powers that be have created a tourist attraction out of nothing. Most attractions have some sort of natural draw: history (Dealy Plaza), relevance (Washington D.C.), natural spectacle (Grand Canyon), man-made spectacle (Mount Rushmore). But the Walk of Fame only exists within itself as a tourist attraction. It's only meaning is that tourists come here to see it. Tourist attractions are tourist attractions second, and something else first. Not this. It is JUST a tourist attraction, and I think I like that.

I like that there is commerce, and traffic, and hubbub in my neighborhood just because there is commerce, and traffic, and hubbub. That is unique. I can't think of anywhere else on this country that exists in itself as a tourist attraction. And then you throw in the crazy people, like the homeless, legless gentleman who goes down the blvd washing stars for no particular reason other than the monotony of having no home and no legs; pepper in the occasional bar or restaurant that exists, not for the throngs of tourists, but the people living near there; and top it off with the open-top Hollywood tour vans full of German's and Midwesterners getting a peek at my neighborhood (for 25 dollars a head), and you have an icon that I will genuinely miss.

Thirty things I'll Miss

2010-01-14T17:18:00.000-08:00

Thirty things I'll miss about Hollywood:

As I've informed some of you, after eighteen months of making my residence in Hollywood, next month I am leaving. My roommate, Professor O'fahtchey and I are packing up our boxes, hiring two gentlemen to move us, and taking the elevator up to the twelfth floor of a downtown apartment building. To those of you back home, a seven and a half mile lateral move may seem irrelevant, but in LA, those 7.8 miles essentially represent an Atlantic Ocean of poor-Mexican neighborhoods and gentrified hipster hangouts. We are saying goodbye to a part of town that has been romanticized in books, film, and music for a century; filled with streets that are known worldwide and tourist attractions that sit at the top of most German tourist's guidebooks. And I, for one, will miss it. And so, for the next thirty days, leading up to our monumental migration, I will countdown the things I will miss most. Thirty in all, these things represent where I hung out, how I felt, and what I did during the last eighteen months of my life.

Those familiar enough with the area and cynical enough to live in this city will be quick to point out that a few of these places are not technically within the domain of "Hollywood" or that they are not unique to Hollywood. My response to that is: they are in MY Hollywood. They are a members of a club in which, not only are they part of my Hollywood life, but they will be given up in exchange for newer things with my move downtown.

I hope you enjoy the things that I have enjoyed for the last year and a half.

Hollywood against me

2009-12-23T11:24:00.001-08:00

I have a short attention span. Twenty years ago, this would be shrugged off as a neutral character trait much like hair color, left-handedness, or whose side you initially took in the OJ Simpson case. Today, psychologists, parents, educators, and guidance counselors have taken their own steps in self-importance and given my neutral trait a name: Attention Deficit Disorder. "Disorder." No Longer am I merely a member of the dominant, drawn with a set of characteristics making me an individual, but still a hard-working, card-carrying member of normalcy; but I am a leper, part of a tribe that requires immediate medical attention. Perhaps born from the all-to-familiar womb of capitalism such as Valentine's Day or first-class airplane seats, or perhaps a product of genuine concern, "ADD," the label, not the affliction sets me apart from my peers. I look up to them; I admire their ability to sit through hour-long television programs and carry on conversations that last longer than two or three short and gratuitous outbursts, and take comfort in the fact that despite my differences, they have taken steps, not to accept me for my focusless self, but to treat me, to make me normal again. Should I care that the medicine for my newly deemed "disorder" is merely synthetic cocaine—cheaper of course, and without the messy pipeline of twenty-dollar bills making their way to Columbia? Should I care that their compassion is merely thinly disguised bigotry against people who twenty years ago wouldn't even be known as "different?" Perhaps, but I don't. I don't take their "medicine." I refuse to acknowledge my "illness." I have never even used the letters ADD without placing a real number on the left side of the A and the right side of the second D to calculate a sum. I have had no problems dealing with an affliction that I refuse to even admit exists. And I'm doing well.

But you won't let up. Every time I think I've won; every time I've moved on to shorter television shows and livelier conversation you retire to your offices, your lairs, your board rooms and plot schemes to drive this thing home. First you used the schools. Then you entered our homes and got to our parents. Then you took control of the world of medicine. All of these plots were thwarted by my own self-reliance. Now you have moved to a new medium: Hollywood.

Ninety minutes. That's how long a movie should be. Thirty minutes for exposition, sixty for plot, thirty more for a gunfight, a chase scene, and an epilogue. If you need two hours, you better have a REALLY good reason. It took Marty McFly 116 minutes to travel back to 1955, and change history before he planned a hair-brained scheme to harness electricity from the sky, and make it back home—not to mention play Johnny B Goode in it's entirety at the Enchantment Under the Sea dance. It took Rocky ninety minutes to watch his friend die, move to Russia, train for six weeks in the Siberian Wilderness, drive to Moscow, and defeat Ivan Drago changing the course of the Cold War forever. Unless your Coppola, Scorcese, or Tarantino, you should be able to do everything in under 120 minutes. And they can.

But somewhere along the way, the war against those of us with needs formerly thought to be normal, turned to movie reels as their Dresden. Pirates of the Caribbean: At Worlds End—168 minutes. Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King--200 minutes. These are movies with animatronics and fantasy characters. These aren't dialogue based, character driven opuses. They're fucking blockbusters. They're tent-poles! These are two of the highest grossing films of the decade. And if you asked me to sit through either of them, it would be an impossibility. No chance. I can't sit through an entire episode of Law & Order without getting up for a walk a few times. Now you want me to sit through 3.5 of them. Get lost with that.

Somehow Funny People, a black comedy that I actually really liked was cut to 146 minutes. The Dark Knight, a film I actually thought deserved a best picture nomination ran 152 minutes. Again, I liked these movies, but see no time in the near future when I will say to myself, "Ya know, I would love to sit on a couch and not move for the next two-and-a-half hours."

My favorite movies over the past several years are Lost in Translation (102 minutes), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (108 minutes), Revolutionary Road (119), Old School (91), and No Country for Old Men (122). You have Academy Award nominees (and a winner). You have timeless films, adored by millions. Only Inglorious Basterds (152) and the Departed (151) are particularly long films, and both of those are crowning achievements by two of the best American filmmakers or my generation.

I never felt weak because I had a short attention span. I never felt different, and I never felt ostracized . . . until now. Since Hollywood has joined with the other side, the Entente de Accomoder, I see no other option but to acknowledge my deficiency. I see no other option but merely to approach films like separate water fountains, only drinking from the one labeled "120 minutes or less," and walk away silently and complacently. I shall not raise my voice in anger, nor will I bemoan my condition. I am different. I know that as the two captains of normalcy pick teams, I will be standing wide-eyed amongst my attention-deficit peers, watching people I thought were my equals happily walking away from us and onto the court and into the theatres to see films that just weren't made for people like me. And in the interest of not offending my newly acknowledged teammates, I shall cut this essay to less than 1000 words. At 999 it will be readable and concise. Unlike Hollywood, I know my audience.

Albums of the Decade

2009-12-17T07:09:00.000-08:00

Matt's top 25 albums of the decade:

Explanation. This is not a list of the most artistic or the best produced albums. It is not a list of albums I think belong in a magazine or some sort of legitimate journalism. This is a list of the 25 records that I feel have changed my life the most. One of my biggest irks, is when people say, "it's not good, but it's entertaining." It allows them to "indulge" in low art while not acknowledging their own true appreciation for it. For me, "entertaining" and "good" are almost congruent. An album is entertaining to me when it is good, and the reverse holds true. These are not, albeit, synonyms, but for the sake of the way I judge cultural artifacts, they are. Old School is not only a very entertaining movie, but it is also a very GOOD movie. If it wasn't good (say like the movie Spawn) then it would be unable to entertaining, and if it wasn't entertaining, (like the three Lord of the Yawns, excuse me, Rings) then it would be unable to be good.

Essentially what I'm saying is this: I do not use what I like to pretend I am someone I am not. These are simply CDs that make me happy. They are good, they are entertaining, many of them came into my life at an incredibly poignant juncture, some came into my life 3 years after they came out, almost all have a connection to a girl, or a summer, or a place I was living, or a concert, or another great moment in the last ten years. That's what this list is to me.

On the first day of this decade, I saw Metallica live at Gund Arena. They were my favorite band, and this was the best day of my life. Since then, I've gone to over 70 concerts. I've bought close to 750 albums. I've graduated high school, college, college again, moved across the country three times, started relationships with people whom I've since forgotten, and probably been forgotten by just as many. Metallica's not on this list, but to that: there's no guarantee that anything here will be on a list in 2019.

I hope to hear from you with comments, arguments, concerns, and approvals. I hope you like this list. I hope this list inspires you to go back and listen to these records, and if you don't know them to give them a chance. I consume an ungodly amount of music in a year. This is the best of the best of the best. I hope you like:

25. The Decemberists, Picaresque (2005) – This album reminds me of two things: 1. the first time I heard the song "The Sporting Life," and 2. It was the last CD I listened to as I pulled into Chicago on I-90 on my way home from Washington, aka, the closing credits of the biggest adventure of my life. It is unlike any other albums on this list, and by far, my favorite Decemberists album. "We Both Go Down Together," is as haunting and beautiful as the first time I heard it and every time I hear "The Sporting Life," I am instantly brought back to Summit Street in Kent, delivering pizzas two months before I graduated.

Favorite Songs: The Infanta, We Both Go Down Together, The Sporting Life, The Mariner's Revenge

24. Band of Horses, Cease to Begin (2007) – I bought this album the day it came out. The next day, I saw the band perform many of the songs live at Amoeba, and already knew all of the words. Band of Horses is very special to me, for their debut album, "Everything All the Time" was the first album purchased in California, bought for me at the now-closed Tower Records on Sunset Strip by Cortney. However, their follow-up album is just a BIT better. The fact that they moved to South Carolina (from Seattle) to record it, gives the album just enough twang to it, and the harmonies, and power chords have the ability to break my heart.

Favorite Songs: Ode to LRC, No One's Gonna Love You. The General Specfic

23. Wilco, A Ghost is Born (2004) – Somehow, my fourth favorite Wilco album is still in my top 25 of the decade. This album, unlike many of the others, is not on here for personal attachment, but just sheer brilliance. Every track is a sonic adventure that takes you from one place to another world. Wow that sounds terrible. Ok, this album is just good. I don't have much to say about it other than when it's songs randomly come on the IPod at the bar I work at, I get mildly aroused.

Favorite Songs: Handshake Drugs, Theologians, Spiders (Kidsmoke), Company in my Back

22. Belle and Sebastian, Dear Catastrophe Waitress (2003) – Makes me think of two things: the movie Juno, and working at Beachwood BBQ. Like Ghost is Born, this album doesn't necessarily resonate with my own personal shit, but means quite a bit to me. Probably because most people prefer Belle and Sebastian's earlier shit, and I just love this one. This is the first of what I'm going to refer to as Sara Albums; albums that invariably lead me to think of an either great or not-so-great time in my life because I shared it with someone with whom life was either great or the polar opposite of great. Sara loved this CD and so there's that. There.

Favorite Songs: Step into My Office, Baby, Dear Catastrophe Waitress, Pizza, New York Catcher, I'm a Cukoo

21. Ryan Adams & The Cardinals, Jacksonville City Nights (2005) – Cortney bought me this CD for Hanukah in 2005. I didn't really know much Ryan Adams, and I don't think she did either. Since the first time I heard the opening guitar lick of A Kiss Before I Go, I was a Ryan Adams fan. This CD LIVED in my Explorer's CD player during the winter of 2005/2006 kicking off one of the best times of my life. It also turned out to be a pretty fun drug album, and even today when I listen to it, I get a little tingle from my much rougher druggy days.

Favorite Songs: A Kiss Before I Go, The End, Peaceful Valley

20. The Fratellis, Costello Music (2007) – Sara album…Ok, here's how I feel about this record: It is what Franz Ferdinand SHOULD sound like. It has the pop sensibilities, the danceable rhythms, and quirky lyrics that Franz was trying to nail, but without any of the artsy bullshit that went with FF. This is just a really fucking fun, funny, great record. One of my all-time favorite lyrics: "She was into the Stones when I was into the Roses, she was breaking my bones when I was bustin' her noses." I never got to see these guys live, but I hope to soon. Great, underrated record, and a big part of last year for me.

Favorite Songs: Henrietta, Flathead, For the Girl

19. Kings of Leon, Youth & Young Manhood (2003) – Wow this is a tough one to write about. Their recent fourth album (which by the way, I think is brilliant) catapulted these guys into superstardom, which would be fine but now, by saying that their first album is my favorite, puts me in danger of being Yeah-but-I-liked-them-before-they-were-popular guy. I'M NOT. I like their new shit too! I just like this one more! Got this album in NYC in 2003, and I couldn't believe it. I instantly called it the Strokes meets the Allmans, and six years later, that still kinda works. Short, catchy pop-songs with southern twang and great lyrics. Despite their efforts to become the Radiohead of southern rock lately, this album remains their best, and reminds me of college, NYC, Entourage, and Megan all at once. Also, another great lyric: "In the morning, all will see, just how crazy young love can be."

Favorite songs: Happy Alone, California Waiting, Holy Roller Novacaine

18. Old 97s, Satellite Rides (2001) – Sara album…I could go two ways with this write up…ummm, it's…great…power-pop…lyrics…ok, fuck it: Sara sent this to me when I first moved to LA. I was alone, I was sad, and I needed a friend. Rhett Miller became my friend. Since she sent this to me, the Old 97s have become one of my five favorite bands, I've seen them three times, and a few of these songs have made it into my favorite of all time. You wanna talk about great lyrics, this is one of the all times: "You can go ahead and get married, and this will be our secret thing/I won't tell a soul except the people in the nightclub where I sing." Whoo…chills. How the fuck did I put this album 18. I just started listening to it, and it should be like 5 or something. Fuck, I fucked up. I just wish there was a way to move it, now that it's already on paper. Alas…"I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't have designs on you…"

Favorite Songs: FUCKING ALL OF THEM, also, Roller Skate Skinny, Bird in a Cage, Question, Designs on You.

17. The Killers, Hot Fuss (2004) – A fucking incredible album from a band I find repugnant and offensive. Makes me think of Washington, which is good. Also makes me think of 17-year-olds on their way to the Hollywood Bowl, which is bad.

Favorite Songs: Somebody Told Me, All These Things That I've Done.

16. White Stripes, White Blood Cells (2002) – First heard Fell In Love With a Girl during the last week of sophomore year of college on MTV with Michel Gondry's now-timeless video. First heard the whole record on the way down to Columbus with Scott and Neff. Bought it two weeks later with Christescu and Olsen. It's just got so much important shit on it that this album had to be on here. In retrospect, it did not age well, but these songs make me think of living in the big red house on college street, and a great time in my life. It belongs here.

Favorite Songs: Hotel Yorba, Fell in Love with a Girl, Same Boy You've Always Known, Offend in Every Way, I Can't Wait

15. Silversun Pickups, Carnavas (2006) – Wow is this an LA album. I first heard them on Indie 103.1, told my friends about them, got the CD from Falk, and never took it out. Start to finish, this album is fucking breathtaking. The first song is an all-time great opening track, Well Thought Out Twinkles is a 1st ballot Hall-of-Famer. As is Lazy Eye. I remember seeing them at the Wiltern with Cortney, and before they came on, when the Wiltern was doing that thing where you can text something to a number and they'll put it on the screen, and someone wrote: "So much for the light show…" and I just got SO fucking amped. This album makes me think of driving to Vegas by myself on a Sunday to see Sara and Jones. It is powerful, a conversation piece, and very important to me. Love it.

Favorite Songs: Well Thought Out Twinkles, Melatonin, Lazy Eye, Little Lover's So Polite, Common Reactor

14. Bon Iver, For Emma, Forever Ago (2007) – Finally, a Katy album! First heard of Bon Iver on the blogosphere, first got into them from Katy. Look, you take an incredibly talented songwriter, put him in a cabin for 5 months, and tell me the album is the result, I'm in. Fortunately, it's FUCKING amazing. The falsettos, the pain in his voice. Just perfect, and heartbreaking. I'm getting the cry-ball writing this. Throw in the surreal, fucking magical day-break show at Hollywood Forever this year, throw in the fact that Katy was wearing a Bon Iver shirt the night I met her, throw in the fact that the day I bought it, I literally had to pull over outside Ameoba because I was getting emotional. This record is one EVERYONE should have. Like, now.

Favorite Songs: Flume, Skinny Love, Stacks, The Wolves

13. Conor Oberst, Conor Oberst (2008) – Since this album came out, it is the most played album on my ITunes. True Story. Every song is just as perfect as the next. This album makes me think of lying outside by my pool getting tan; it makes me think of my first date with Katy. It makes me think of road trips, and the best sober concert I can remember seeing. It's got my favorite lyric on this list, "There's nothing that the road cannot heal." It really is fucking perfect. I've spent the last two years trying to convince everyone I know to listen to this record. Maybe I like it so much because it makes me think of the early stages of my relationship with Katy. Maybe I like it so much because it's about road trips, and Mexico, and love, and pain, and Conor speaks to me. I don't know. But I love it.

Favorite Songs: Cape Canveral, Lender's in the Temple, Moab, I Don't Want to Die

Yeah, I know this is long, bear with me; it's for me, not for you.

12. The Garden State Soundtrack (2004) – I can make a strong argument that this album bridges child Matt to adult Matt. I bought it before I began dating Cortney, but one of our first adventures was a NYE NYC trip that this album played a large part of. The two Shins songs started my love affair with my favorite band of the decade. The Coldplay song is amazing. Nick Drake, the Zero 7 song from the drug scene makes me nostalgic for more druggy days, and of course Iron and Wine's heartbreaking rendition of Such Great Heights, a song that will make another appearance. This album IMMEDIATELY transports me back to December 2004, an incredibly poignant transitory time of my life and captures this time perfectly. Thanks Zack!

Favorite Songs: Such Great Heights, The Only Living Boy in New York, New Slang, One of these Things First

11. Norah Jones, Come Away With Me (2001) – One of the few albums that doesn't have a particular person attached to it. I just loved this CD when I lived on School Street. I would wake up on Sundays before Jon, Fuller, and Neff and go and play darts by myself with this album on. I did this every Sunday for 4 months. I played this CD when I cleaned. I played this CD when I drove. I never really shared it with anyone. Megan didn't really like it, and most of my friends weren't into it. Which was fine. It's a sweet record that won all sorts of Grammy's and still brings me back to a cold, winter Sunday in early 2004 when I hear it.

Favorite Songs: Don't Know Why, Feelin' the Same Way, Turn Me On.

10. The Jayhawks, Rainy Day Music (2003) – If this CD wasn't given to me by Cortney three years after it's release, I might put in number one. This CD has defined my life over the second half of the decade. Each of my girlfriends is connected to a certain song on this. In fact, when I first started going out with Katy, and she put on Tampa to Tulsa on my Ipod, I all but had a fucking heart attack in the middle of Venice. I understand that Mark Olson isn't on this, but for a late-arriving Jayhawks fan, I can't imagine a more emotion-filled, poppy, twangy, beautiful collection of songs with so much personal connection and so many full plays. Oh my god, I just started it over, and it didn't transport me back to a certain moment, but completely encapsulates everything that's happened to me over the past five years. I've always been going through a Rainy Day Music phase. This album is perfect.

Favorite Songs: Tailspin, All the Right Reasons, Angelyne, Tampa to Tulsa

9. The Postal Service, Give Up (2003) – I can make a strong argument that along with the Strokes's Is This It, this is one of the most influential albums of the decade. Do me a favor and if you own this, put it in right now. Tell me those first few chords aren't harbingers of things to come. In addition to being an incredible collection of music, Ben Gibbard's lyrics and voice make this record unforgettable. Throw in the fact the Such Great Heights is arguably my favorite single song of the decade, and that I believe it to be the best love song ever written, and this album becomes a hall-of-famer. There's random Kennedy Assassination references, haunting instrumentation, and the fact it was written via FUCKING SNAIL MAIL. I give this a 21/10.

Favorite Songs: The Disctrict Sleeps Alone, Such Great Heights, We Will Become Sillouhettes.

8. The Flaming Lips, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (2002) – Wow is this cd good? What a great, dynamic, timeless piece of music. I really don't know what else to say about this record. I'll say this, every single song means something to me, I can argue that the title track (part 1) is the best song I've ever seen played live, and I can say for sure that almost every time I've ever heard the song "Do You Realize", I've been, at least close to tears. Reminds me of college, reminds me of NYC, reminds me of the concert I saw two days before I moved to LA. I don't know what else to say.

Favorite Songs: Fight Test, YBtPR part 1, Are You a Hypnotist, Do You Realize

7. Vampire Weekend, Vampire Weekend (2008) – I bought this CD the day it came out, gave it to everyone I knew, and before long, they were the hottest band in the US. This CD completely captured the moment it was in. Perfectly. In early 2008, THIS was music. Think of it like this, you know when you hear a record from, say, 9th grade, and you think about your 9th grade hair, and your friends, and the girl you had a crush on??? Well, when I hear this album, it takes me back to early 2008, and what I associate with that moment, isn't my friends, or job, or hair – it's just Vampire Weekend. When I went to go try to scalp tickets outside the El Rey in April, they were selling the 14-dollar face value tickets for 250 dollars. And people were buying. When I saw them six months later, I was genuinely concerned that their music was over. That their music was so perfect for that moment, that six months later, it would already be nostalgic. It wasn't. This CD has survived the limited test of time, and remains the best rock CD of the last five years. Still, when I hear the first few notes of "Mansfard Roof", it's hard not to think about a moment twenty months ago, when this album was my soundtrack.

Favorite Songs: Oxford Comma, Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa, M79, Walcott

Note, we've moved into the absolutely heart-wrenching, most important things, absolutely ruled my world section of the countdown. Enjoy

6. Jack Johnson, In Between Dreams (2005) – I bought this CD 3 days before it came out. Don't ask. I put on "Better Together" on the ride back home. It was my favorite song ever. I took the CD upstairs and heard "Never Know," and now that was my favorite song ever. They're all my favorites. From the moment this cd came out, until the time I moved to WA, I must have listened to it 200 times. Seriously. The night Cortney moved to Washington, we drove out to Shmutzville at 4 AM to have breakfast with a friend and listened to this CD the whole time. I listened to it constantly while delivering pizzas, I listened to it twice on the way out to Washington. It made me cry then, it makes me cry today. The cover is awesome. The videos are awesome. The concert is awesome. When Erik had his first dance with Emily at this wedding to "Better Together," I became mildly irked because this was MY SONG! Eventually I got over it under the law that I can't own songs that Jack Johnson wrote, and also with the knowledge that the day I drove down Main street in my Exploder, 3 days before this CD even came out, that it WAS my song, and I'll always have that.

Favorite Songs: Every fucking one of them.

5. Death Cab for Cutie, Plans (2005) – Wow, what a CD. I bought this on a Saturday at Record Revolution on Coventry. I had to work at 4. I had already heard "Soul Meets Body" on the radio, but I didn't know what I was in for: a start-to-finish emotional gouging. Gibbards lyrics are killer. Every note hits so hard that I forget that this CD had come out 6 months before I bought it. Plus it reminds me of my favorite time of my life, the winter/spring/summer of 2006. Throw all of this together with my second favorite love song of all time, the Shinsy, harrowing, "I will follow you into the dark," as well as my pretty keen ability to play it on guitar and sing it, and you have the album that best defines my post-college Cleveland life. And you will hear ten million songs before you hear a lyric as poetically heartbreaking as "If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, then I'll follow you into the dark."

Favorite Songs: Marching Bands of Manhattan, I Will Follow You Into the Dark, Your Heart is an Empty Room, What Sarah Said, Crooked Teeth

4. The Strokes, Room on Fire (2003) – Most people think I'm retarded when I say that I think Room on Fire is better than their more-acclaimed record, Is This It. However, despite a never-ending string of jeers and assaults on my taste, I am here to inform you, that I am 100% confident in this. So much so, that, not only did I rank Room on Fire above Is This It, I left the latter (or the former chronologically) off the list entirely. Room on Fire, to me, at least, is…well; I'll just say it, the best drug album of my life. It represents the happiest times of my life (as well as the most miserable come-downs), it spans very important moments in three very important romantic relationships, and quite simply, while the highs are equal on both records, this one has no lows. From the opening guitar track, through the first single, "12:51," all the way through the end, this record takes NY punk sensibilities, adds incredible flair for pop melodies, and Julian's filtered voice takes it to new levels. Lyrically, it's impeccable, "Failing can be quite a breeze he told me that these girls are easy." Temporally it IS early 2000s rock, and I'm sorry if I just think it's a tighter album than its predecessor.

Favorite Songs: What Ever Happened, 12:51, The End has No End, Automatic Stop.

OK boys and girls…or after 4000 words, more likely, boy and girl…we've reached the top three. I stop here to acknowledge that from this point forward, the albums are essentially interchangeable. I know that these are my three favorite albums of the decade, but I'm not sure the order. At different moments of the decade, they have all been my favorites. So for the sake of this list, I will rank them by how much they meant to me for the longest amount of time; that is which of these were my favorites for longer, and also, how will I view these albums in 2019, when I do the next list. I think I've got it. I think.

3. Wilco, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2000) – Here's what this album has going against it: I did not fall in love with this album until Cortney played me Jesus Etc. five years ago. Here's what it has going for it: It is arguably the greatest piece of music produced since 1970 (read: Let It Be). Every single song is so expertly and finely crafted that it's hard to pick this album apart and critique it in any way. The band wrote the songs with regular instruments, and then broke them down and deconstructed them to sound so new and different, that their record label dropped them AFTER they handed it in, forcing the band to release the record for free on the internet. The subsequent documentary, I am Trying to Break Your Heart, chronicles the band through the song-writing which saw band member Jay Bennet exit the group, and through the final days with the record company, and might be the best music documentary I've ever seen. This album is scary, it is emotional, it is pretty and sweet, and hard, and haunting, and dream-like. It is genre-bending, yet poppy. It is complex and layered, yet at times; it is as simple as any Beatles song. The lyrics—"I know I would die if I could come back new," "You were right about the stars; each one is a setting sun," "Distance has no way of making love understandable,"—are brilliant and heartbreaking, and every chord change has meant something to me since this record entered my life. Of all of these records, it is the one that will end up on most people's "top 10" lists, which might hurt it with me, but that shouldn't matter. I love this CD.

Favorite Tracks: I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, Radio Cure,Jesus Etc., Ashes of American Flags, Heavy Metal Drummer, Poor Places.

The Shins, Chutes Too Narrow (2003) – Like my selection of Room on Fire, critics may argue that the Shins first album, Oh Inverted World, or even their third, "Wincing the Night Away," are better records. Nope. They're not. I bought this CD in Washington in 2005. I listened on the way from my house to the Seattle Airport to pick up my parents that night. It is everything I ever wanted from a pop record. It is melodic, it is whimsical, there are incredibly serious moments such as the mildly-depressing "Pink Bullets," in which James Mercer sings "two loose kites falling from the sky, drawn to the ground and an end to flight." [weep] In early 2006, after I got my tax return back and scored relatively high on the GRE, I took the CD to the local Cleveland Guitar Center, played the song "Young Pilgrims," and asked the clerk to help me find a guitar that sounds like that. My Ovation Celebrity Deluxe that I bought joined my clothes, my computer, and my golf clubs as the only things that traveled across the country to LA with me. The production on the CD is bright and cheery; the pacing is perfect going seamlessly from fast-tempo pop songs to sobering ballads without one noticing because of the brilliant guitar sounds and Mercer's ability to make melodies that, quite frankly, I don't think I've ever heard before. Since this CD came into my life, it has been the standard bearer for every CD I've bought., and because I got into this before everyone I know other than Zack Braff, I've always felt a special personal connection to it. It is my baby.

Favorite Songs: Kissing the Lipless, Young Pilgrims, Saint Simon, Pink Bullets, Gone For Good

1. Red Hot Chili Peppers, By The Way (2002) – I remember the day I bought this CD; I was going to see Weezer that night. It was a month before I moved into my first house. I didn't know Megan, or Cortney, or Sara, or Katy. It was summer 2002, my life was starting to round into the shape that it is now. I was in love with California, and had every intention of dropping out of school, moving to LA, and being a rockstar. And then this record came into my life. I felt like every song was written for me. I felt like this must be what it was like for my parents hearing Stairway to Heaven for the first time. From the first chord to the last, I was captivated. I have said this before, and I will say it again, this is the closest thing we've had to a Beatles album in 40 years. The melodies are perfect. The instrumentation is unparalleled. The production is the best thing Rick Rubin's ever done. John Fruiscante's guitar sound changed my life on this record. It sounded like he was playing piano on guitar. His voice, which I have described as "tortured falsetto" on tracks like "Dosed," "I Could Die for You," and "Tear" has broken my heart a thousand times by now. And well it may seem easy now, especially since my girlfriend lives a mile from the Venice Pier, to be 20 years old in Cleveland, Ohio and put in a CD and instantly be taken to California was somewhat of a miracle. It was magic. Winters melted when I put this in. Grey skies turned to sepia tones of ocean, busy streets, music, and love. On the album's centerpiece, "Tear," Anthony's lyric "California sky's got room to spare, this is my time…" became my mantra. That was what I wanted then, 4 years before I ever knew where Melrose, or The Wiltern, or Runyon Canyon was, this was going to be my time. This was going to be my home. Now, at age 27, at the end of what will surely be the most formative decade of my life, I'm here. This is home. I have an apartment in the Hollywood Hills, I have a job ten blocks from the Pacific Ocean, I have a girlfriend in Venice, a car parked on Hollywood Blvd, and next week, the last week of the decade, I'm climbing a mountain into that same California sky with room to spare. This is my time.

Favorite Songs: Universally Speaking, Dosed, Can't Stop, I Could Die For You, Cabron, Tear, Venice Queen.

Sports Labor

2009-10-29T10:22:00.001-07:00

One of the four billion things that confuses me about sports fans in this country is why people get so upset with "millionaire athletes" and how "overpaid" athletes in this country are. They get terribly upset about the "greed" of athletes striking or holding out and yet they rarely, if ever, criticize the equally, if not more, greedy owners. It's weird to me that organized labor in this country's history was looked upon so rosily as recent as a generation ago except the great-grandchildren of the generation that died, literally DIED, for your right to get a lunch break, get a decent wage, and not have to shit yourself is looked at so negatively as athlete's salaries rise.

Consider this: while most of the people reading MY blog know about Curt Flood and what he represents, many still don't. Curt Flood was a baseball player for the St. Louis Cardinals in the 1970s. This was a time when something called the Reserve Clause essentially indentured athletes to their owners. There was no such thing as free agency. An athlete could either sign with the team that owned him, or not play at all (which is what Dodgers Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale tried in the early 1960s). This gave the owners (historically remembered as one of the worst collective groups of greedy, racist, conglomerates of the twentieth century) absolute power over their employees. After Flood refused a trade in which he did not approve of, with the help of frontier attorney Marvin Miller, Flood changed the landscape of professional sports forever, at the same time ending his career and ruining his public image for years. Today, Flood is remembered as an ahead-of-his-time soldier who sacrificed his career for the rights of those to follow.

However, after Flood, two things happened simultaneously, and somewhat symbiotically: athletes' salaries exponentially climbed to retarded levels and sports in this country went past mainstream and became a multi-trillion dollar a year business. No one, and this is a goddamned fact, no one has profited more in the last twenty years than the owners and CEOs. To illustrate this, at this current moment, it would be easy to argue that Lebron is the most visible athlete in the country. He produces movies, he stars in the league, he does endorsements for every market, and his own brand may be one of the more recognizable on the planet. It's easy to understand the millions of fans who would be off-put by seeing this kind of heavy-hitter as a part of a union that next year is threatening to strike over a new CBA. It is really hard to pay 140 dollars for shoes, 250 dollars for a ticket, and then see the guy jockeying for more by denying the fans the right to see him. I understand that, but understand this: Lebron's net worth is somewhere near 200 million dollars. A lot, but the owner of the Cavs, the guy that cuts Lebron his paycheck, Dan Gilbert is estimated to be worth near 500 million dollars. And then this: Phil Knight, the co-owner of Nike who also cuts Lebron a sizable check, is worth about 9.8 BILLION and is Forbes' 30th richest man in the country. (still 10 billion behind Blazers owner Paul Allen)

So my point is that while it's easy to target greedy athletes during labor struggles, how come no one points to the greedy owners (even though history tells us that in retrospect, we will). This trend works best in football where many fans consider football the best sport because of the incredibly rigid salary cap which supposedly creates an even playing field and the much desired "parity" of play. In football, contracts are NOT guaranteed which means that if a player shows up out of shape or ages quicker than expected, he can be cut and replaced with a much cheaper option. On paper, this looks great for the fans. And at first glance, it is; I mean, we're the ones shelling out retarded ticket prices and laboring through countless commercial breaks to pay these players, they SHOULD show up. The common fan thinks "If I showed up to work unable to do my job, I would certainly get fired." However, they're ignoring two things:

1. Their job doesn't consist of getting the ever-loving shit kicked out of you for 7 months a year leading to post-football health problems, risking serious, VERY serious injury on a day-to-day basis, and the lack of any decent pension programs for the thousands of ex-players who now have to work manual labor because of their lack of education, injuries, or other circumstances.

2. When an owner cuts a high-priced player for a lower-priced option, USUALLY, and I know this isn't always the case, but usually, the higher-priced option was a better player that simply cost too much, and do you think that money saved is used to cut ticket prices or show less commercials? Of course not, that money is funneled back into the league's revenue sharing program and spent on horseshit promotions or short-term investments that benefit all thirty-two of the league's owners.

And furthermore, football is NOT the league with parity. Look at the current season: right now there are SIX teams with winning %s less than .200. Baseball has three teams under .400!!!!! How can you call that parity? There is the belief that the salary cap is what is responsible for the "any given Sunday" phenomenon; the belief that on any given Sunday any team can win, although that is less true in football than ANY OTHER PROFFESSIONAL OR AMATEUR SPORT. Rigid salary caps don't promote parity, or hard work, they put more money in the hands of the league and the owners, and are in DIRECT contrast with the ideals of the US labor movement.

Which brings me back to my original point: why are we taught in history class the triumphs of Samuel Gompers and John L. Lewis, but not Curt Flood? Why do we watch films like The Inheritance in schools, a film that teaches us that it is our inheritance from our parents and grandparents that we have workers' rights, and fair pay BECAUSE they fought, and FUCKING DIED, for us, but we view players strikes as examples of greedy players wanting more? No, I am not comparing the plight of those stuck in Sinclair's Jungle with Latrell Sprewell, and I don't think that their working conditions are terrible. What I am saying is that workers, even if those workers are paid large sums of money in either guaranteed or non-guaranteed contracts have the right to unite and fight just like those before them. And I just think that it's weird that we view the owners in such sympathetic light despite their greed, exploitation, and drive to make the sports more profitable (see: the NFL) at any cost.

Tonight's the Night

2009-10-27T16:02:00.001-07:00

I write four types of blog entries. Cultural criticism, which is my desired career path, and the reason I even have this thing; ranting and raving, which is only applicable when my girlfriend is tired of hearing me complain about white people and Santa Monica (usually both), intellectual sports analysis, which is what I call it, not you; and highly personal, empirical musings on the plight of being a sports fan in Cleveland which are directed towards and usually understood by two people who happen to share a set of grandparents.

Today, you get the latter.

The 49ers won Super Bowl XVI a week before I was born. The NBA season had begun 4 months earlier. So, since the day I was born, 26 NBA seasons have begun, 26 football seasons began, but three were absent of the Browns, and 27 MLB seasons started, but only 25 finished (one will conclude next week, the other was 1994 and….well…I think the Expos won it all). So, 77 Cleveland sports seasons have begun, and 77 sports seasons have ended. Three times, we were one step away. Seven ended two steps away. In a few minutes, season number 78 begins.

Tonight, I have nothing to say except for this: I believe—remember I am as pessimistic and indoctrinated with the pain of the last 27 years to know—that it ends here. Tonight, the Cavs embark on the season that will end this joke. In eight months, amongst spring time, and the heat of a congressional election, while the Tribe will be floundering in June, and training camp will have not yet begun in Berea, we will look back on October 27th and remember a more innocent time when we were STILL the butt of the joke, STILL the answer to the trivia question; a time in which we were a sports montage artists wet dream, when the question about Lebron leaving was more important than erasing the misery, pain, and failures of 45 years (and MOTHER FUCKING COUNTING); and you will think about reading this and thinking I was insane. You will think about the time, 9 8 months ago, when you read crazy Matt Glassman's wild-eyed prediction that seemed to contradict EVERY SINGLE analyst on Earth, and thought to yourself "What an idiot," but then you felt warm because at least someone, with at least some sort of a semblance of sanity, KNEW that this would happen.

Tonight will not be like April 1996, when the addition of Julio Franco was not enough to overcome the eventual World Champion Yankees on opening day following a WS defeat the year before. Tonight will not be like September 2003 when Kelly Holcomb, Willie Green, and Mush Davis made us quickly forget that Pittsburgh game. Tonight will be the start of a NEW story. Tonight will be the first clips on that video we get when we all subscribe to Sports Illustrated in 9 months. Tonight will give us hope, tonight will give us a reason to tune in tomorrow, and tonight will be the start in the greatest sports season in Cleveland since my father was 10 years old.

Tonight we're gonna take no prisoners/tonight we're gonna live a dream/tonight the Wine and Gold delivers/hard workin' town hard workin' team.

Whooooo

Tonight the hardwoods burnin' and the cavs will keep on workin, get behind the wine and gold, with all your might.

Cavs.

Cavs Basketball tonight's the night

Whoooooaoaaa

Cav's basketball tonight's the night.

The Case Against the Lakers

2009-10-20T09:04:00.000-07:00

The Case Against the Lakers

OK, I admit 100% this is hopeless rationalizing, and that if none of this comes true I will look like a complete idiot, but this is just a very early point of view that I think has to be taken.

The Lakers last year were MOST LIKELY the NBA's best team. How they would have fared on the road against Cleveland is up for debate because of Cleveland's 3rd round departure, but given their win in early February in Cleveland, one can assume they would have won. But things have changed.

The most obvious difference is the sort-of trade that brought Ron Artest to town for Trevor Ariza. While, on paper, this trade appears very good for the Lakers consider this. The Lakers are at their best with Kobe creating for himself, and finding open teammates. Other than point guard Derek Fisher and Bryant, the ball rarely touches the ground for the Lakers. The Lakers have been very quick to adapt to the "slash and kick" idea of basketball. Ariza was PERFECT for this style of play. His contract/ego didn't demand a lot of touches, his athleticism got him open all over the court, and—especially in the playoffs—he knocked down open threes.

Has anyone watched Ron Artest over the last four years? He pounds the ball into the floor, he forces horrible shots, and late in games he has the tendency to think he's a star. I know he's never played for Kobe and Phil before, and I do expect some early adjustments, but what about later in the year? What if there's a losing streak, or worse, what if Kobe gets hurt for a week and Artest IS a primary offensive weapon?

And then there's defense. Artest has survived for QUITE a long while on his defensive reputation. He's always been considered one of the best defensive players in the league. And while he remains one of the most PHYSICAL defenders in the league, he wasn't even the best defender at his position on his TEAM last season. Did Michael Lewis write his incredible, league-shaking piece on Artest's merits last year? No, that was teammate Shane Battier. Ariza on the other hand, is an athletic, defensive oriented kid. Sure, he gives up some pounds to bigger perimeter guys like LeBron or Pierced, but Kobe has seemed to take that burden on in recent years.

The point I'm making is that while on paper Artest is an improvement, off-the-court issues aside, I think that Ariza is a MUCH better fit to play 4th banana on a team that just won a ring. And I think that would be hard to argue against.

Then there's the obvious post-ring let down. Last year everyone had something to prove. Kobe (obviously), Phil, Lamar, Fisher…everyone. After 2008's loss to Boston, after Shaq's 2005 ring, these guys needed to prove they had what it took to take a team from the lottery to the Larry O'Brien. And they did it. Wire to wire. This year, there's less of that. There ARE storylines. Kobe vs Shaq, Kobe vs Lebron, Phil vs Red, Lakers vs Celtics…but these aren't necessarily the most compelling "no one believes in us" storylines. They got their ring. I'm not saying they won't go all out, but I am saying that when push comes to shove in June, they may have a LITTLE less shove in them, and I'd be interested to see, in today's incredibly high-level NBA, if that makes a difference.

And the big thing: Kobe. 1200 games? Are you kidding? Look, I know he's young. But the guy has gone through a LOT in his life. More than Michael. He's played a lot of games, and he's played the last three years in "fuck you" mode more than anything. He had a lot to prove, and to me, he proved it. He led the Lakers, without Shaq, to a ring. Fuck you mode is OVER. The first 2/3 of his career is OVER. And if you ask me, Kobe as an unstoppable force for 100 games is OVER. There will be moments, there will be stretches, but last year Lebron passed him. This year Wade passes him and MAYBE Durant passes him. Kobe is the same age Michael was when he returned from baseball to win three rings. But remember, the late 90s NBA was arguably, along with the late 70s, the worst era in history. The Iverson, Pierce, Kobe class was too young, the Ewing, Malone, Drexler class was old. The game was in transition from the Lakers/Celtics 80s to the bullshit individual 90s. Jordan's biggest hurdles were an aging Malone and Stockton, an aging Ewing, and a not-nearly-as-good-as-today's-stars Reggie Miller. Not to mention, Jordan was about 275 games short of Kobe at this age. Kobe is on the wrong side of this hill.

Look, I'm not saying he's not a star. I'm not even saying he's not the second-best player in the NBA (though I may be saying that in about three months), I'm saying he's not going to single-handedly carry anyone to a ring while not in crazy-ass Fuck you mode. I think short of a new rape case, a Shaq/Lebron collaborative rap about Kobe's diminishing skills, or another crazy event that turns him into the Incredible Hulk, Kobe is about to be passed. Toss into this an aging Fisher, a crazy off-season for a troubled player in Lamar Odom, an increasingly less interested Phil, and a not-quite-as-good-as-we-thought-they'd-be corps of youth (Farmar, Bynum) and the replacing of Ariza with Artest, the Lakers are OLD. Not Celtics old, but old. This stuff matters when you go up against Wade, Durant, Roy, Paul, Melo, Lebron, Howard, and Rose.

The changing of the guard has been READY to happen for two years. Only the Garnett trade and the Gasol trade have delayed the passing of the torch from the draft of '96 to the draft of '04. I think it happens this year. I don't know who wins, but I don't think it will be the Lakers.

Smoke up Johnny

2009-10-19T15:12:00.001-07:00

Smoking in Bars

I've never been a smoker. I mean, I've smoked, and for a regrettable 9 days in the spring of 2006, I tried to become a smoker; but for the most part, I think I've probably bought 11 packs of cigarettes in my life. In addition to this, I'm not a drinker. This may come as a surprise given my profession (bartender), or my roommate (Olsen), but I probably have no more than three drinks a week. I think being drunk sucks, and the alcohol that I like to consume is too damn expensive in this town. All of this being said, I think one of the greatest travesties in this country over the last decade has been the vilification and criminalization of smokers in bars and restaurants.

Last weekend, I watched Chasing Amy, which, given its place amongst mid-90s icons, holds up today. The movie made me nostalgic for many things—clothes, language, New York—but more than any of these things, the movie made me nostalgic for a time when smoking in public was not such a stigma. It made me nostalgic for sitting at a bar with people my age, talking about things people my age talk about, and going through half a pack of cigarettes throughout the night. (How I became nostalgic for an activity that I have no memory of ever participating in, I don't know).

Unfortunately, my generation grew up in the Nancy Reagan, "Just say no," drugs are bad but booze is good, "smoking kills" horseshit era. They lambasted us with classes in school and lessons at home with how bad smoking is. They ran commercials on TV reminding us of the dangers of cigarette smoke. Ironically these commercials ran in between commercials for fast food and inane busy-time tv that corrupted my generation into believing that the couch was more valuable than the front door. Wait, you mean sucking down tar-filled smoke into our lungs isn't good for us? You're shitting me?!?!? Oh shit!!!

[assholes]

But the worst thing they did was make smoking—the act of smoking as opposed to the act of consuming nicotine—a bad thing. I remember growing up and looking down on smokers. I remember learning that my grandparents had been smokers in an earlier era and thinking of this as some sort of incurable character flaw. Something was wrong with them, so surely, someone that chooses to smoke today is bad. And I'm not the only person that was indoctrinated with this garbage. We all were.

Smash cut to twenty years later when we, of legal drinking age, head to a bar to consume alcohol, eat garbage, and do everything possible to end the night in a stranger's bed. All of these things are not only acceptable in society, but encouraged. These are the noble things that our generation does. But if you want to have a cigarette, you have to go outside. FUCK YOU, and I don't even smoke!

It all started here, in Los Angeles: a city where people feign a health-conscious, environmental lifestyle for all the wrong reasons. People drive Range-Rovers on their way to pick up low-energy light bulbs. They buy crates of organic fruits and vegetables despite the devastation of land that these farms exploit. They pretend to care about world issues despite shopping for clothes made by 8 year olds in Bangladesh. And they spend RETARDED amounts of money on staying healthy. Recently it was brought to my attention that certain gyms in this city cost up to 120 dollars a MONTH to join. Obviously this unreasonable fee is for those SoCalites who need EVERY angle possible to feel better about themselves including pretending that their treadmill is better than the one down the street. Hey retards, guess what, everyone is laughing at you.

It is these people who convinced lawmakers that banning smoking around food would be a good idea. "Yeah, how am I supposed to shove my 8 oz. bacon cheeseburger down my throat while my lungs are being poisoned by second-hand smoke." Meanwhile, they stripped the rights of millions upon millions of people that have been smoking since the dawn of FUCKING time. And while I sit here and try to point out the obvious contradictions in these retards' arguments, I offer you this argument:

Bars are not supposed to be health clubs. Bars are where subversive things happen. And there are bars for EVERYONE. If you are a health-conscious, not-that-fun person, I'm sure there are plenty of bars for you. But for the rest of us, those of us who's idea of a bar is a dark, smoky, subversive place romanticized in every genre of film and literature from the Old West Saloon, to Marlowe's Hollywood, through Woodie Allen's Manhattan, we need certain things, like scotch, sexy women, and cigarettes. Bars are not for children. They are not for people paying 120 a month for a gym. Bars are places to meet girls, places to get in arguments over politics, history, music, and sport. Bars are places to see bands, consume poisons that we have cleverly renamed "liquor," and inhale large clouds of first-hand, second-hand, and if you're there long enough, third-hand smoke.

It is unfortunate that we have been indoctrinated by the same assholes who give us BULLSHIT like American Idol, Budweiser, and Jay Leno, to believe that not only are cigarettes bad, but so are smokers. And please believe me I sympathize with those of you who feel as though bars are better places without smoke, but after growing up in a bar and working in one my whole life, I can assure you that there are not as many of you as you think. You are a very small and meaningless minority who do not come in enough, do not drink enough, and do not understand exactly what it is a bar is there for. Next time you roll into a bar six-deep at 11:15 PM and you walk past that group of 15 people huddled outside around an ashtray, remember that they've been there since before the band came on, they are drinking more than just a round of Bud Lights, and contrary to you, they don't give a FUCK what you do at a bar.

And if you happen to be in Santa Monica, the town that my bar is located in, you won't see this group of people; for in Santa Monica, smoking is all but illegal outside of your own home. So to those of you who think that you have made the world a better place, remember that taking away someone's right to smoke is the same thing as taking away their right to have an abortion. If you want a smoke-free environment, go back to your overpriced gym and please leave those of us who are nostalgic for a time that they can't even remember alone with our booze and our smoke. Thank you.

The Big Blue Bus

2009-10-19T10:11:00.000-07:00

If you've ever used public transportation west of Sepulveda, you've probably been on the Santa Monica "Big Blue Bus." The Big Blue Bus services all of Santa Monica, much of Venice, West LA, and UCLA in Westwood. It is often considered one of the best metro bus lines in the western United States. And I am here to question its anthropological context.

Santa Monica is a really weird place. It is one of the few independent cities in Los Angeles along with Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. Santa Monica is essentially a city that thrives with the tourism industry. The city is much bigger then most cities with only 90,000 people and that is because on a given day, the population will be well over 100,000 due to the massive amounts of tourists walking around. For this reason, the western section of town (west of Lincoln) is dominated by over-priced restaurants and boutiques. The other dense business area is about three miles east near the intersection of the San Diego Freeway and the Santa Monica freeway. Both highways offer nice locations for many company's offices and people from all over the city come each day from about 8-6 to add to the population.

In between the 405 and the beach, however, about 85,000 people make their homes. There are scattered businesses serving these people along Wilshire Blvd, and this stretch of suburbia is by NO MEANS desolate. In fact, this area is essentially the true Santa Monica in that it serves those who LIVE in the area, as opposed to those who are visiting. But these homes are still "near" the beach. Housing prices and rental costs are still exorbitantly high thanks to one of the most famous beaches on Earth being a short bike ride away. So, like most beach towns, Santa Monica is strictly bourgeoisie, although unlike most beach towns, Santa Monica is big, and a real, self-sustaining city. This fact requires that public transportation, something that is rarely seen in small beach towns, be efficient. This is where the Big Blue Bus comes in.

The Big Blue Bus acts as the mass transit system for people paying at least 900 dollars a month for an apartment. See, in our culture, The Bus (notice the caps) represents something that is not present here. The Bus is perhaps the most iconic symbol of the working class. Especially in a city like Los Angeles, where the Bentleys and Beamers seem to outnumber the pedestrians, a bus stop is chock full of symbolic associations of the proletariat. Bus stops all over the country, and especially in LA, are homes to the brown and black people that are cleaning the homes, washing the dishes, and building the 3 million dollar homes of the people driving by in their 75,000 dollar range rovers. Metro bus systems aren't an exercise in environmentalism—a tool to lessen our footprint—they are a tool to get to work for those without cars. Metro bus lines across the country are filled with working-class people on their ways from working-class neighborhoods to places like Santa Monica. The Bus (still in caps) is how burgers get flipped, hotel rooms get cleaned, and Hummers get waxed.

But Santa Monica is a town without a working class. That is not to say there are not workers, there are plenty of people who go to work every day. But these people tend to be white people working white collar jobs—people who in New York or Chicago would be using trains to get around, but thanks to LA's sprawl, aren’t offered this opportunity. Full disclosure here, my girlfriend works in Santa Monica, and often takes the Big Blue Bus—she, like many residents, work as hard as any busboy or caddy, but is not a member of the working class. We are middle-class through and through. And here is the problem. Middle class people in other cities don't take busses. But here, they need to. But just because they need the bus (no caps), doesn't mean they want to ride The Bus (caps). So the Big Blue Bus offers an alternative.

By renaming the bus line to invoke images of a cartoon, the Big Blue Bus has taken steps to remove the proletariat stigma that The Bus invokes. Beyond the name, by cutting off service at UCLA, the Big Blue Bus services exactly ZERO working-class neighborhoods hence, it allows citizens of one of the richest cities in the country, and students at on of the most prestigious universities on the West Coast to happily get from point A to point B without waiting at a bus stop with the black and brown people that are synonymous with our idea of a bus stop.

Furthermore, instead of marketing to what the bus actually does (take people around), the Big Blue Bus markets itself as a green alternative to driving. And while this fact is 100% true, it still doesn't compensate for the fact the Big Blue Bus still is a Bus, and its meaning isn't a green alternative to driving, but in reality, it is a way for people to get to and from work. But by limiting the range, using the "green" façade as marketing tool, and of course removing the symbolic associations of calling it The Bus, and instead creating its own symbolic association that seems to attempt to place it amongst a Richard Scary fantasy town, the Big Blue Bus has removed any misconceptions that the riders on this bus are anything like the thousands of riders on busses across the country.

I can't decide whether this strategy is an incredibly insensitive exploitation of the citizens of Santa Monica, or an absolutely brilliant marketing tool. I will say this, Santa Monica, despite having only 90,000 residents, somehow supports five Whole Foods. Whole Foods is not just expensive, but overpriced, exploitive, and just unnecessary, yet somehow five big "grocery" stores are supported in this town. This phenomenon—that of "organic" being such a powerful marketing tool—is most likely akin to the Big Blue Bus. Perhaps if the Ralph's or Vons in LA were renamed "Green Organic Markets" they would cease to service working class people hence making them more appealing to middle classers. I really don't know what all this means, but I think I don't like it.

Why the NFL SUCKS, part II

2009-10-15T13:26:00.000-07:00

Because of the idiots that support the league:

First off—let me get this out of the way: No, I do not think that just because you watch the NFL that you are an anti-intellectual, racist, idiot. I am merely pointing out the connections between the two, and obviously would be equally as ignorant if I tried to pain the entire fan base of one of the most popular things in this country as red-state idiots.

THAT BEING SAID…..

I have held that this statement is true: "Not all Republicans are racists, but pretty much all racists are Republicans." It would be really hard to argue that, even a republican. And PLEASE spare me with the radical left-wing bullshit—it's a fact that 99% of all modern-day, redneck racists, with confederate sympathies vote fucking republican. OK.

Now, what does this have to do with the fan base (and hence production) of NFL football? I am arguing that while not all NFL fans are antiquated, meathead, anti-intellectuals, I am pretty sure that most meathead, masculine, idiots, are big fans of the National Football League.

It's like this: In the last fifteen years, congruently with the explosion of anti-intellectual reality TV such as American Idol, as well as the two elections that somehow put someone who didn’t know how to read into the highest office in the land, Mass culture has found a pigeonhole in exploiting and manipulating the lowest common denominator of the American population. Network TV, national radio, the two Bush campaigns; these are examples of using very simple and anti-complex themes to appeal to the retards that make up this country. All of these ventures have been VERY successful.

The NFL, a league that has been on the cusp of being the most popular sport in this country for four decades, finally took on this method in the last fifteen years and the league, and especially the fans of the league, have come to resemble the same slack-jawed rednecks that voted for Bush or make shows like Idol the most important things on Earth.

I DO believe that the NFL is something that could be discussed on a VERY intellectual level, and can come to represent very significant moments in American culture. But for the reasons mentioned above, the league has instead chose to appeal to those most easily entertained. We get absolutely TERRIBLE announcers, day in and day out, in order to not confound the viewer with facts or opinions that might stimulate brain activity. We are exposed to countless hours of ridiculous and mundane "commentary" on ESPN, the NFL Network, and tens of other outlets whose main goal is not to advance thought about the sport, but instead to regurgitate the same facts over and over, as if it was a common case of Herpes. And then the league is marketed to the base of the American population as a national holiday. The Brett Favre story became so iconic for this phenomenon that The Onion ran a headline last week: ESPN completely misses Brett Favre/Packers story.

Yes, it's kind of funny, but it's also commentary on how simple the league's main audience has become. I listen to these sports commentators who tell the same stories, regurgitate the same information, and NEVER offer an independent original thought lest offend the gigantic fan base that comes to pray to the altar of idiocy each Sunday.

My two favorite example of this is the NFL draft.

The Draft is silly because it is one of the biggest crap-shoots on Earth. Each year, GMs take turns throwing darts at a draft board and selecting guys that have exactly a 50/50 shot of becoming players. Yet SOMEHOW, we watch this draft as if there is any formula or skill involved and give guys like Mel Kiper Jr. the respect not only to watch him, but to establish value in the market. This past year, Kiper (and about every other person who had ever watched football in their lives) had Texas Tech's Michael Crabtree rated as the number one receiver. But when archaic Raiders owner Al Davis selected Maryland's Darius Heyward-Bey over Crabtree, Crabtree actually used Kiper and others' opinions as contract leverage against the team that drafted him. Needless to say, the contract is not signed, and it's now week 6.

Four years ago, someone (probably Kiper) determined that Vanderbilt's Jay Cutler was less of a NFL prospect than Texas's Vince Young or USC's Matt Leinert. Despite better numbers and a more polished set of skills, the fear was that Cutler's college experience "in the shotgun" would not translate over to the NFL. Of course, this line of thinking is ridiculous because skills are skills, and Cutler could be taught to QB from two steps forward (and also because 30% of his snaps are in the shotgun anyways). But somehow, this became the predominant flaw against Cutler. The NFL fan base, and its inability to form their own original thought, all of a sudden had an opinion. I can remember 4 separate people telling me why Leinert or Young would be more successful, and it was all due to Cutler's shotgun experience. Of course these people never saw Cutler throw a single pass, and had no clue what they were talking about, but these talking points became Cutler's downfall. This line of logic is not dissimilar from the "swift-boat" technique that brought John Kerry down in 2004, and most likely was appealing to the same idiots.

Young was selected third overall. Leinert tenth. Cutler went eleventh. Today, Cutler is the starting QB for the Chicago Bears with a career 87.3 QB rating. Leinert and Young are either backups or third-string (depending on who you ask) for teams with 37 year-old starting QBs.

This year, this retarded crap shoot will be broadcast in prime time for the hordes of zealots and nuts that think of this as substantial television. They will watch names they only know through Kiper's inane ramblings, and the hundreds of pointless hours of coverage the draft receives despite the utter irrelevance of 95% of the picks.

So, by now, 1000 words into this, you're waiting for me to say what the hell all of this bitter rambling has to do with meatheads. Have you been to a sports bar recently? I went to one two weekends ago for the Browns-Bengals game. The bar was showing every game at that time, and I was one of 50 people on the back patio. Now, I admit, that this is my own personal opinion, but if you are reading my blog, I assume my opinion means something to you (either direct or inverse), but I have done everything in my power in the last twelve years to avoid being around these people. Well, everything short of giving up the NFL. They are stupid, they are misogynistic, they value masculinity and individual prosperity far more than myself, and their concern for deeper issues or further explanations of things they have been taught are turn-offs. Now, how do I know this about someone's inner-character merely by getting a cursory glance at them during one fo the hundreds of commercial breaks we are forced to endure? Obviously, I don't, and I am making a sick and gross assumption about people I don't know. But this is the image they give off. This is the contiguous character that comes off in between their sets at the gym and their inability to use words bigger than Favre. Essentially, these are the people that put George W. Bush in office, not once, but twice! THERE, I did it!

Take a look at where football is most popular. The flagship for the sport of football is Texas where Friday Night Lights illuminate America's team. Where kids are bred from age 6 to play football. Where Varsity Blues meet Hook em Horns. Where G.W. Bush was governor, where John Kennedy was murdered and where Lamar Hunt realized that no matter how many rings he won, he would never win the hearts of the Cowboys fans. And outside of Texas, where else is football most iconic? Canton, OH. Now, I know I know a lot of you from Canton, and I know you are not all bad people, but it's not exactly a bastion of critical thinking. Instead, the McKinley v Massilon game (the biggest high school game in the country) is a breeding ground for future Buckeyes, and future wife-beaters; future NFL player, and future Idol viewers. The point is that the associations that SURROUND the sport, are not progress, thought, and compassion, but instead Hank Williams III, Air Force flyovers, and Rush Limbaugh.

And speaking of Limbaugh, it was he who just this morning said that, despite his banishment from the potential ownership team trying to buy the Rams, that he "remains one of the sport's biggest non-paid promoters."

So here it is. No, I don't think that just because you like the NFL, that you are Rush Limbaugh, but I'm pretty sure that all the racist, repugnant, and anti-intellectual Rush Limbaughs of the world are big fans of the league.

Playoff DIscussion

2009-10-15T10:31:00.000-07:00

Mike "the bot" Hearn:

This morning, I calculated this:

[Sport/Full Season/First Round Playoff Length/Percentage] –
Football/16/1/6.25%
Basketball/82/7/8.5%
Baseball/162/5/3%

Conclusion: baseball has the shortest first-round playoff of the three major sports by more than 50%.

[Sport/Winning percentage of top quarter of teams/Winning percentage of bottom quarter of teams/Difference] –
Football/73%/21%/52%
Basketball/72%/27%/45%
Baseball/59%/40%/19%

Conclusion: baseball has more parity by far than the other sports, meaning odds of the better team winning are lower than in any other sport.

Together these two conclusions essentially mean that a five-game playoff series is a coinflip. After 162 baseball games, the good teams and the bad teams are only separated by 19% points, so imagine the parity of putting almost equally good teams together and having them face-off in a series that is not long enough to statistically determine who is better. It’s meaningless.

What if a prize-fight only lasted one round? Or if the Super Bowl were 28 minutes (which is 3% of a total season, by the way)? It would be bullshit, and no one would accept that the victor was the better team because there WASN’T ENOUGH TIME TO DETERMINE ANYTHING. In a five-game baseball series, your star pitcher could have a bad day or A-Rod could go 2-12, whatever, and your season is OVER. Randomness rules over consistency as time span decreases.

To properly choose the length of the playoffs, two factors need to be considered: parity, and boring the crap out of people. Now to TRULY establish which team is better, a series would have to be INFINITE games, and the wins/losses would slowly approach the true mean of how good two teams are. In 1997, maybe in an infinite series the Indians would win 60% of the games and the Marlins 40% (but the Marlins win 4 of the first 7, sucks for you guys). However, infinite series are obviously unfeasible. So you need to pick the highest sample size (i.e. number of games) that will reflect the quality of a team without boring the crap out of an audience –

This is when parity comes into play. If in an infinite series (the ideal), one team wins 51% of the games while the other 49%, in reality you would need A LOT of games to establish this. Whereas if the split was 90%/10%, you could probably establish it in a 5 or 7 game series. This is why football (differential: 52%) can survive on one-game playoffs – because the good teams beat the bad teams. Same for college basketball’s March Madness. The NBA is king here – they have high parity (45% differential), and a high season/playoff % (8.5%). This is why the same good teams tend to win the championship: Bulls in the 90s, Spurs, Lakers, Pistons. The good teams win the championship. Astonishing.

Alternative #1: 9 game series. Why the fuck do baseball teams take breaks in between games in the playoffs? They have like one off-day every week during the season, then all of a sudden during the playoffs they get like every other game off. Play 9 games in 11 days. Fuck it. Also, your good pitchers would go 3 times, your good batters would get more than 15 ABs in the series.

Alternative #2: Bring back the old East/West system. There are 162 games in a season; it’s a pretty good system for figuring out who are the best teams, so you don’t need an elaborate playoff. Why are 8 teams in the playoffs? Just put the two clearly best teams into the AL/NL Championship series and then the winner plays in the World Series. It worked for like 60 years, FUCK YOU BUD SELIG.

Alternative #3: Allow steroids. This would not fix the parity issue but I’d get to stop hearing about it and that is so much better than having a legitimate champion ever year.

Matt Glassman

Ok, first off allow me to say that I think playoffs in ALL sports are bad. They are outdated. Playoffs were originally intended to find out which of the two leagues (AL and NL), two leagues with different governing bodies, different rules, and different groups of players was superior. Now, you have a standardized canon of rules, one draft pool, and 162 games to figure out who the best team is. If it were up to me, the NY Yankees would be hoisting a trophy right now. This is why I think the much beleaguered college football system is the best right now. Each week, regular season games are really fucking important. Baseball games are irrelevant for the most part.

Second off let me say that of the 3 major sports playoff systems, I think baseball is the most entertaining and BY FAR the best judge of superior talent, and I will explain in a moment.

In his e-mail, the bot showed a very well-researched and incredibly shortsighted and closed minded argument. First off, his formula to find parity is a very rudimentary and simple one. It ignores the fact that as teams play an amount of games approaching infinity, they will approach a .500 winning %, so of course baseball has the most parity, they play 10 times more games than football. Furthermore, he ignored the middle half of teams, which is where parity is usually found. 2 years ago, the super bowl winner was outside that top quarter and yet crowned champion, a glowing example of parity, but one ignored by the Bots formula.

Furthermore, he spends a lot of time on the percentage of the regular season that the playoffs represent, and I just don't see how this is valuable. In fact, I feel like one could make a very strong argument than the SMALLER the % of the regular season the playoffs represent would be more desirable hence placing a higher premium on the 6 month, 162-game regular season. This argument is easily made by looking at the utter irrelevancy of the NBA regular season given the 2 month-long, up-to-28 game playoff season nullifies so much of the regular season that it becomes almost boring. But that is not the crux of neither the Bot's nor my argument. Just something that should be noted.

He also points out that the first series is a "coin-flip." Well, bot, consider these facts: In basketball, the number 1 seed plays the number 8 seed in the first round. Often this is the best team in the league against the 16th best team in the league. Considering there are 29 teams, the top team, the favorite to win it all, is playing a team that finished 2 spots closer to last place than they did first place. That's a considerable adv. In baseball however, the Dodgers are the 4th best team against the 7th best team. The Red Sox and Angels represent the 2nd against the 3rd. The Phillies are the 5th and the 6th, and the Yankees are the best against the 8th. All of these are fairer and hence lead to a more "coin flip" atmosphere. Obviously if infinite games were played, the better team would always win, but in this case, that is not possible, and 5 games will have to do.

It should also be noted that when the NBA did have 5 game series, that the 8 seed only beat the 1 seed twice in history - once in the strike shortened 1999, and once in what many consider to be the greatest playoff upset in league history, the 1994 Denver Nuggets. So 5 games was always enough for the better team to win in basketball.

As far as football goes, it is true that their one-game playoffs are exciting and proportional to the regular season, but a football game more than any other sport is a coin-flip. Football games (between two good teams) essentially come down to 5 big plays. The bot argues, "what if a pitcher has a bad game, or A-Rod goes 2-12?" Yeah, but what if a QB hurts his ankle on Friday and can't play? What if a star running back has his first fumble in weeks during a critical drive? What if a kicker, who hasn't missed all year, misses a 40-yard field goal as time expires (see 2005 Colts/Steelers.) Things happen, bot. It's the playoffs. And considering the season starts in trianing camp in May, and can end on the mistake of one man's foot in January is doubly as unfair as CC having two consecutive bad starts in the 2007 ALCS. The season ending because of a bad pass interference call (see 2008 Colts/Chargers) is wayyyyy worse than A-Rod failing to get an RBI in 4 straight games in the 2004 ALCS. Sorry, but that argument doesn't fly.

And then he makes the argument that the NBA consistently puts the best teams in the finals because of their marathon playoffs. Well, I have two responses to that.

1. If that were the case, than wouldn't baseball's regular season consistently put better teams in the playoffs year in and year out due to having twice the regular season? This year, 50% of baseball's 8 playoff teams repeated as playoff teams. Last year's top 8 in basketball repeated 62.5% of the playoff teams. Despite having 50% the games. Which brings me to point #2.

2. The nature of the games--basketball and baseball--are different. In basketball, having a super-duper star like Lebron or Kobe essentially guarantees you a top 8 spot, while in baseball, the Yankees finished outside the top 8 in 2008 with the most super stars. The sports are just different and hence the results of the champions should be different.

Now I will address his ways to make it besser:

1. 9 game series. . What you said about playing every day for 9 games and the best pitchers pitching 3 times. Assuming they play 6 games, day off, 3 games. The best pitchers would pitch twice. Games 1 and 6. The same amount of games the best pitchers pitch now: twice. In addition to this, the number 5 starter--the guy who under the current system doesn't make the roster would pitch twice as well--including game 9. So the World Series could come down to Paul Byrd against some musher on the Cards. That's fair. Joke. Not really.

2. I'd be all for bringing back the old East v West system, but what's the point? You still have a 7 game series to even play for the World Series. This is a small band aid that doesn't solve anything.

3. I'm all for bringing back steroids.

Also, it should be noted that the bot is basing this info on numbers alone. He doesn't watch the games. He doesn't remember the magical 95 Yankees Mariners series, or the 1999 Tribe Red Sox. Watch a baseball playoff game and tell me that it is not the best system. Look, unless you played an unlimited amount of playoff games, you're never going to figure it out. But consider this bot, 2 years ago; the New England Patriots went 16-0 in the regular season. First team to ever do that. They were the best team, maybe in NFL history. Then, they lost to the New York Giants in the super bowl who finished 10-6, the same record as the Cleveland Browns, who didn't make the playoffs. So somehow, to you, a system in which a team with the same record as a non-playoff team, beating the best team in NFL history is a fine way to judge, but 19 games in 4 weeks started by the best pitchers in the game, in the loudest stadiums where every pitch matters is bad.

The Bot:

Hey glass, thanks for the response.

I'll start off by clarifying the parity situation:

If I flip a coin 1,000,000 times it will come up 50/50, because both heads and tails have p=.5 chance of coming up. Not the case in sports. In a theoretical infinite series, the better team will win > 50% of the games. If the Yankees and my local little league team played an infinite series, the Yankees would still win 99.99% of the time despite the infinite nature of the series. It would never approach 50%, it would approach the true mean of their team's abilities. Baseball has an incredibly high sample size, 162 games, and yet their parity difference is only 19%. Football's difference was 52%, which I admittedly based only on the past season, but I expect if I took winning/losing percentages of the top/bottom teams from each of the last 10 years (meaning 160 games), the difference would still be roughly 50% (meaning the good teams win 70% of their games, the bad teams win 20%).

In these sports, it doesn't have to do strictly with the sample size, it has to with the odds that in ONE GAME a good team will beat a bad team. In baseball, there's a higher probability of this happening than in other sports -- I don't know why, but that's how it is. The best record of all time was only 116 wins for the Mariners (71% win percentage). Four NBA teams had a higher percentage of wins LAST YEAR -- Cleveland (80%), LAL (79%), Boston (75%), Orlando (72%). That's just how it is. In a baseball game, a worse team has a statistically higher chance of beating a good team than in other sports. In my first note, I demonstrated this with the parity calculation using win percentages of good and bad teams, but I'll just say it in plain English -- in baseball, worse teams win more often, and the randomness of any particular game is much higher than in other sports. This is objective. If the Cavs played last year, they had an 80% chance of winning. If the Mariners played, they had a 71% chance. Which game would you bet on?

So -- having said that: due to the closer parity, you NEED A GREATER SAMPLE SIZE to have a truer determination of the better team. That's all I'm saying. A five game series is utter randomness because ANY TEAM CAN WIN when the difference in win % between the two teams is minimal. If I have a coin, in a 5 game series heads might win 3-2, or 3-1 or even 3-0, but in an infinite series it will approach 50% for each. Similarly in a 5 game series between baseball teams, even when one team might win 60% of the games in an infinite series and the other 40% (which, note, is roughly the parity difference in baseball as a whole), the worse team has a good shot of winning a 1 game series, a slightly worse but still good shot of winning a 5 game series, same for 7 games, 9 games, etc -- but as the series gets longer, the worse team's chances of actively winning the series decreases. In a 99-game series, the better team will win about 60 games, the worse about 40. When I say "approaching the mean", that's what I'm referring to.

Other notes:

--The baseball season does a great job of putting the best teams in the playoffs. I'll never counter that. A 162 game season is great at that. It's the playoffs I take issue with.
--In a 9 game series -- c'mon, you know managers would throw their aces out there in games 1, 5 and 9. They try to pull that shit in 7 game series, usually to catastrophic results.
--In football it's true that one individual play can change the outcome of the game, yet despite this the good teams still win a higher percentage of their total games than good teams do in baseball (football: 80%; baseball: 60%). I don't know why this is, but football is apparently a much more controlled game than baseball.
--In this argument, I'm not taking into account how good teams are across seasons, because so many factors can change. Somehow the Yankees weren't in the best 8 teams in 2008, despite their stacked roster. The 162 game season is more than enough sample size to prove this. Something on that team was wrong that couldn't be accounted for in their lineup (wait, their pitching -- it was terrible).
--The east/west series works because it keeps the riffraff (i.e. the wildcard) out of the playoffs (a clusterfuck where anything can happen); basically, it prevents undeserving teams from benefiting from the randomness that extreme parity the playoffs results in.
--The 2007 Giants are an interesting example of the randomness of having a one-game playoff system. I can't really account for them, other than to say that if football had a 3 game series in each round, the Giants likely would not have won. Again, sample size is important, but I accept the one-game series in football because of the lack of parity (i.e. better teams usually beat worse teams).
--Basketball, again, is the gold standard of the best team winning the playoffs. I don't know why they got rid of the 5-game series for basketball's first round, frankly, because if ever there was a sport that could actually use LESS GAMES, it's them. Good teams win 80% of their games, and they're usually playing terrible teams in the first round. They don't need 7 games to figure this shit out. I think the Bulls swept their first-round series in the 90s, like, every time. They could also cut off the first round entirely; because again you don't see the #16 team every winning shit, but whatever. I'll let basketball do what it wants.

Closing argument: the baseball playoffs may be exciting, but the wildcard has won the World Series FOUR TIMES since 1994. That is bullshit. But because in the baseball playoffs anyone can win when the series is short, they have to either (a) make the series longer to make sure the wildcards get beat by the better teams, or (b) make the playoffs more exclusive and eliminate average teams from benefiting from the almost coinflip results of a baseball series.

Glassman:

OK, I'm going to re-address the bot's issue with the MLB playoffs. First off, allow me to say that I think that the parity question really is an example of how you want to measure parity. One way of looking at it, is to compare the top to the bottom and how far they are from each other (which is what the bot has done.) Another way would be to look at how many teams comprise the middle (or in this case, low-end playoffs teams) in which case football would far and away win. Another way to judge parity would be to examine how often the same teams repeat in the playoffs, in which case basketball would be the sport with the most parity. In any case, it is somewhat of an irrelevant question.

The bot points out that the wild card has won the World Series 4 times since 1994 (there was no WS in 94, so he means since 95). He uses this is as an argument to prove that too often, a bad team (what he refers to as "riff-raff" wins the world series over far better teams, hence proving that baseball's playoff system does not provide a solid enough foundation to put the better team as a champion). What he leaves out is how baseball's wild-card system works. He assumes that the wild card is the 4th best team in each league and represents the 7th and 8th best reg. season records. That could not be further from the truth – in fact, the wild-card team regularly is not in the bottom tier of playoff teams. This year's wild cards, the Red Sox and Rockies were the 3rd best and 6th best teams in the major leagues respectively. By the way, both of these teams were eliminated in the first round. Last year, the Red Sox (4th best team) and Brewers (6th best team) were the wild cards and while the Red Sox beat the Angels in the playoffs before losing to the Rays, the Brewers were swept in the first round.

He then mentions that 4 wild card teams have won the championship, and that that is BULLSHIT. Unfortunately, he declines to note that in that same time period, 4 NFL wild-card teams have ALSO won the championship, and ignores this significance.

The 4 wild-card teams that won the championship are the 2004 Red Sox, the 2003 Marlins, the 2002 Angels, and the 1997 Marlins. These teams were the 3rd best, 6th best, 5th best, and 4th best teams in the MAJOR LEAGUE'S respectively. I'm sorry, but in 15 years, having the 6th best team in baseball win ONCE, while the rest of the teams have come from the top 5 doesn't seem so bad to me.

The 4 NFL wild card teams that won the super bowl are a different story. These teams are the 2007 Giants, the 2005 Steelers, the 2000 Ravens, and the 1997 Broncos. These teams were 9th, 9th, 3rd, and 4th best teams in the NFL. Somehow, this fact is OK.

He also points out that the NBA's marathon playoffs are the best to determine the best team, and while I agree KIND of on that, I stick by my argument that it is too long and arduous and nullifies the regular season. I will expand on this argument more in a moment.

By the way, his main argument is against the randomness of the 5 game first round series. Yet somehow, despite coin-flip odds, the NLCS is a rematch of last year's NLCS and the team with the better regular season record won every series this year. In fact, let's look at something really quick.

In the last three years, the MLB's first round (the round of 8), the team with the besser regular season record is: 10-2. This is 5 game "coin-flip" series, over the course of three years. In that same time period, in the round of 8 in basketball (7 game series, better judge of the besser team), NBA teams with a besser record went 9-2, with one series pitting two even teams against each other. So by default, baseball did besser, but even if one says even, to call the MLB first round BULLSHIT, when in the last three years if has performed as well, if not besser than the gold standard NBA is bullshit in itself. In case you were wondering, the NFL's round of eight in the last three years, is 4-7 (with one game featuring evenly matched teams).

The point is this: playoff strength boils down to a philosophical question. The NFL is the league the best rewards its teams for a strong regular season, DESPITE the regular season meaning nothing. The top 4 teams in the league receive BYES, making a first round victory a literal certainty. Furthermore, the best teams need to play ZERO road games. However, despite this advantage, the top 4 regular season teams are 9-11 in the last three years of playoffs with one champion. I don't get HOW the fuck the bot is fine with that.

The NBA, which obviously is the longest, and probably best, who also rewards the best regular season teams quite handsomely (Games 1 and 7 at home, in the sport with the greatest home-field adv BY FAR). The top 4 teams in the league in the last three years are: 24-10 in series with two champions.

The much-maligned MLB, with it's "coin-flip" playoff scenarios, and limited home-field adv. is somehow 14-10 with two champions. Also keep in mind that baseball teams aren't afforded the 1-8, 2-7 matchups that basketball teams are. Remove those from the NBA and they go down to 13-9, pretty even with major league baseball, with the same amount of champions.

The philosophical question is this: why do we have playoffs. Is it really do find out who the best team is? Because I feel as though 162 games tells us that. And if it really is, than anomalies like the 2007 NY Football Giants and the 2005 Steelers should NEVER happen, let alone twice in three years. Baseball is the best regular season because of its length and because of its symbolic meaning. But if you made the playoffs any longer, they would stretch into November, with rain, snow, and freezing temperatures, as opposed to the occasional game like Sunday's CO/Phi game, that would be the norm.

I agree that 5 games is a short series, but I disagree that it nullifies the regular season or that it is not fair. The team with the besser record has games 1 and 5 at home, as well as a 60%- 40% home field adv, as opposed to 56-44 in basketball or 100-0 in football; the best pitcher in the series will pitch twice, and if needed the second best pitcher will pitch twice. It allows the wild card, which despite the bot's RIDICULOUSLY short-sighted analysis ACTUALLY allows for a top tier (meaning top 5 MLB) team to get into the playoffs despite their unfortunate division placement. It gives hitters 20-28 at bats—more than enough for averages to matter—and exposes teams weaknesses (see: Bullpen, Rockies; lineup depth, Stl). Furthermore, these series have consistently been exciting, worthwhile, and competitive (as opposed to the NBA first round) and consistently allows the better team to advance (as opposed to the NFL).

Playoff baseball is DIFFERENT than reg. season baseball. Your top 2 starting pitchers become MUCH more important, and your bullpen and defense get exposed, but it was like this BEFORE the wild card, and before the fucking AL/NL CS. That's one of the beauties of October baseball.

Now, I think I'm done, I have to go get ready for the second round, featuring the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th best regular season teams in baseball. Bot, you have officially been served.

Bon Iver at Hollywood Forever

2009-09-27T15:17:00.000-07:00

Bon Iver at Hollywood Forever

Last night, I worked until ten o'clock. After a long work day/night on Friday and a lousy nights sleep on Friday night, I was an absolute wreck by ten Saturday night. But I had plans. Weeks ago, I had bought tickets for Katy and I to go see Bon Iver, one of our favorite bands. Katy and I go to a ton of concerts but this one was unlike anything I had ever heard of. The show was at Hollywood Forever Cemetery at dawn on Sunday morning. For those who live outside of L.A., Hollywood Forever is a very well-known and awesome cemetery, filled with the remains and ornate headstones of many of Hollywood's most loved historical figures. The cemetery also does movie nights on Saturdays when they show cult movies on the well of the Masonic Lodge. This place is VERY unique.

So, not only was the location of the show completely noteworthy, but that fact that the show would not start until dawn on Sunday morning was entirely unheard of. The doors opened at midnight and for six hours, the crowd was entertained with two DJ sets, a feature presentation of Wes Anderson's Bottle Rocket, and then a presentation of the PBS series Planet Earth: Jungle with no sound and a super phantasmagoric soundscape played behind it.

However, given my crazy work schedule, and our unease about going straight to a cemetery at midnight, we decided we'd go home and catch a quick nap. Didn't happen. Katy went right to sleep, I stayed up all night. Watched some Seinfeld, some Glenn Beck, and then decided, OK it's time to go. I woke Katy up at 3:20, we wandered down in a foggy haze to Fred 62 and had a Bossa Nova Waffle Sunday. I have to drive home the fact that both of us were in between some weird stage of waking and sleeping that is usually reserved for hard-core drug experiences or nervous insomnia. Never in my life have I been willfully driving AWAY from home in this state. Do your best to try to imagine the remainder of the night somewhere in between this stage—though I never fell asleep, we were never awake.

Fred 62 was still hopping when we got there as the 2 AM bar crowd finished their meals. I can't tell you anything that went on around us outside of Katy drinking two to three cups of coffee and my Huevos Rancheros. By the time we paid and left, the place was emptying out and the bathrooms were a little too bizarre for our fragile mental state. We got out and climbed into my car only to find that a thick layer of marine fog had descended upon L.A. about 14 miles from the ocean. The drive to Hollywood Forever was both literally and figuratively entombed in one of the thickest layers of fog I've seen east of Sepulveda and my increasingly paranormal mental state. We parked on Santa Monica about a quarter mile from the cemetery, saw some friendly concert-goers moving towards the front gate and grabbed our blankets.

We walked though the gates at 4:30 AM and it was pitch black. Sporadic aides with flashlights guided us through the maze of tombstones, some simple, some more grandiose than any I've ever seen. We made our way to the open field in front of the Masonic Lodge surrounded by palm trees, gravestones, and lagoons. To our astonishment, we came upon the field and noticed thousands of people had beat us there. Literally thousands of blankets, and candles, and cigarettes; people sleeping next to people talking next to people smoking next to people laying on their backs staring up into the foggy blackness. If at this point my writing seems to be getting poetic and surreal, it is because from this moment on, the night begins to become a surreal mix of dreamland and reality. Thousands of people, some high, most just restless, sitting in the middle of a pitch black cemetery in the middle of one of the greatest cities in the world. On the Lodge wall, the Jungle episode of Planet Earth was providing more visual irregularity and a DJ played a dreamlike concoction of sounds and music to accompany. It was the height of a feeling normally only attainable through designer hallucinogenics being realized through lack of sleep and an incredibly comfortable alternative universe.

We found a small patch of grass in the very back of the field. The blackness of the night prevented us from, not only seeing a stage, but knowing in which direction the stage was set up. Essentially, we were just finding a place to lie down in the awesome fogginess and enjoy more of the unexpected. There were all sorts of people around us: college students talking about people they knew, a sleeping couple buried beneath their blanket, hippies passing a joint around, and incredibly annoying young twenty-something who insisted on making cell phone calls for everyone to hear, and an array of would be photogs, including Katy, all trying to capture the impossibility of what was around us.

When the movie ended, the music did as well, and we just sat there. From about 5:00 AM to 5:30, it was black silence, the only lights coming from the closed soundstages at Paramount to the south, the candles scattered amongst the field, and the large computer screen in the middle of the field presumably controlling sound, or lights, or both for the still-hidden stage. And the lights created an eerie and somewhat beautiful aura around us as the fires mixed with the fog and lit the 60-foot-tall palm trees in reddish-purplish halos. The sun was not on anyone's mind. 5:30 is a time almost universally reserved for sleeping for even the hardest partiers and the quickest early birds, yet here were several thousand of us, sharing blankets, weed, and coffee in the middle of this graveyard. Still without sleep, it was hard to distinguish reality from imagination, and I insist that this was a shared consciousness around the field. That line between waking and sleeping was blurred when we got there and was not made any clearer by the increasing strangeness and beauty that was around us.

At 5:30, two Buddhist monks took the dark stage and chanted for 15-20 minutes. They were apparently blessing the stage but the unfamiliarity of the rhythmic chants coupled with the fact that they were not visible in the night made this moment as strange as those before it. Though the lights and fires shifting caused a small change in the palm-tree halos, the sky was still a thick black emptiness. My only thought at this point was that I wanted to watch this show sitting on our blanket. I was simply not strong enough, either mentally or physically, to stand up, and sitting in the very back, behind hundreds of rows of people, I knew that eventually we would all be standing. But my fingers remained crossed.

At this point, I almost fell asleep. Laying back on Katy's empty bag, amongst the chanting and murmuring around us, I almost delved into a true dream that would not be distinguishable from reality. But as I started to fade, I heard a buzz throughout the crowd. I sat up and realized that a twenty-foot stage had been lit up in the southeast corner of the field. And much to my delight, the cheering crowd remained seated on their blankets.

At 5:50, Bon Iver took the stage. To be honest, their set-list (especially in the beginning) is hazy. I think they opened with Lump Sum, but what didn't dawn on me until this moment was that I was about to see one of the most respected live acts in the world. Bon Iver, who I've never seen, is known around the country as one of the best shows around. Through the haze of the surreality that I was living in, I forgot that the content was not merely the production but the show as well. If I would have seen this show at the Troubador on a Thursday night, it still would have been amazing.

When they took the stage, it was pitch black outside. They couldn't see us. Justin, the lead singer, complained about flash photography from the front rows bothering him coming from such a black abyss. The set slowly moved on, and during maybe the third song, I pointed up to the sky and alerted Katy that a very faint tint of dark blue was beginning to contaminate the blackness of night. Because of the heavy fog, the sun never really "rose" per se, but the sky just started changing colors. By the end of his incredible rendition of Skinny Love, which included all three other band members smashing their own drum kits in a monk-like rhythm, there was no black left. By 6:30, as Justin spoke to us about how weird this is for everyone involved and how foggy his memory is, the dense layer of fog was clearly visible sitting atop the green field which we could now see was much denser with blankets and hippies that we first could notice. By the time he told us that they would only have a couple more songs, the sun was out, the sky was white, and the palm-trees that an hour earlier wore a surreal red halo appeared to be pinning the layer of fog to the ground.

For the duration of the entire set, most of the crowd never stood. We all fought through the early morning restlessness and enjoyed an incredible set together. They played electric and acoustic, hard and mellow. Justin chatted with us and asked us if we were ok. And after their last song ended, we all stood, stretched, and gave him the standing ovation that we were waiting to give him. As Katy and I stood, we noticed the grass, the flowers, the people; things we just didn't notice in the dark.

For a final show of strangeness, we all walked out together, onto a now somewhat busy Santa Monica Blvd, clutching blankets, backpacks, sleeping bags, and coffees. Thousands of people, emerging from a graveyard at 7:30 on a Sunday has to be weird for uninformed passer-bys.

We came home and I still haven't slept. Instead, I sit here recounting the experience to you as I listen to For Emma, Forever Ago and try to convince myself that everything that I remember actually happened, and wasn't part of a dream.

NFL Announcers

2009-09-15T17:29:00.001-07:00

NFL Beef #1

I'm going to try to make this a running thing, that is, my unending beef with the NFL. Some will be shorter than others and that should not signify some sort of importance or ranking system on the growing list of problems that make the NFL such an offensive product. Nor should the order in which I write.

Before this begins, please allow me to offer this short disclaimer. Many of you close to me have offered the opinion that my growing distaste with the league has more to do with my beloved Cleveland Browns' failures than anything substantive. This is simply not true. The Cleveland Indians, who I love equally, if not more, than the Browns, are as inept as the Browns and possess an arguably weaker future. I still love baseball. In fact, I think that baseball's steps in the last several years—MLB Network, MLB.tv, lower ticket prices—have been great for the consumption of the game. Perhaps it is because I live in Southern California, away from the throngs of irrational Browns fans that piqued my interest in the NFL's off months in years past. I don't know. I would like to believe it is merely a legitimate distaste based on logical and simple criteria that I have been able to finally realize as the issues grow, and my interest fades even more.

Also, it should be noted that I LOVE college football, and still get amped when watching old clips of football games. I think NFL Films is a treasure, and many of the game's personalities still interest me. This is merely a harsh criticism of one of the most popular entertainment options in the nation that I find offensive and backwards.

Today I will discuss the announcers.

In other team sports, almost every game is broadcast by a local TV affiliate and announced by employees of the team. In baseball, the Tribe is called by Rick Manning and Matt Underwood, neither of which do anything to enhance the experience, but neither do anything particularly offensive either. Most importantly, not only do they spend the season following the team, but they call the games to a local audience trained on the players' names and histories. The games are called with an expectation of familiarity with the characters and story lines within the organization. Cavalier games are called by Fred McCleod and Austin Carr. Sure, Carr turns many fans off with his over-the-top uses of the same four phrases, and McCleod has turned off a lot ex-TV man, Michael Reghi's fans, but the same knowledge and familiarity is expected in their calls and information is more-often-than-not directed at fans of the team.

Throughout the year, and much more often in the case of the Cavaliers, games are broadcast nationally. Depending on the network and time slot the game is on, this broadcast can be the only broadcast of the team, even in the city of Cleveland. While national broadcasts are directed towards a national audience, significantly less familiar with the teams than local broadcasts, the games are usually one of the only games being nationally televised so that viewers are treated to a top-tier broadcasting team. Personally, I would rather listen to loud dogs barking than endure a baseball game called by Joe Morgan or Tim McCarver, but I respect their calls as legitimate and their opinions—though I essentially universally disagree with everything they say—rarely am overly offended by an opinion they offer.

This trend holds true with college football as well. Nationally-televised games feature top-notch announcing teams that, often, enhance the experience. So in most sports—meaning all other than the NFL—the two options are either a local broadcast directed at a small sub-section of the sports' fan base, complete with inherent knowledge of the events and characters that that sub-section shares, or a national broadcast featuring many of the game's top announcing personalities. These options aren't always ideal, but they are rarely offensive, and often offer great additions to the sport.

The NFL is different. During the regular season, every game outside of two each week are broadcast by CBS or Fox. Because all the games are played within a six hour period of one another, networks are forced to provide upwards of nine productions per week. Meaning, unless your game is the featured game of the week, you are forced to listen to bottom-tier announcing teams. Furthermore, the games are presented as if they are on national TV (which is only half true as most games are just broadcast to the two cities playing each other). So, instead of getting local teams, super familiar with the team and treating their jobs as liaisons to the team's fans, we get garbage teams, without any knowledge of the teams, outside of the handful of days spent in the days leading up to the game, speaking to general football fans, despite their audience being almost wholly composed of rabid fans without interest in general football activities. So, as a result, a fan, not even a particularly rabid fan, but a fan somewhere in between "casual" and "moderate" will consistently have more knowledge of the team than the announcers.

Furthermore, while the play-by-play man is usually the 2nd-9th best play-by-play man in the company, the color guy is always an ex-player/coach who has no choice but to view his current position as a vacation from his tedious and demanding old job. Color guys rarely exhibit the effort required to study the teams, the seasons, and the changing rules and trends within the league. We often get information and ideas that are simply being regurgitated from the tiresome and redundant pre-game shows and talk-radio forums from the previous week.

This, at least to this observer, is offensive. I follow my teams. When we have the Broncos next week, I do my best to learn about the Broncos and go above and beyond the easy and lazy opinions written by the Peter Kings and argued over by the Phil Simmses of the world. By Sunday, I will know far more about both principles than the seventh-best CBS broadcast team that I will be forced to digest for 200 minutes.

What sucks is that I am rarely, if ever, enlightened. I am often given bad or at least gratuitous information. And I am treated as a "general" football fan with interest in all thirty-two teams, despite my utter apathy towards thirty-one of them. I didn't like Brian Billick as a coach, but I took pleasure in seeing him on the sidelines because of his lack of common sense and the chance that that inability to consistently make the right decision would benefit the Browns. Now I am forced to listen to him pretend to know about the Browns and do his best to weave his favorite Brett Favre musings into the game. In any other sport, Billick would be lucky to be calling games for a local broadcast, but at least there his limited ability to learn would be focused on one team. Here, we get his opinions of a team he has spent two hours a day studying for three days.

The other insanely annoying aspect of the announcing is a residual effect. Given the NFL's wildly growing and uninformed fan base, Billick's presence on one of sixteen official NFL broadcasts passes as some sort of verification that he is a sage of information or knowledge in the complex world of the NFL. Things he says, opinions he has, are instantly credible in the world of the worst fan base on Earth. He now has the ability to affect NFL news cycles and form the paradigm from which we consume the NFL. Much like Vin Scully defining the Dodgers, or Keith Jackson elevating the game of college football to the levels it is now, the NFL is defined by the likes of Ian Eagle, Rich Gannon, Solomon Wilcots, and Billick, further dragging the games down to the levels that have turned off at least one formerly rabid consumer.

This problem will never change. Most people are unaffected by this and within the local markets, have an alternative—to mute the game and put on the local radio broadcast. However, this is one of the primary things that has turned me off in an NFL game. I spend more time critiquing the broadcast and complaining about how annoying certain announcers are than I do actually enjoying and consuming the game. That something this distracting and easily fixable is not a bigger complaint amongst the fan base I regret, but this blog post felt cathartic.

I hate the radio

2009-08-17T16:32:00.001-07:00

My problem today is an old one: that of the terrible feeling that the radio gives me. This is both an attack on corporate takeover and consolidation of the airwaves, and the frustration of loving music and being in the car a lot—a scenario which should provide a more-than-fortunate scenario to take advantage of unfortunate driving circumstances—and being forced into a delirious anger caused by constant playings of MGMT.

It should be noted that I am not the only person that hates the radio, and this is something that goes back to living in Cleveland, but out here, given my schedule of spending close to 90 minutes in my car each day and my Ipod being stolen, it has reached a terminal boiling point and now needs to be discussed.

So, without any further disclaimers or qualifiers I give you my beef with LA radio.

When I first moved out to LA, I was impressed with the quality of radio. For one, KROQ was one of the most influential, if not famous, radio stations in the country for the past twenty years. We also had Indie 103.1, a smaller but (so I thought) popular station free of the corporate routines and playlists that have driven me crazy in the past. My favorite thing about Indie wasn't the fact that I heard newer bands like SIlversun Pickups and Cold War Kids months before they hit national airwaves, but that they played older songs, from say the 1990s, and late 80s that I loved too. It wasn't about being obscure, elitist, or chic, it was about being rad. On top of these, we had (and have) KCRW, an NPR affiliate known for having incredible music collections and the uber-intellectual/influential Morning Becomes Eclectic known for breaking now-popular bands like the Shins.

To me, coming from the dull and repetitive Cleveland scene, this was nirvana. Then, in the past year, several things have happened.

For 1, 98.7 a contemporary music station changed formats to an edgier, younger format calling their listeners Rock-a-Holics and playing tired and repetitive playlists that I was sick of before they started.

2. KROQ, feeling the heat from 98.7's TERRIBLE sound, began to try to compete with the 16-22 year old brain-dead demo and started playing bands with "The" before their name, but no "s" at the end. (The Bravery, The Fray, The Airborne Toxic Event)

3. Maybe I'm wrong, but it feels as though KCRW has dipped into more obscure, trip-hoppy, anti-commercial elitism as opposed to just playing shit that SOUNDS good.

4. The coup-de-grace, Indie 103.1, citing poor ratings and beleaguered listeners closed their doors and turned mariachi.

These things all happened at a similar time which happened to co-incide with my IPod getting stolen, 97.1 FMTalk going off the air, and the midday crew on AM 570 KLAC's midday show getting an unneeded and disappointing makeover making my drive time a figurative funeral procession through the palm-tree lined streets that seem to directly contradict the shit being played on the radio.

Here's the thing: 98.7 is the devil. I mean that. They are the fucking devil. For 12 months, they played Kings of Leon's Sex on Fire every hour. I couldn't get into the car without hearing that song. Do you know what that does to me!?

Now, an album that I loved is trash to me because I associate it with screaming and pounding the steering wheel waiting for the 98.7 DJ's to stab themselves with a fictional turntable needle. It makes driving unbearable, and it makes the band super-popular with the high-school crowd that now ruins every KoL show by taking their parents money and buying tickets in front of me at the Nokia Theatre or the Forum when they should be playing the fucking Fonda. Then, when I do get to see KoL, they play al new songs, and only one song from their first album. Also, I am NOT, that guy, the guy that bitches about how he liked Snow Patrol back when they were still a real band, no, I'm the guy that called Only by the Night the best album of 2008.

Now I hear MGMT's Kids, a song that came out over two years ago, and by my cout, probably the 6th best song on an OK album 15 times a day. The latest Silversun Pickups CD, a CD I actually LIKE, and by a band that three years ago REPRESENTED the triumph of indie music, has been exploited and destroyed after 98.7 LITERALLY began playing Panic Room every other hour.

Just to play catch up, KROQ has followed suit.

The only bright spot in this mess has been the emergence of 100.3 The Sound who plays just about anything they want, as long as it's not the best song on a particular album. About 1 in 6 songs is actually really good, compared to about 1 in 15 on the other stations.

What are these stations doing. I ask only this of you, radio:

RESPECT YOUR LISTENERS.

We are not as dumb and short-sighted as your market research may argue. We are not Midwest sheep that listen to what is played for us. We sell out three nights at the Wiltern for Wilco. We sell out the Greek for My Morning Jacket. We support the biggest record store in the country, and I can promise you, it's not with Killers CDs and Coldplay. We are BRIGHT people. That doesn't mean that you don't need to appeal to a larger audience by playing hits. I'm not asking for ELO album sides or playing unreleased Frank Zappa. That last Kings of Leon CD was dope, but there are eleven songs on it. Play them all, and not so much! Play stuff from the 90s and early 2000s that we haven't already heard 200 times. If we liked the first Strokes album, chances are we'll like to hear Someday just as much as Last Night. And I know I was young, but I could SWEAR the Smashing Pumpkins had more than four songs.

Please radio, I'm begging you. I don't want to buy a new IPod before I buy a new bike. We're better than this and you could be too.

Now, I will sign off and go see the Flaming Lips at the Greek – a band I've never heard on LA radio, yet somehow they sell 6000 tickets for 50 a pop on a Monday night. Must just be another cult phenomenon.

Funny People Review

2009-08-05T11:50:00.001-07:00

Funny People
The Review
(Spoiler Alert)

I saw Funny People last night and I loved it. After reading a few reviews after seeing it, I've noticed it's quite a polarizing film. And not the typical generational polarization with the square older population not getting the humor of the edgy youth. No, either you got this film as a whole, or you didn't. It wasn't about understanding the humor, or being offended by the production quality. Critics say it ran too long, it made a point that wasn't there, or even that it was poorly directed. First I will say what I liked about this movie, and then I will address the overarching theme argument that several critics have used to attack the film.

First off, there is the Larry David-esque blurry line between fiction and reality. I'm sorry, before I start crediting David with this, allow me to honor the true originator of this type of comedy, Gary Shandling. Anyway, like Larry Sanders or the fictional Larry David, Adam Sandler's George Simmons was playing the part of a fictional Adam Sandler. From the campy, but wildly successful feature list, to the juvenile but original brand of humor, Simmons was playing Sandler. Throwing in old clips of Sandler doing prank calls, stand-up, even an old spot on Conan (obviously as Adam Sandler), blurred this line even more and made for an incredibly unique character. It was as if we knew the character's background without any development. Added to which, we (the audience) immediately felt somewhat of a personal connection to Simmons, not because of any creative and effective writing of the character, but because we grew up watching him. Sandler has always been a part of our lives, hence Simmons was. And Apatow pulled this off BRILLIANTLY, by interweaving the aforementioned early Sandler stuff in with fictional but mildly familiar films that Simmons had created.

On top of this, was the beautifully drawn out world of showbusiness. The comedians being themselves, the backstage stuff, the celebrity cameos which felt less forced than any I can remember—these things were executed brilliantly. Ray Romano, Paul Reiser, Eminem, and Andy Dick were playing themselves, interacting with a fictional character. The stand-up stuff was pulled off just as brilliantly as tension, nerves, and a silly subculture was presented as accurately as I've seen before. I loved this.

Then there's the stuff that maybe I like because I live in LA. There are certain things—Entourage, Californication, Shop Girl, 500 Days of Summer—that I'm not sure I would love so much if I lived in Ohio. I DON'T know…maybe I would, maybe I wouldn't. But this movie was chock-full of that stuff. The guys' apartment at Larchmont and Melrose. Their relationship. Jason Shwartzman's half-success on his show was perfect. We all know these people—we all deal with them—they're not bad guys, they're just EXACTLY like that. Then there's the recognizable places like The WeHo Palm, Runyon Canyon, and Malibu that I feel some love for because I've been there. This isn't that first movie to get being mid- to late 20s in LA right, but it was one of the best. All of the younger characters—Shwartzman, Rogen, Hill, the girl, even the people at Thanksgiving—were reminiscent of people we know. Loved it.

The soundtrack was perfect. James Taylor, John Lennon, and then, during the resolution, while Rogen and his love interest sit on top of a peak in the Eastern Santa Monicas listening to Wilco's Jesus Etc., I just about lost it. Probably my favorite song ever being played over one of my favorite hidden secrets about living in LA. I couldn't imagine a scene more powerful…to me.

OK, now the themes. To me, and maybe I'm wrong, this movie showed how the late-twenties struggling comedian's romance with fame and success is much closer, but also much less desirable than he might know. I'm not talking about the "I don't have any friends," or "no woman ever really loves me," themes that are illustrated, and necessary. I'm referring more to the idea of what success actually means. At the beginning of the film, Rogen asks Sandler to help HIM write. Sandler lets him know that that's not how this relationship works. The payer does not do the writing.

But throughout the movie we learn how close these two characters (both representing larger clumps of people) actually are. Sandler (or Simmons) the ultra-celebrity gets terminally ill. The aura of invincibility is shed moments after the opening titles. They work the same tours, clubs, and crowds. Rogen's ability to converse with the older, successful celebrity crowd shows that the fame that they all have in common is not the only thing that can bind these people together. Simmons, despite hordes of money and women, is ultimately rejected by his true love and is more affected by that, then he was of the news that he would die. This rejection, played against Rogen's triumph to the tune of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot shows the dichotomy of the two characters again.

If Apatow is trying to make a statement in this film, it was, at least to me, that celebrity is merely one measure of success. To me, the final scene, in which Simmons visits Rogen at the deli in which is working to give him jokes that he in fact wrote for him, is poignant in that it shows that Simmons views the two as equals, despite his giant Malibu house and Rogen's deli job alongside an awesome ex-con played by the RZA.

Sure, the third act ran long, the overdeveloping of both Leslie Mann and Eric Bana's characters killed a lot of the momentum, and the overarching themes may have been lost amongst the conflict/resolution of other smaller themes, but stepping back—I think Apatow did a great job with an incredibly original and unique approach to celebrity.
I'll like any post-modern attacks on reality, so I am an easy target, but Funny People had me cracking up and thinking about life in LA as something more than it probably is. But at the end of the day, I think that's the point of this film.

Macs are really cool, PCs are Lame

2009-07-24T11:00:00.001-07:00

Two and a half years ago I bought my first Mac. I can, in retrospect, say that I bought it because of the brilliant marketing campaign that Apple has used to capture 10% of the computer market share in the last five years. If asked at the time of purchase why I was choosing a Mac over a PC—considering I had used PCs quite happily for the ten previous years—I would have told you about how Mac has surpassed PC in usability, features, power, and efficiency. I really believed those things and that is how I justified spending $1200 on a laptop Mac when a laptop PC with the exact same specs would have cost between $600-$800. Unfortunately, after 2.5 years of using this MacBook, I am here to report that it is not more usable, does not provide any more features that I find useful, is not more powerful, and is CERTAINLY and absolutely not more efficient. In fact, that last claim, the efficiency claim, is the reason that I sit here today wishing I had not been influenced by marketing campaigns or misinformed consumers.

If would be hard to sit here and argue that a PC is superior to a Mac, though in several categories I believe it is. In all honesty, after pretty significant stints with both PCs and Macs, they're pretty similar. Far more similar than the now-insufferable Justin Long Mac commercials would have you believe. Other than the operating system, they pretty much do the same things, except for Macs frustrating and often illogical incompatibility issues, which is something I took into consideration before buying. Also, admittedly, I moved away from PC in January 2007, right about the time Microsoft Vista appeared, and while I can't speak from anything personally, I understand Vista was a disaster, so my OS experience may be a little incomplete. But the Mac OS definitely has its advantages, and it definitely has its disadvantages. Some things, like switching between programs, customization, and perhaps aesthetics are superior to Windows. But on the other side, organization, speed, and—in my experiences—ease of use are inferior to Windows. But, honestly, after 2.5 years, none of these things really matter. You take what you're given and use it.

My big issue with Mac is the price. This laptop cost 1200 dollars, kind of. The computer came with a one-year warranty. My previous Laptop, a Compaq bought in 2003 came with a 2 year warranty and it cost be 120 dollars to extend that warranty (with the store, not Compaq) to three years. This machine, according to Apple, was guaranteed to run for one year, and the Apple Care extended plan cost me 300 dollars. Also, let the record show, that AppleCare SUCKS, and when my power supply has broken (twice), they could not have been less helpful and more perturbed with my issue. So now, my brand new laptop cost me 1500 dollars. Then I bring it home and try to write my first school paper. Hell, I bought the computer for school so let's start to use it. Well, it took me a week to realize that this thing doesn't come with Microsoft Office. Now, I know not all computers come with MS Office, but those computers generally cost 450 dollars. So I had to go and buy a student version of MS Office for 225 dollars. Furthermore, I learned that the latest version of Office available for Macs, was MS Office 2004, despite being 2007. So I spent 225 more dollars on a piece of software that was essentially three years old. So my 1200 dollar laptop was now 1775 dollars. A full thousand dollars more than a PC with the EXACT same specs as a Mac.

So why did I do it? Why do many young people continue to insist on Macs superiority despite little-to-no evidence that they are anything but the same machines. Several reasons.

1. Macs look cooler. There is NO denying that. Have you ever seen a PC and said "Man, that computer looks awesome." No you haven't. And also, let the record show, I feel that this is a completely valid reason to buy one computer over another. We do it with cars, we do it with clothes, I find no lack of virtue in choosing form over function. However, it should be noted that when you bring that computer home, and the shell breaks (as 100% of Mac laptops do), remember why you bought this thing.

2. We used Apples in elementary school. Our generation was subjected to years of IIGS and Mac from the time we were young enough to use a computer. And this was a time when Apples were completely INFERIOR to PCs, but we were forced to use them at school anyways. So when we grew up and Apple updated their products to be on par with PC, many of us felt more comfortable with the Mac OS, we felt more comfortable with the branding, and we felt scared to move into the far less streamlined world of PC.

3. Somewhere, between 2000 and 2002 some young film-maker decided he had a better time cutting film together with a Mac than with a PC. This began a belief that Macs were simply better for the creative set than PC. Despite almost all of the music you currently listen to being recorded, edited, and mastered on PC; despite almost all of the feature films you see being cut together on PC; the younger creative set decided that it would be Macs that would be the branding behind their opus. As recording and editing moved into the digital world, somehow a prevailing belief in Mac's superiority over PC captured the imaginations of the younger crowd. Perhaps it was a combination of all of the other reasons I'm mentioning now, but having cut music on both PC and Mac, they're the same thing. I assure you of this. One is not superior.

4. Apple has used one of the most recognizable and retrospectively snobbish marketing campaigns of all time. And, oh yeah, it might be the most successful. They have convinced young America that their computers, despite being wholly similar to PC and significantly more expensive and less reliable, are the cool products of the young creative class. They have convinced us that purchase of a Mac, and most importantly public use, is participation in authentic creative youth culture and that is reason enough to spend the dollars. I am not a creative person, I don't pretend to be, I don't yearn to be, but I feel as though I am a participant—authentic or feigned—in creative culture by using this thing—particularly in public. They have convinced us Macs are simpler (they're not), Macs are more durable (they're not), Macs are more relevant (they are), and that Macs are the icon of a new generation of creative computer users. Justin Long's juxtaposition alongside the older guy in the suit reminds us that PC users are uptight, old, traditional, conservative sheep while Mac users are younger, freer, laid-back, creative sorts. And they've done this successfully.

If you own a Mac, you do because of one or more of the reasons above. You can tell yourself its for the superior OS or the "ease of use", but when it comes down to it, almost everyone using a Mac, yes you too, is doing so because of a combination of those reasons. Personally, I can admit now that it was a combination of 1 and 4 that drove me to buy this, and I cannot wait to buy a new PC. This thing has brought me nothing but a lighter wallet, and a little stress over trying to get it fixed.

I hate when people are constantly polarizing things and choosing one side or another. Leno or Letterman, vanilla or chocolate – they're all the same. But when one costs 100% more than the other, my side picking is easy.

These things are stupid.

Note: this blog post was written and posted on a MacBook.

Vick Post

2009-07-20T13:14:00.001-07:00

This Michael Vick thing is just strange. OK, fine, this column is about 18 months late, and it's already been said. Still, I felt, given his release from federal custody today, it needed to be said again.

Michael Vick, the pro-bowl quarterback broke the law. His crimes were perhaps vicious and immoral, and he deserved to be punished. But the gravity of his penance, as well as an extremely vitriolic somewhat baffling public outcry against Vick are disproportionate to the crime, as well as uncharacteristically unforgiving and that needs to be mentioned.

There are several issues at play here, and while most of them have already been mentioned, refuted, and argued over and again, I will bring up several that I feel most relevant.

The issue of race is implicit and obvious. Many commentators have argued that Vick's actions, independent of the color of his skin, were gruesome and ugly, and any punishment or response dumped upon Vick are both valid and deserved. This argument may or may not be true, but it simply doesn't entirely remove the issue of race from the events and response. For one, you have hundreds of white, southern sympathizers, protesting on the stairs to the court in the capital of the confederacy. Grandchildren of anti-segregationist Virginians hanging a highly visible black American in effigy. I'm sorry to those of you who feel we live in a colorless society, but these images are racial.

Furthermore, you have his punishment. I am not a legal expert, and I have little-to-no background in the coverage of the law, but I get the feeling that a middle-class white American of a similar age to Vick (e.g. ME) would not have been given twenty-three months in a federal penitentiary for the unlawful treatment of animals. Again, this is BY NO MEANS, a justification or defense for what he did, nor do I have a problem with the NFL's handling of the issue, but it simply unfathomable that a middle-class white male would be treated the same as a rich black man in the South.

Another less discussed issue, but perhaps more temporally relevant, is the archetypal criminality embedded in the perception of young, black athletes in the last fifteen-to-twenty years. This is not an overall defense of the Pacman Jones's, Ron Artests, or Vicks at all. It would be incredibly hard to defend the actions of some of sports' most visible knuckleheads, but there is something to be said about the vast criminalization and vilifying perception of several athletes simply because laws were broken. People break laws, they pay their punishment and they get on with their lives. We all have friends or relatives with DUIs, we have friends with illegitimate children, friends who have gotten into fights, gotten to drunk to stand, got busted with marijuana. Sure, these actions are illegal and deserve the attention of the judicial system, but an athlete, and in particular a young black athlete, commits these crimes, and they are immediately cast as part of a much bigger problem.

It is a case of high-profile paternalism in which society's biggest detriments are the incredibly small slice of the adult community that is, at one, young, black, and unworldly gifted at either running, catching, or throwing. As if Vick's actions, vile as they were, are a microcosm for the decay of the moral fabric as a result of handing over large chunks of money to people who don't know how to make choices. Athletes, as opposed to all of our friends mentioned above, are guilty of "biting the hand that feeds them," and, perhaps this crime is what they are truly paying for.

Much has been made about Vick's inhumane treatment of animals. Last time I checked, soon-to-be-ex Governor Palin shoots dogs from a helicopter and former Vice President Cheney shoots people in the face with shotguns. The game of football itself, arguably the nation's most popular sport, is an weekly inhumane display of masculinity and violence that has resulted in paralyzed athletes, and most likely has contributed to the early death of many players. The point not being a defense of Vick, but how interesting the perspective changes when an athlete and the law become entangled.

I don't see Vick returning to the league successfully, and I don't blame any team for having anxiety over signing him. He is a villain, a criminal, and, in the eyes of far too many Americans, part of a bigger problem. But the crime Vick is most guilty of committing, is perhaps his status as a highly visible, young black athlete who had a run-in with the law. That…is the bigger problem.

plays per band

2009-06-02T10:48:00.000-07:00

So this is the bands that apparently I listen to the most. I have listed the amount of times a song by a particular artist has played on my Itunes since January 2007. Allow me to mention a few points that should accompany this:

It is COMPLETELY linear. What I mean by that is there is no adjusting for bands with only 1 album, or the Beatles entire catalog. Quite simply, the more songs you have put out, the better chance you have of one of them being played.
The plays ONLY go back 2.5 years. Which means bands like Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and Sublime, bands I listened to constantly before this time are less played.
Bands that are stilla ctive (putting out new albums) have a distinct advantage. I devour new music, so when Conor Oberst puts out two new cds in 1 year, he gets a ton of play, while the Strokes have not put out a record during this time. Does that mean I like Conor more than the Strokes, no, but it means I listened to those albums more.
I have worked in several restaurants and ran the music. I created mixes that worked, and mixes that didn't. The mixes that worked got a lot of play, and hence some songs got a SHIT TON of plays. That factors into this.

OK here is the list
comment if you dare

Also: please don't think this is an accurate portrayal of who I like more than who. Of course I don't like the Old 97s more than the Chili Peppers, but in the last 2.5 years, the Chili Peppers have released 0 records, and the Old 97s 1. I have seen the Old 97s in concert, as well as front man Rhett Miller. RHCP have not toured. This is why these numbers are higher!

1. Beatles – 1642

- when you have rubber soul, Help, Abbey Road, Revolver, and Sgt. Pepper - I'm going to go to you a lot. They are the kings, and probably always will be.

Most played song - I've Just Seen a Face (29)

2. Old 97s – 1397

- my favorite guitar band. I love to listen to them. I love Rhett's lyrics. They make great driving music. They put out one of my favorite live CDs ever, and every one of their albums rocks. I don't know how they made it up this high, but they're always an easy pick when I'm bored. Saw them June 2008 and saw Rhett March 2009

Most Played song - Victoria (57)

3. Elliott Smith – 1388

- He's Elliott Smith. That simple. I've probably listened to Either/Or all the way through 30 times. I lived in Silver Lake and listened to him every day. He remains the dead musician I'd kill to see more than any to this day (sorry Jimi), and I love his guitar work.

Most played song - Alameda (44)

4. Wilco – 1186

- Count their live album Kicking Television, and all seven albums have a shit ton of play. At gunpoint, they're my favorite band ever. Everything they've ever done holds a place in my heart, and at certain moments, all their albums were at one point my favorite. YHF remains the best album of this decade. Seeing them June 2009.

Most played song - Either Way (40)

5. Jack Johnson – 1124

- I don't know how he snuck up, because the year and a half before this tally started, he's ALL I listened to. All three of his first three albums were CONSTANTLY on. Somehow he made it up. It helps that I saw him live and he put out a new record. My favorite American songwriter alive, and one of my favorite concerts. Saw him live October 2004 and September 2008.

Most played song - Inaudible Melodies (49)

6. Shins – 1090

- Spent a lot of time as "my favorite band." Chutes Too Narrow is in my top five records of all time. And Wincing the Night Away came out 2 weeks before this list started and was played CONSTANTLY when it came out. Also, Australia might be my favorite song and is the most played song on my cpu. Saw them live April 2007 and May 2009.

Most played song - Australia (80)

7. Jayhawks – 925

- I actually thought they'd be higher. I feel like other than Elliott Smith, they are my goto when there's nothing else to listen to. I adore everything they've ever done. I've still never seen them live, and pray I will (at least Mark and Gary).

Most played song - Stumbling Through the Dark (49)

8. Ryan Adams – 874

- Didn't include Whiskeytown or his numbers would be higher. It's easy to get this high when you have like 300 studio albums. Ryan Adams is the man. Plain and simple. I love his work, and appreciate his quantity and quality. I'm sure he's got more for us in the near future. Also, unbelievable show. Saw him live January 2008.

Most played song - A Kiss Before I go (32)

9. Tom Petty – 859

- He's fucking Petty. Nuff said. He's like my fav. I have everything he's ever done (thanks O-Face) and he will always be a part of my life. Saw him live like 6 times.

Most played song - I Won't Back Down (20)

10. Weezer – 849

- Another band I thought I played more before the list. They did put out a new record which pretty much ruled my life last July. Also, there was the concert at the Forum, and the fact that Pinkerton pretty much owns me. Saw them live August 2002 and August 2008.

Most played song - The Good Life (32)

11. Ben Kweller – 805

Saw Him Live October 2008

Most played song - Penny on the Train Track (57)

12. Red Hot Chili Peppers – 630

Most played song - Wet Sand (42) thanks Brown

13. Tom Waits – 595

most played song - Long Way Home (36)

14. Strokes – 573

Saw them live April 2006

Most played song - Heart in a Cage (31)

15. Silversun Pickups – 554

Saw them live October 2007

Most played song - Well Thought Out Twinkes (72)

16. Kings of Leon – 538

Saw them live October 2008

Most played song - Knocked Up (28)

17. Vampire Weekend – 472

Saw them Live September 2008

Most played song - Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa (51)

18. Mike Doughty – 460

Saw him live April 2008, April 2009, May 2009

Most played song - The Only Answer (35)

19. Death Cab – 458

Saw them Live August 2006

Most played song - Marching Bands of Manhattan (45)

20. Pearl Jam – 405

Most played song - Cordoury (19)

21. Lily Allen – 385

Saw her live April 2007

Most played song - tie Smile, LDN (45)

22. Mason Jennings – 373

Saw him live November 2008

Most Played song - Crown (39)

23. Conor Oberst – 370

Saw him live September 2008

Most played song - Cape Canaveral (37)

24. Grateful Dead – 368

Most played song - Ramble on Rose (30)

25. Flaming Lips – 344

Saw them live August 2006

Most played song - The Yeah Yeah Yeah song (30)

26. Band of Horses – 300

Saw them live September 2007

Most played song - Ode to LRC (40)

27. Led Zeppelin – 291

Most played song - tie Achilles's Last Stand, What is and What Should Never Be (13)

28. Matt Costa – 291

Most played song - Sweet Rose (39)

29. Notorious B.I.G. – 284

Most played song - Things Done Changed (20)

30. Albert Hammond Jr. – 277

Most played song - 101 (32)

31. Fratellis – 295

Most played song - For the Girl (36)

32. Rolling Stones – 247

Most played song - Gimme Shelter (10)

33. Radiohead – 235

Saw them live July 2001

Most played song - 15 Steps (19)

34. Otis Redding – 233

Most played song - That's what My Heart Needs (9)

35. Rhett Miller – 220

Saw him live March 2009

Most played song - Our Love (34)

36. Beck – 211

Most played song - Earthquake Weather (14)

37. Neil Young – 210

Most played song - Walk On (13)

38. Cold War Kids – 205

Saw them live April 2007, September 2008

Most played song - We Used to Vacation (32)

39. Sublime – 199

Most played song - tie 40 oz. to Freedom, Don't Push (10)

40. Golden Smog – 196

Most played song - 5-22-02 (32)

41. Portishead – 196

Most played song - Silence (18)

42. A Tribe Called Quest – 191

Most played song - tie Buggin' Out, Butter (14)

43. My Morning Jacket – 188

Saw them Live September 2008

Most played song - Dondante (Live) (14)

44. Clap Your Hands Say yeah – 186

Most played song - Details of the War (16)

45. MGMT – 185

Saw them live September 2008

Most played song - Time to Pretend (28)

46. Arcade Fire – 184

Most played song - tie, Neon Bible, Intervention (24)

47. Belle & Sebastian – 184

Most played song - tie Piazza, New York Catcher, Step into my Office Baby (23)

48. Kooks – 180

Most played song - She Moves in Her Own Way (30)

49. Drive By Truckers – 177

Most played song - Two Daughters and a Beautiful Wife (18)

50. Ben Harper – 171

Most played song - Burn One Down (16)

51. Jackson Browne – 169

Seen him live a ton of times

Most played song - Late for the Sky (20)

52. Postal Service – 168

Most played song - The District Sleeps Alone tonight (29)

53. Rivers Cuomo – 167

Most played song - Longtime Sunshine (13)

54. Cowboy Junkies – 156

Most played song - Misguided Angel (22)

55. White Buffalo – 156

Seen him live 5 times in the last year

Most played song - Love Song #1 (39)

56. Bob Dylan – 147

Most played song - My Back Pages (14)

57. Dispatch – 147

Most played song - The General (25)

58. The Virgins – 147

Saw them live May 2009 (last concert!)

Most played song - Fernando Pando (20)

59. Decemberists – 145

Most played song - The Sporting Life (16)

60. Pixies – 144

Most played song - I Bleed (10)

61. Black Keys – 142

Most played song - All You Ever Wanted (16)

62. John Fruiscante – 138

Most played song - Omission (11)

63. Art Brut – 130

Most played song - Moving to LA (34)

64. Massive Attack – 130

Most played song - Protection (16)

65. Ramones – 122

Most played song - tie, Sheena is a Punk Rocker and KKK took my Baby Away (9)

66. Foxboro Hot Tubs – 122

Most played song - Mother Mary (28)

67. TV on the Radio – 120

Most played song - Dancing Choose (16)

68. Good the Bad and the Queen – 111

Most played song -History Song (22)

69. Lykke Li – 104

Saw her Live February 2009

Most played song - Dance Dance Dance (14)

70. Uncle Tupelo – 103

Most played song - No Depression (14)

71. Ryan Bingham – 102

Saw him Live April 2009

Most played song - Bread and Water (13)

Next Year, again

2009-06-01T11:02:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, Cleveland tragedies happened in an instant. Whether it was Rich Karliss's kick sailing through the January chill at Cleveland Stadium, Earnest Byner meeting Jeremiah Castille at the 2 yard line, Michael Jordan, John Elway, Jose Mesa – it was always a case of "oh so close" but so far away. But in recent years, the tragedies have come not with a bang, but with a whimper.

The 2007 NBA Finals were never a series. Even with two kinda close games at home, we never really got too excited. Duncan, Ginobili, and especially Parker, made it clear from the outset that this was about them.

Game 7 of the 2007 ALCS – while a little drama was conceded earlier in the week, game 7 was never REALLY in doubt. Fans point to Joel Skinner's decision to hold Kenny Lofton at third in a one run game, but even fixing that error would only have delayed the inevitable. Just like the NBA Finals, at some point well before the last pitch, the fan's mindset changed from "we have a realistic chance of winning," to rationalizing about how a comeback wouldn't be the most incredible thing in baseball history. It's a comforting feeling, but also one that is looked back on as naïve and stupid. When my team is winning by 4 runs late in a game, I'm not thinking about ways the other team can come back, I'm thinking about winning.

And now this. A series that included two one-point games, an overtime game, and another game not decided until the final minute. A series that could have been considered on of the best ever had it gone to a seventh game. It ends with the greatest whimper yet. The game was decided early. The half-time deficit was 18 (19 if you count the tech), we never got the lead below 10 in the second half. The rationalizing started early. And when the final buzzer sounded, and Lebron untucked his jersey and walked off the court, it was hard to be depressed. It was hard to be angry. In fact, the angriest I got on Saturday night, was when TNT dusted off the tri-yearly Cleveland sports misery montage. The montage that only seems to get longer as we become more and more sick of it. Unfortunately for the montage gods, this series will have a tough time making it onto that montage. There was no defining moment in Game 6, there was no instant of heartbreak, or calamity of spirit.

Which hurts all the more.

After game 4 I stayed up thinking. What if Rashard missed. What if Varajau tipped in that missed free throw that mercifully went in. Then we win. But behind all of my misery and pain, I thought that we can still win this series, 3 in a row is not impossible.

But after game 6, there was no loss of sleep. There was no "what ifs" or "second guesses," the lack of a moment to point to and ask yourself why wasn't there. There was no Jose Mesa, no Elway, or Castille. No Pedro, no Jordan, no Tommy Maddox. Just a team, considered by most to be the best in the NBA, going down to a team that was simply better in all facets. No blown calls, no cruel twists. Just a more cohesive group, better coached, better prepared, and able to catch one or two more breaks over 6 games.

The pain won't come from game 6, but from game 1 – what if Delonte hits that three in the corner, what if Rashard can't hit that miracle over Andy, what if Lebron doesn't dribble into the corner? And game 4 – what if delonte gets that rebound?!?! Sure, Mo had a bad series, Delonte lost a step, and Z was absolutely a disgrace – but in my memory, and all of our collective memories, we won't have an image. The image we'll have is Lebron, standing 25 feet away from the hoop with 6'10" Hedo Turkoglu's arms outreached, and the ball on its way into history. We will all remember where we were on Friday May 22, we will always have that, but beneath that memory, and forever, we'll remember only one other fact. We lost.

We won't remember why. We won't remember how. We will simply remember that the greatest image in Cleveland sports, from the greatest player in Cleveland Sports was ruined 8 days later in the most lobsided playoff defeat in three years. We had no answer for them, and they were the better team. End of another chapter in the tragedy that keeps on writing itself. Curses? Falling out of favor with the Gods? An inferiority complex born upon the shores of Lake Erie? Believe whatever you will. But what's important is not why this is happening, but the fact that for some indescribable reason our lives as sports fans remains defined by failure.

Another season has passed. Since December 1964, 125 Cleveland sports seasons have started, 1 ended 65% through the season. 39 have gone to the playoffs. 0 have ended with a championship. By October, that number will be 126, and certainly by January it will be 127. Next year at this time is our next hope. We will see the same montage, we will hear the same stories. But next June, maybe that image of Lebron standing triumphantly, arms raised in the air, and elation flooding his face, will not be the memory of a game 2 victory, but the final lasting image of this never-ending story.

Hate to say it, but for the 125th time in the last 45 years: "we'll get them next year."

Response to SImmons

2009-05-28T11:20:00.001-07:00

I want to bring up two things that Bill Simmons talked about today. Both are relating to officiating, one is structural and the other is more analytical. He points out (like we needed someone to) how dreadful the officiating has gotten, and cites several problems such as the age of the officials, the state of the game as a 1 on 1 thing, and the desire by the NBA to curb on-court violence leading to a crack-down that limits hard play. I have no answers for how to fix the officiating but one very simple thing that could address a lot of issues and doesn't seem to be too drastic.

In baseball, you have a crew of umpires. This crew is headed by one ump called "the crew chief" but in reality, they are all equally important. As they travel from stadium to stadium, they rotate counter-clockwise from base to base. So the crew chief isn't always behind home-plate, in fact, he's behind home plate as often as the other three umps.
In football, you also have crews, headed this time by the head referee. Football officials are the most specialized as any sports. They have two line judges standing on the sidelines marking balls and calling pre-snap penalties and penalties on the edge. You have a back judge to police things that happen beyond the secondary and already back to keep up with the speed of the faster players. You have an umpire standing LITERALLY in the middle of the action policing anything that might happen near the ball. Everyone knows their role. Guys generally don't have to make a call that they're not in position to make because there is a system set up to make sure there is always someone in position.

However in basketball, there are no crews. I mean, there are game-to-game, but after the officials ref a game, they get in separate cabs, fly to a different city, and join up with a new set of two officials to ref another game. There is SOME specialization, but when there is, it comes from a short pre-game discussion amongst the three refs. So if Danny Crawford is reffing a game with Zac Zarba and Bennet Salvadore one night, he might be assigned with Monty McCutcheon and Joey Crawford another night, while Zarba is in another city reffing with Violet Palmer and Dick Bavetta.

Now, Simmons talks about the chemistry acquired after playing years of pick-up ball with the same guys. I could not agree any more. If Matt Neff flew out to L.A. today, we could hang with any group in a two-on-two game. We've been playing together for 15 years. He's Malone, I'm Stockton. It's not even fair. But the reason isn't because we're so talented. And I don't necessarily think we have a form of ESP or anything. The point is, he and I know each others strengths and we know each others weaknesses. I know how he dominates in the post, he knows how effective I am in a screen and roll. He knows I like to D up on the ball, I know that if the ball hits the rim he's got the bound. I don't worry about rebounding, he doesn't worry about perimeter defense, both of which are weaknesses for each other. This is how basketball works.

So tell me, why can't this work for officiating? If I know that a certain official loves to officiate in the paint, and has been doing it long enough that he can seek things I can't see, I won't make a call from half-court when he's already on the baseline. If he knows I can run, and he's slower, wouldn't it make sense to let me work the sidelines and play in transition while he stands closer to mid-court and doesn't need to run as far in between plays. Wouldn't there be more trust amongst the officials to let no-calls be no-calls. You can specialize like in football, you can trust each other, and you can rely on chemistry the same way that my friend and I do in two-on-two.

Furthermore, there's a lot less alpha-dog posturing when you guys are all co-workers. Think about playing pick-up ball with nine strangers. You want to be the man for your team. You might feign alpha-dog mentality simply to impress your teammates, or to position yourself as the leader. This happens in officiating ALL the time. Take D-White's tech the other day. It obviously was a dumb call, but the official who made it was showing off for his crew. He was saying "Oh really D-White, well watch what I can do!" That call NEVER gets made if they crew was together all year. You let that slide, you let a lot of fouls inside slide if the guy on the baseline is your partner, and your season-long friend. The games would be officiated right.

What's baffling is how easy a fix this would be. Of course it wouldn't fix everything, and there's a long way to go, but it makes no sense the way it is now. Certain problems would go away immediately. Others would get better over time as officials grew to respond to one another. I just don't understand any argument for the other way.

And prong two of this is WHY a lot of this is happening. I don't get why no one wants to bring up the major elephant in the room: race. Ok, so Stern wants to curtail the violence, and I applaud him for that. There is a point (see: Artest, Ron) when violence gets out of control. But there's also a point when it's both entertaining and an asset. Magic-Celtics. Pistons-Bulls. Heat-Knicks. These were better cuz the teams were knocking the crap out of each other. But what happened in the mid- to late 1990s was a new crop of players came into the league. They wore corn-rows, banged to hip-hop music, and connections to criminality were easily drawn. On-court violence became less of an extension of tough, physical play, and more of an extension of the streets. Obviosuly, retrospectively, there is no difference between an on-court fight in 2005 and one in 1985, but visually and esoterically, there is.

In 1984, when Kurt Rambis clubbed Kevin McHale, he was tough. In 2006 when Carmello Anthony sucker punched Nate Robinson, he was a thug. The only thing that changed was the perception of the black athlete in the NBA. This is why baseball gets away with it, hockey applauds it, and basketball does EVERYTHING in their power, even if that means ruining the game to prevent it. I urge people to read articles from the late 1990s regarding violence. The word "thug" and "criminal" appears far more often than it should. There is a disproportionately vitriolic response against physical play and even violence in the setting of a basketball game. To ignore this element, which one can argue (like I just did) is the primary element in the curtailing of violence in games, is both ignorant and safe.

I am not "playing the race card," are acting as an apologist. All of us want to see more physical play, less techs, and more rivalry. But no one wants it from a big, black guy, with braids and a scowl. These guys are not criminals but athletes, and the associations are both wrong and detrimental to the game. It won't be until we, as consumers, and the mainstream press drop these associations with language such as "thug" that we'll see the game move back towards allowing emotional, and physical play, with sportsmanship added. Simmons is right on all accounts, and I applaud him for writing such an in-depth piece on the issue, I just wish he'd mention the giant elephant sitting in between Stern and Stu Jackson: race.

The Other Shoe awaits

2009-05-26T10:32:00.000-07:00

Why can't I shake this feeling? I never thought the Cavs were going to win it all. Check that, I didn't think so until about 2 months ago. About 2 months ago, amidst the chaos of March Madness and the dog days of what seems to be a year round NBA season, I started to believe. I think it was a combination of the Cavs hitting their stride at the same moment that the other three contenders—Boston, Orlando, and Los Angeles—starting hitting road bumps. At one point, Lebron passed Kobe, Garnett's injury pushed the Celtics into second-tier status, and Orlando, struggling to beat bottom-run teams, faded into championship irrelevancy. Once we secured home court, it seemed destiny. For the first time in 14 years, we were actually favored to win…and this time, thanks to the NBA's meritocracy where the best record is worth something, we actually had the home-court in the finals. Best player in the land, home court, contenders dropping like the Tribe in 2005 and the Browns in 2007, I actually started to believe.

However, I must admit, I thought there was a chance we'd lose to Detroit. Honestly. I didn't think of it as extremely legitimate, but they're the fucking Pistons. You don't walk over them. After that series, I was hooked. This was it. I actually, for the first time since an unseasonably warm autumn night in October of 1997 thought to myself, "Now you will know what it's like to be a Yankee, or a Niner, or a Bull. This is what it's like. Get Ready."

I'll tell you when it ran out. Game 1, forty seconds left. Delonte had just knocked down a huge three to take a one point lead and then Rashard Lewis, effortlessly caught a ball on the right baseline, put up an eleven footer and buried it to take a one-point lead. At that moment, despite Lebron's ensuing three-point play, I started to doubt. And now, as we stare up a small hill, a hill that we are almost expected to climb, I see an impossible mountain.

I don't know why. A win tonight, and we have a pretty distinct advantage. A best of 3 with 2 games at home is a lot stronger than a best of 7 with 4 games at home. But that win tonight seems implausible, and NOT for the easy reasons. I don't care about D-white, Rashard, Hedo, and Pietrus. I Don't care about Mo, Delmonte, and Z's problems. I mean, I do. Believe me I do. But this is beyond that. This is mythical. This is the product, not of Xs, Os, or statistics, this is the product of Dr. Pavlov, teasing me, baiting me, and universally letting me down. I am conditioned to expect the tease, and when the mouth-watering temptation to believe tries to overcome my pre-ordained cynicism, that cynicism rises, triumphs, and destroys grace in a higher power. The only higher power I know, is that giant shoe, worn by athletes from Elway to Alomar, the same shoe worn by Tommy Maddox, Josh Beckett, and an injured, hobbled Pedro Martinez. As I look up into the unknown today, I do not expect a Cavs win, I do not expect Mo's shot to turn on, or Z to turn effective. What I expect is the worst.

I expect a new story to tell my kids. Lebron's shot—despite what many other cynical Clevelander's are saying—will not be a footnote, but the central theme in the melodrama of another Cleveland tragedy. His shot will represent the worst or our abilities: Our ability to believe. Perhaps it is this trait that is our worst. Perhaps it is not our expectations to fail, our athletically-trained inferiority complex that defines us, but our insistence in believing in a cruel and self-serving deity who, at least from this perspective, seems to be more interested in our failures that anyone's triumphs. If this were not the case, than that shot would not have gone in. If Orlando truly is simply "the better team," than Lebron's shot would have hit that back iron and bounced mercifully off the rim, relieving us of that cruel hope that—despite my heart-felt attempts at abandoning—lives in my body, still today, causing more frustration than faith, and more anticipation for the worst than belief in the best.

More than anything today, I want to blow them out. I want it to be over after the first quarter. But there is a part of me, a slice of brain matter that I'm sure neurologists have discovered contains our ability to reason, to organize, and to plan, that wants D-white to hang 50 on us. Put us out of our misery. Take the hope, the belief, the prayers, and make them go away. It is May. The Indians are relaxed in the cellar, the Browns are….the Browns, and the Cavs are on the brink of collapsing before our very eyes.

I don't want that to happen, but I know better. I think we're the better team, but I don't see us winning. We have the best player ever on our team, and even he can't overcome some things. I know it's been sad before, but there are some things that will just never change. Unless they do tonight. Go Cavs….OH NO, NOT AGAIN.

Center problems

2009-05-25T10:50:00.000-07:00

I know the Cavs have some serious problems to address. I know that the local media, the blogosphere, and the insufferable and uninformed national media have pointed out their lack of any production from the backcourt, which is entirely valid. Mo and Demonte's disappearance in this series is most likely the difference between a 3-0 lead and a 2-1 hole right now. But that is not what this is about. My posts are not here to reiterate what is so blatantly obvious after watching these games.

I'm not here to talk about the officiating, which seems to favor Lebron, then the Magic, then the Cavaliers. It's a super-weird issue that will probably rear its head more often than not, but the Cavs, outside of Lebron are getting hosed, while Lebron seems to be getting absolutely retarded whistles. Obviously the amount of free-throws on Sunday made for a stupid game, but what do you expect when you line up Joey Crawford in a playoff game. It's an odd choice, but not nearly the oddest of David Stern's handling of officials.

I'm here to harp on an issue that I can’t seem to understand. It's actually quite simple: Why is Zydrunas getting minutes in this series? Look, I've never met the guy, but it seems that all that have say he's an absolutely classy and gentlemanly guy. (Save his DUI and his stealing of Bob Sura's wife) I want him to succeed, and I thank him for everything he's given the city in the last thirteen years. But I am absolutely BAFFLED as to:

A. Why despite his inability to defend Howard, along with his complete inefficiency on offense, Mike Brown insists on starting him.

B. Why, despite these inefficiencies in all three games, Brown insists on playing him in crunch time despite Joe Smith and Ben Wallace both giving better minutes in this series.

C. Where, please someone tell me where, Darnell Jackson has gone!!!

The first is the most understandable. Z has been your starting center all year. I understand this attempt at congruency as the team tries to regain their regular season form. In fact, one can even argue that, given our hot starts in games 1 and 2, this can't be pointed out as a problem. But here's the thing: In game 1, Dwight Howard DESTROYED him in the first quarter. Dwight is a first half player. Z simply can't guard him. If Brown wants to start Z, I get it, but what I don't get is playing him through the first quarter (like he did Sunday night). It is PAINFULLY obvious that he is simply overmatched and hurting the team, so it's fine to give him the start, but to handicap the team leaving him in doesn't make any sense to me.

The Second question is quite bothersome. I am not arguing for more Joe Smith, Ben Wallace or others. I am not the coach, and I do not have the resources that I pray Mike Brown is currently consulting. I am simply asking: What is Z giving you down the stretch? Please…What!!!!

Several bullets about this. For one, Z appears, on paper, to have two discernable offensive skills. His ability to hit from 12-16, and offensive rebounding. The jump shot has simply not been there. In fact, one can even argue that he's simply not taking enough jumpers. So far in this series, in 95 minutes, Z is 9-26 from jumpers, including an 0-5 from beyond the arc. Overall, he's 13-34 from the field. This is well below replacement level, and is completely ineffective. I understand that no one on the team is shooting well, and that Z has the unfortunate task of going up against the DPY, BUT, it is different for Z, and I'll get to that in a minute.
The other skill is his ability to offensive rebound, and more specifically tip-in. However, in 95 minutes of play in this series, Z has 8 ORB. Now, I concede that rebounding can be a misleading statistic, for instance, Ben Wallace (in way less than half the minutes) has 5 ORB, but has countless tips keeping balls alive that aren't measured by a traditional stat, while Z has very few if any. Again, I concede that Z is up against Dwight Howard, so his numbers will go down, but this at the end of the day, both of Z's skills that make his defensive liabilities worth dealing with have been neutralized. Whether its declining skills, lack of heart, or Orlando's schemes and personnel, Z hasn't done what he does.

Defensively, I don't need to say anything. When Howard is in, Z resembles the chair that Yi Jianlin infamously dueled in his 2007 pre-draft workouts. When Howard is out, Z is turning a pole, seemingly named after a concentration camp into Hakeem. He cannot, and will not play a role on the weak side, he doesn't block, tip, or alter shots, he's slow in transition, clunky in the post, and even his fouls have been weak enough to allow way to many and-ones. You've all watched the games, so just know this.

OK, so you say "But Mo and Delonte haven't been able to hit either!" Here's my rebuttal. First off, Mo and Delonte had great years; fantastic years even. Z's numbers in almost all categories went DOWN. Z is getting older, his body is falling apart, and his skills—like all mid-30's big men—are declining. To compare Mo and Delonte's cold streaks to Z's lack of production is ignorant.

Also, Mo and Delonte's cold streaks could be attributed to invariable factors. Guys get cold, guys struggle under pressure, guys go through streaks like this. With Z, the problem is more about the Magic. They have neutralized him. If we get past this round, and Z can rip up Andrew Bynum, so be it, play him 40 a game. But against this team, in this series, he is a nothing.

And furthermore (and most importantly), with Mo and Delonte, we don't really have a choice. Mo was an all-star and Delonte was our best non-Lebroner in the playoffs. Their backups are Gibson, Szerbiack, Kinsey, and Sasha. Even given Sasha's hot 5 minutes on Friday, we still kind of NEED these two to get hot. We need to ride them out, and hopefully, given the nature of their problems, they could get out of it. With Z, it's not the case. Wallace is a MUCH better defender and MUCH better rebounder. While statistically his presence is hard to interpret, his presence has been very much felt. Joe Smith has been average, but significantly better than Z. He has been better shooting jumpers, a better rebounder, and played better defensively. And then there's the third question I've asked.

WHERE THE HELL IS DARNELL JACKSON!?!??!?!?!

Please, let me make this clear. I have no clue, NONE, if Darnell Jackson is capable of making an impact in this series. Why do I have no clue? Because none of us do, including Mike Brown, because he will not try him. Here's what goes against Jackson: He's a roogie who may not be able to handle the limelight. He's untested against such a great player like Howard. He hasn't played much in the playoffs and might be rusty. Here's what he has for him: His size is, BY FAR, the best asset we have against Howard. Howard's second-round struggles were, by consensus, attributed to the physicality and size of Kendrick Perkins, and Jackson is the closest thing we have to a Perkins. His youth and inexperience could actually inject life into the team that seems to be lagging (see Lee, Courtney). He played very well in the second half of season, eventually usurping one-time future savior J.J. Hickson's minutes, and actually playing a few crunch time's late.

And the biggest thing Jackson has is: WHY THE HELL NOT! The Cavs have no answer, I repeat, NO ANSWER, for this team. All we hear is the "matchup problems" et al. Why not try, even if just for a 6-8 minute stretch in the second, to match this guy up against Howard. Worst case scenario, he gives you Ben Wallace's impact on offense and takes a few fouls on Howard that can keep Varajau in the game. Best case scenario, he frustrates Howard, helps get stops, scores a few easy baskets on offense (i.e. what Z SHOULD be doing) and forces the Magic to change their strategy. Could it hurt to TRY???

Z is getting 30+ minutes a game. He needs 20 at most. Give Jackson 8-10 of Z's minutes, 2 or 3 of Smith's and 2 or 3 of Wallace's. Match him up on Howard and just try to see if he can stop him. Give him 16 minutes, and let's hope that he's our Kendrick Perkins. Otherwise we lose this series 4-1 or 4-2. We go back to the drawing board and try to figure out next year. How will we deal with this guy, we will need to re-design our frontcourt. Why not try that now Mike? Change on the fly? Z won't mind.

On The Road

2009-05-19T09:21:00.000-07:00

I'm out for a few days...here is a change of pace, I give you the top 3 albums of the last 10 years. These are my opinions, serve NO purpose, and are meant to be disagreed with. But these 30 albums have had a bigger effect on ME than any other records.
Feel free to disagree

Top 3 Albums of Last 10 years:

2009 (in progress)

- Silversun Pickups – Swoon
- Ben Kweller – Changing Horses
- Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band – Outer South

2008

- Vampire Weekend – Vampire Weekend
- Conor Oberst – Conor Oberst
- Portishead – Third

2007

- The Fratellis – Costello Music
- The Shins – Wincing the Night Away
- Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever Ago

2006

- Silversun Pickups – Carnavas
- The Strokes – First Impressions of Earth
- Ben Kweller – Ben Kweller

2005

- Jack Johnson – In Between Dreams
- Death Cab For Cutie – Plans
- Matisyahu – Live at Stubbs

2004

- Mike Doughty – Skittish
- Elliott Smith – From a Basement on a Hill
- Franz Ferdinand – Franz Ferdinand

2003

- The Jayhawks – Rainy Day Music
- The Strokes – Room on Fire
- The Shins – Chutes Too Narrow

2002

- Red Hot Chili Peppers – By the Way
- The Flaming Lips – Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots
- Eminem – The Eminem Show

2001

- Wilco – Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
- The Strokes – Is This It?
- Jack Johnson – Brushfire Fairtytales

2000

- Ryan Adams – Heartbreaker
- Elliott Smith – Figure Eight
- Radiohead – Kid A

Lack of Heart vs. Not Very good

2009-05-18T16:41:00.000-07:00

The sentiment on L.A. radio today (and those with outlets to me via other outlets, like say…conversation) seems to be an air of dominance after yesterday's altogether dominance of the Aaron Brooks's – ahem, the rockets (lower-case to represent their shell of a team). True, yesterday's performance was entirely one-sided, and despite gritty and tough play from Houston, Bynum, Gasol, Ariza, and others completely controlled all aspects of the game, BUT, what exactly does that mean.
Vegas, for what it's worth, thinks it means little. They give the Denver Nuggets a very realistic chance of winning the series, and considering the Lakers have home-court advantage, somewhat implies that in a neutral arena, Vegas, (whose opinion I value more than any analyst's) thinks the two teams are just about equal. While Denver did earn the number 2 seed, they finished eleven games behind the Lakers, and a staggering .140 points behind the Lakers in the Pythagorean standings. (Denver also finished behind the Celtics, Spurs and Blazers in the Pythagorean standings, three teams currently watching on television) What this means, is that despite no injuries, and despite the Lakers's convincing five-game disposal of the Jazz in the first round, some time in the last two weeks, Denver has made up 11 games of regular season separation and .140 points of Pythagorean separation to even up (or at least come close to evening up) the perception that the Lakers are BETTER than the Nuggets, save for home-court.
While Denver was quite impressive against Dallas in the second round, Dallas's Pythagorean winning percentage was barely better than Pheonix, who missed the playoffs altogether and has to be, at least somewhat, expected. What happened is, at least in Vegas's mind, is that the Lakers' struggles with Houston changed the perception of how good this Lakers team can be. Houston's obviously injured stars should have made for an easy series, but they were unable to capitalize, and were forced to subject their fans, and their own bodies, to a surprising game 7. A lot has been made about their heart, their character, and their "championship will" but I think eventually, like Vegas has done, we need to start looking at other factors such as: age, fatigue, and maybe this Lakers team is not that good.
Am I ARGUING they are not good, or even that they will lose a series…not really. I am saying that perhaps all of the things that critics and fans of the Lakers say they lacked in their 2 defeats in Houston in games 4 and 6, were effects, not moveable variables, of more fixed variables that have changed the perception of the Lakers' dominance in the Western Conference.
Some things to consider: Kobe Byrant, the unquestionable heart and soul of this team, is now 31 years old; however, like many astute critics will be quick to point out, he is an "old" 31, for he came into the league at age 18, and has, for the most part, started since his third year. In his thirteen-year career, he has played in 1112 games, starting 944 of those. This is not counting Olympics, preseasons, or the fact that Kobe is known as the hardest working player, off the court in the NBA. In the past two seasons alone, he has played in 197 games, starting each of them and averaging about 38 minutes per game. These numbers are STAGGERING.
To put this in perspective, over his career, he's already played 16 more games than Magic Johnson played in his entire career, and Johnson's numbers began a slight decline (especially in scoring, rebounds, and defensively) after about 900 games. Larry Bird played in 55 less games than Bryant and his numbers also took a sharp turn (also in part to his back problems) after about 900 games. Not counting his Wizard's numbers, Kobe has even played more games than Jordan, whose career total was 1109. Jordan also took two and a half years off in the mid-90s, and, though he did experience a SMALL dip in his numbers in the last two years of his Bulls career, he still won the championship those seasons.
Kobe, by contrast has NOT yet seen a dip in his numbers. He won his first MVP in 2008 in the season he surpassed the dreaded 900 game clip. Up until maybe two months ago, he was the undisputed, unanimous choice for "best player on the planet," and despite his age and games played numbers starting to reach some important benchmarks, has not (at least to the untrained eye) shown any signs of erosion. (There are some statistics such as FTA and points in the paint that do, in fact, point to a small decline in his athleticism, but Jordan worked through that, meaning there's a precedent to follow).
But the point I'm making with all of this data is that: instead of assuming that players age only during the off-season; the assumption that Kobe's 08/09 exists in a vacuum and signs of fatigue or maybe age will only emerge side by side with his 09/10 numbers is simply wrong. In fact, can't we assume the opposite is true? Can't we assume that players probably age more during the season that after? Can't we assume that Kobe, who seems to be playing at as high of a level as he was last year, is not even playing at as high of a level as he was in November? That assumption goes for Bryant, Fisher (1111 GP), even younger players like Gasol (629) or Odom (723) who may not be "old" but may be experiencing some sort of age-related fatigue after playing the amount of games at the level that they've been playing at over the last eighteen months? Look at Boston. Garnett and Pierced look like they're about 65 years old right now. Their month-long winning streak over November and December seems like it was three years ago.
So maybe, while fans and critics jump on the "will the Lakers show up tonight" bandwagon, they should be looking at another point. Furthermore, maybe the Lakers just aren't as good as we thought. The NBA season, despite being 6 months long, is only 82 games. While 82 games is a large sample size (6 times longer than the NFL) it is far from perfect. It is half as long as baseball's; it is played through an unbalanced schedule, and does not ALWAYS tell the exact story of the best team's in the league. For instance, Denver, Portland, and San Antonio all finished with identical 54-28 records. Houston, with Yao, and half a season of McGrady finished one game behind with a quite comparable 53-29 record. I am considering the fact that the Spurs are banged up, but also considering Houston as even more banged up. In the playoffs, these four teams, despite essentially identical records, have played four ENTIRELY different post-seasons. Denver is 8-2, Houston 7-6, Portand 2-4 and the Spurs 1-4. Since these are small sample sizes as well, little could be said about which team's are "the best" but perhaps the Lakers' 65-17 might not be as impressive considering their second-round performance.
Here again, my point is that maybe, while their regular-season record was more than impressive, perhaps it's sample size was too limited to expose the fact that the Lakers were merely not as good as their record indicates (and their Pythagorean record confirms). For instance, from February 29 through March 31, the Lakers played at a 10-6 clip. Maybe this pedestrian .625 record (duplicated in during a significant stretch in December) is truer to form than the much higher percentage played in other, hotter stretches. Again, I am not arguing that this is the case, but it would not be a stretch to say that the Lakers are closer to a .625, or even .659 (Denver's reg. season Winning pct.) than the loft goal of .793 they actually set. In fact, their post-season record right now (against a free-falling Jazz team, and a terminally injured Rockets team is .666 with 7 of 12 games being played at Staples Center.
Obviously this small sample size renders these numbers ALMOST irrelevant, but perhaps this sample is truer than other samples. Especially considering Kobe's age, the entire team's fatigue, and other fixed variables that are being interpreted by both familiar and unfamiliar sources as moveable variables, maybe the Lakers are just about as good as the Nuggets.
I could go on and discuss the hypocrisy of judging a team's merit based on an incredibly small sample size when a much larger sample size is readily available, or the virtue of match-ups, home-court advantage, and the ever-popular "heart", but I think that Phil and Kobe SHOULD be able to answer any questions over the next month.
I do not want to make any predictions, and I do not want to assume anything. All I will say is to my L.A. brethren, you just went 7 games with a team that most likely would be a high lottery pick if they played the entire regular season with their game 7 roster. Of the four teams in the final four right now, none is more fatigued than you, none is under as much pressure as you, and all three are playing better at this stage of the playoffs. Of course this can change drastically and quickly, but instead of basking in the game 7 domination, maybe a quick fan gut-check is in order. Shit-talking to a minimum, concern at an all-time high.

Kobe vs Lebron????

2009-05-15T15:59:00.000-07:00

Today on TrueHoop, several prominent bloggers voiced their opinions on the individual rivalry between Lebron and Kobe. This dichotomy is so interesting to me because I can not remember an ongoing argument over who is better in basketball involving two so similar players in my lifetime. I mean, I guess there was the Garnett/Duncan rivalry in the early 2000s, but that was so one-sided that I don't think any logical person ever chose Garnett over Duncan after the years of domination.

In the 90s, there was very little debate because of Michael. Sure the 1993 and 1998 MVPs don't agree with this decade of individual dominance argument, but those were such flimsy awards (and Micahel proved those in the Finals) that they are not worth mentioning. In 2001 the debate between best player in the league was Iverson or Shaq…the next few seasons were Kidd vs. Shaq or Kidd vs. Duncan. We had a Nash vs. Kidd season, Kobe vs. Jordan…there really hasn't been a toe-to-toe dichotomy with two players arguably peaking since Magic and Bird. That dichotomy was so broad that it seemingly defined the decade.

But Kobe vs. Lebron is something different. It's not necessarily a preference of styles (such as the Bird/Magic dichotomy) though stylistically there are significant differences. It's not about size or speed (such as the Iverson/Kidd/Nash vs. Shaq/Garnett/Duncan dichotomies) though there is a significant size and speed difference. What this dichotomy is essentially boiled down to is youthful potential being realized at the exact same moment that youthful potential is peaking.

Kobe, living in the shadows of O'Neal for as long as he did, has struggled with his personal rivalry with Jordan's legacy since Shaq's departure in 2004. Lebron on the other hand is in a personal struggle with the mythical expectations belied upon him by the postmodern media, and the hopes of Stern and the NBA in the wake of Jordan's retirement. The personal side of this rivalry only came into the forefront this year thanks to two independent things:

1. The Olympics – The two struggled to claim the overall leadership moniker and hence the title of "greatest player in the world."

2. Lebron's ascendancy as both super-star, and leader of a top-echelon team (thanks in no small part to his time spent with Bryant in China) gave more validity to the idea that James may have passed Bryant as the best player in the world.

The conversation can be heard in bars, on television, and in blogs. It’s an argument that everyone, young/old, educated/stupid, casual/dedicated, seems to share an opinion on. When I went to the Cavs/Lakers game at Staples Center in January, even Lakers fans, known for going to the mat for Kobe unconditionally, seemed to believe that the torch was being passed before our eyes.

There are DEFINITELY arguments for both players…and though I believe that Lebron passed Kobe approximately two months ago, I believe that the argument is valid and worth discussing. My argument is simply that Kobe GOT OLD. That is not to say that he went through a Chris Webber-esque decline, but that he is an old thirty-one, who has played close to two-hundred games in the last eighteen months. And no one, no matter what anyone says about Howard, James, Garnett, or anyone else, plays these games harder than Kobe. About two months ago, Kobe (and the Lakers) started running out of steam. His drives to the hoop are down, his elevation on his deadly jump-shot is down, and his ability to become an on-fire character in NBA Jam seemed to diminish.

Lebron meanwhile, at age twenty-four (Michael Jordan's age in 1987, or Tiger Woods in 1999), is JUST hitting his stride, carrying a team on his shoulders, and playing a level that Kobe was playing at two years ago. Of course this is just my opinion, but if you were to ask me on March 16th, "who would you rather have?" I'm not wasting any time and answering Kobe. Today, again, not wasting any time, but the answer's Lebron.

Ok, but my opinion doesn't matter at all. One of the facts that I find troubling in the pro-Kobe argument is the "4th quarter assassin" argument. The argument that Kobe is the best player in the league in a one possession game. On TrueHoop today, Royce Young of the Daily Thunder argued:

The thing I see in Kobe is a straight assassin. He's the Travis Bickle of basketball. He's there to finish you, even if your kid is in the other room watching. I don't get that from LeBron. LeBron is a slow cooker -- a guy that needs 48 minutes to beat you. He's absolutely unguardable one-on-one, he can rebound, he can create for teammates and he can man up. But does he have that sense of the moment like Kobe does? Can he just walk on the court and say "I got this" to his teammates. I'm not sure he's there yet.

I hate to be the desperado here out riding fences, but in one respect I'm a straight James man. But in another, I want Kobe. It all depends on where we're at on the clock I guess. If I'm starting a franchise and I get to choose one player, I want LeBron. But if I'm taking one shot at the end of the game, I choose Kobe.

OK, so there is a small concession at the end (the "if I'm starting a franchise" comment, but personally the "taking one shot" situation is analogous to the "best player in the world" metric. My argument isn't that this argument is flawed, it's that it simply is based upon NOTHING. While I like Royce Young, and occasionally read his blog, I don't feel that following the OKC Thunder for one season qualifies anyone for making a judgment on who is better in the 4th quarter.

I would agree that up until this season, this might be true; but up until this season, Lebron's best second scoring options have been players that were riding Phil Jackson's bench in crunch time. This season, as the Cavs improved their personnel, Lebron also ascended to the mythic expecttions bestowed upon him as a seventeen year old. But Young is arguing that the thing that sets Kobe aside from James is his CLUTCH abilities. He is arguing that Lebron is a more complete player, but it is Bryant's clutch seperation that makes him more valuable.

This season, per 48 minutes of crunch time (defined by 4th quarter and OT, 5 minutes or less, game within 5 points) Kobe averaged 56.7 points, while Lebron averaged 55.9. These numbers are essentially identical, and by now means is Byrant's edge significant enough to jump Lebron in the dichotomy. Furthermore, Kobe's FG% in these situations is .457% while Lebron's is .556% essentially meaning that Lebron makes a full shot (two points) more than Kobe for every ten taken. Lebron's clutch FG % is only surpassed by Carmello Anthony, and surprisingly, Zach Randolph. Throw in Lebron's peripheral pretty significant statistical advantages over Bryant (14.3-8.4 boards, 12.6-5.7 dimes, 3.5-1 steal, and 1.7-0 blocks) and it would be hard to argue that Bryant is even close to James late in a game. In fact, the only two metrics in which one could argue that Bryant is superior to James are FT% and turnovers. Free throw percentage (James 85 % and Bryant 92%) is nullified by the fact that James shoots two more free throws per 48 clutch minutes than Kobe, and the turnover number (James 4.8, Bryant 3.0) is a result of James doubling Bryant's assist total.

The point of all of these numbers is that, despite Kobe's propensity for being able ot hit back-breaking daggers from twenty feet (often on national TV), he is not nearly as efficient of a player in crunch time as Lebron is. One other incredibly telling stat (one that Young's blurb is actually consistent with) is that Bryant has player 142 minutes in 41 games of crunch time. Lebron has played in 111 minutes in 31 games of crunch time. Lebron's 48-minute "slow-cooker" attack has proved so much more valuable than Bryant's, that his team has not needed him to play the role that he is statistically better than Bryant at playing. THIRTY-ONE GAMES of crunch time. Are you kidding? That number is ridiculous, and in the playoffs, Lebron has won every game by double digits, while Kobe's team is 7-4. And before you bring up the softer competition argument remember this fact – The Lakers were 2-2 against the Pistons and Hawks this season, the Cavs were 3-1 against the Jazz and Rockets.

What this all adds up to is this: The argument over Lebron vs. Kobe is still valid. It probably will go on for another year before Kobe's legs begin to give a little more (though I would not put anything past Kobe's competitive drive carrying him a few more years in the elite), and it will define this era of the NBA. BUT… the 4th quarter assassin garbage, so often called upon by Kobe apologists to deify Bryant's mythology over James's – is simply false. And once all of us, including Royce Young, figure this out, the dichotomy will become a lot clearer.