Back from the dead

It’s now Wednesday, and I’m finally feeling like myself again. Near-tragic events early Saturday morning have opened my eyes to a long-standing disease perched atop my shoulder, but along with realization came biological vulnerability. At the point that my body finally gave in to all the abuse, accelerated one evening through a series of missteps, I must have opened myself up to viruses. Between the uncontrollable shakes, head nausea and mental sprints through alleys of my past, my body lay broken and susceptible to evils. And so this flu-like strain has kept me in bed ever since.

I’ve never slept so much and watched so many shitty movies. My room smells like six-day-old ham left on the kitchen counter, mildew has built up in the corners, and I can still sense traces of dank sweat breathing between the bed sheets. My burgundy Stussy hoodie is still wet. It’s like the Velveteen fucking Rabbit in this room, and it all needs to be burned.

Today, Wednesday, finally, I’m back to my usual 70 percent. It feels good, though it seems like the past few days never happened. No music, no news, no anything. Marginal sports, mostly baseball with the sound turned off as I stare at the wall and put all of my senses on the eight-inch strip of my thigh that Lola is pressed up against. I’ve done more dreaming than living, and that’s pretty terrifying given my state of mind. But I sense a future of health, and really hope this was some sort of turning point.

Come tomorrow: the return of my irrelevant pop culture notes and manic hockey observations (Though I’ve only watched one Devils game this season... Gentlemen, don’t ever bring a lady into the world you love – when she leaves, she’ll only take it with her). Until then, I’m going back to bed, and getting rest. Lola’s already got soup on the stove.

Sick

Sick.

Cleveland vs. Boston, the weekend ahead

Oh boy. To quote a good friend of mine, "I'm TGIFin like a motherfucker." My Friday began with seeing my Boston vs Cleveland Tale of the Tape in glorious print, which not only earned approval of my only Cleveland-native friend, but was also discussed for a few minutes on Fox 25 Morning News. Sometimes I forget how many people read the paper I write for. This ain't Woburn.

If the rain holds off, a trip to the King Richard's Faire with Lady Riley is in order for Sunday. Couple that with a jaunt down to Providence tomorrow, and I should have some interesting stories to report on Monday. And next week, The Trucks are at the Middle East, Doug Stanhope does Punk Rock Stand Up at O'Brien's, and I get to catch a screening of Control (the Ian Curtis flick) on Thursday. Good week.

See you at the pill tonight. And if anyone's interested, I posted my DJ set list from last night's Bon Savants show. Good times.

Published material, Oct. 10 2007

Got a nice little triple play action in the Herald today: Word on what locals think of the Radiohead download ploy; a review of the sterling new Hard-Fi disc; and news that the National is playing Faneuil Hall. All in a day's work. Right now I'm setting up a screening for the new Ian Curtis movie, Control," so more on that TK TK. See you at Digitalism tonight.

Song of the Day: Bat for Lashes' "What's A Girl To Do"

I remember sometime early last year, some (at the time) unknown-ass band called Silversun Pickups played Great Scott without much fanfare. About three weeks later, I fell in love with "Carnavas" and it'll ultimately have a spot in my Ten Best Albums of the 2000s. Thankfully, I caught them at the Middle East Up in mid-October, before they returned to play the ginornous, and seated, Agganis Arena.

So it comes as no surprise when I see Bat for Lashes played Great Scott last week, only a few days after finally hearing their single "What's a Girl To Do."

I heard it while in a dream-like state of awakeness watching Subterranean (watching obscure music videos on late-night TV -- how 1991, Mr. Lewis Largent!). Now I'm kinda obsessed, but obsessed in the way I was with that Mono "Life In Mono" song from the Great Expectations soundtrack from the cultural vortex known commonly as the late '90s.

So... it should pass, relatively soon. But for now, I'm all over it. Listen to it here.

Pointless shit on a pointless holiday

- Everytime I watch a hockey game televised in Canada, I see a billion commercials for Boston Pizza, some Unos-like cheap-eats restaurant. Do Canadians realize Boston is fucking attrocious? They shoulda named the chain Wakefield Pizza in honor of Nono’s on Main Street. Best slice in New England.

- I’m really late to the Okkervil River party.

- I slept through the Rock of Love reunion last night, even though I was awake. It was midly amusing to see Riki Rachtman is still alive, which was cool. But I’ve already forgotten about Rock of Love and will now devote all of my thoughts to the wonderful Miss Tiffany Pollard. I Love New York Season 2 starts tonight!


- We’re really never gonna see Patrik Elias the 96-Point Scorer ever again, huh?

- Zach Parise the 96-point Scorer is about three seasons away, huh?

- Was that first ‘R’ in Gus Frerotte’s name always there? I didn’t really follow football until two years ago, but I remember bro-man smashing his head against a concrete wall (some sort of celebration, innit?). Are we just fucking with him now?

- Watching Lola wrestle with “Simon” the stuffed ferret is really one of the best sights I’ve ever seen.

- Just saw another Boston Pizza commercial. They have a BBQ ribs plate, dubbed Ribalicious. I give up.

- We've never had a band from Seattle play the pill before, but I'm pretty psyched about the Blakes show next month.

- So Jimmy Fallon crashed the stage at a Bang Camaro concert at Bowery Ballroom in New York City. Craziness. This is the first time any celebrity was involved with a show by a Boston band since Lewis Black attended, on his own dime, the pill’s 2004 Halloween show at the Middle East.

- I think my ex wrote this article.

- Interesting thought on Devils numbers: Scott Stevens and Ken Daneyko finished their careers as Devils, and their numbers 4 and 3, respectively, have never been worn since. Scott Niedermayer, John MacLean and Scott Gomez signed with other teams after many successful years in Jersey, and all three had their numbers re-issued a few years following their departure: Niedermayer’s 27 is worn now by Mike Mottau (ouch!), MacLean’s 15 was eventually given to Jamie Langenbrunner (an honor both ways) and Gomez’23 is now filled out by David Clarkson. Don’t leave New Jersey if you want props in the new Prudential Center.

- Eric Karabell of ESPN is not only my favoritest fantasy baseball writer, but he’s got football locked in as well. Always a must-read.


- Finally, I can’t believe the Macy’s Gift Card epidemic will be the final nuance to end MySpace. Getting hacked is the new fashionable STD.

Random stuff: Devils, Reef, the pill

So not a victory last night in Boltland, but a decent game all things considered. No Colin White, no Jamie Langenbrunner, no cause for panic, as Tampa always gives us trouble. Marty looked invincible at times, and my David Clarkson jersey – complete with Gomez’ old 23 – is already in the mail. Zach Parise could he headed toward a monster year. The newer guys have much room to improve, but this nine game road trip should bring the boys together. It's amazing how far Vincent Lecavalier has come since his rookie season.

I replaced my anticipated Sarah Silverman watching with a trip to Reef Café, exposing another person to the glory that is Allston's famed Lebanese cuisine hut. This is, without a doubt, the best food Allston has to offer. The date agreed, and I've pretty much addicted to the chicken shawarma sandwich, rich pilaf and garlic paste.


But it's all in anticipation for tonight, the highly-anticipated 10th anniversary of the pill. I moved to Boston in 2000, in part because the pill was every Friday and I wasn't feeling the $10 drinks at Tiswas in NYC. Seven years later, I truly feel a part of Boston and it’s crazy how the night has grown into an institution. I’ve been looking forward to tonight for ages. Expect some extra Suede.

Oct. 4: NJ Devils & Sarah Silverman, oh my...

So this weekend is going to be nothing short of chaos, but tonight is really where the magic begins.

The New Jersey Devils begin their quest for a fourth Stanley Cup in 13 years tonight in Tampa, home of Vinny Lecavalier, Martin St-Louis and the newly unveiled Gatorade logo. I was never a big fan of Tampa’s jersey to begin with, and I’m unsure if the new duds are an improvement. Few are, this year. (The Washington Capitals and Boston Bruins are the only ones that I love.)

Anyway, I hope to whip up a Devils and NHL season preview sometime this weekend, as lately I’ve been busier than Jennifer Stuck in the kitchen. But I will say this: Don’t count the Devils out this year. I’m in love with newly-acquired Dainius Zubrus centering the top line, and think he can bring the same presence and strength Jason Arnott did in the A-Line days. Despite losing S***t G***z and Brian Rafalski (losing the latter will hurt more than the former, tenfold), our offense won’t suffer much of a drop-off, as Travis Zajac should pick up the slack and Brian Gionta should net more than 25 goals. Remember, G***z scored what, a dozen goals last season? Andy Greene will be a dark horse on the PP as an emerging NHL defenseman, though the real key to the D is the growth of new Number 1, Paul Martin. I also can’t wait to see Vitali Vishnevsky hit everything in sight, but I’m not looking forward to him being grossly out of position after applying said hits. Fuck it, at least it’s toughness. We haven’t had that since Daneyko retired.


So while the rest of the Atlantic Division got better and more bloated, we got bigger... and smarter. Hiring Brent Sutter was the best move any team made this off-season, though I don’t like the idea of splitting up Madden and Pandolfo on the checking unit. Nonetheless, we finally have a hard-nosed leader who demands accountability, and Sutter could easily be a Jack Adams finalist by the spring. He’s the best of Pat Burns and Larry Robinson in a head that relates to young players and has a great reputation as a nurturer. I’m giddy as shit over this hiring.

And lastly, as long as we have Marty between the pipes, we’re not dead. 35-years-young and still going strong, it’s an honor to watch this guy year in and year out.

Let the Rag$ celebrate overpaid FA signings while ignoring their D, let the Flyers continue to rape the Nashville Predators and maybe the city of Pittsburgh will choke to death on Sidney Crosby’s impenetrable superstar sperm. At least the Isles will enjoy their familiar slot of last place. Look for another division crowd and an extended playoff run from a team looking a lot like the ’95 Cup champs. Anyone up for a Devils-Sharks final?

***

Edit: Apparently this was on last night. Motherfuck. I seriously need a new day-planner. Now she'll never marry me. (I wonder if it's on OnDemand yet...)
If a Devils season opener wasn’t enough to get me excited as Scott Gomez at a strip club, immediately following the game is the season premiere of the Sarah Silverman Show. As many of you are well, aware, Sarah and I will one day marry and have a family of half-funny, half-athletic, half-motivated devil-children. But they will be beautiful. My god do I love this woman… I sometimes watch the show with the sound off, but I can be weird like that.

Next week is a fucking doozy: I Love New York Season 2 premiere on Monday, Gliss at Hennessy’s on Tuesday, Digitalism at the Middle East on Wednesday, DJing the Bon Savants gig at Great Scott Thursday and another edition of the pill, post-10th anniversary-style, on Friday.

But tonight, I masturbate feverishly to hockey and Sarah.

Countdown to the pill's 10th anniversary

The press accolades continue this week, as we're just three days away from the pill's 10th anniversary. Mad props to the Weekly Dig and Luke O'Neil for a dope feature, and Will Spitz of the Boston Phoenix should have something whipped up tomorrow.

How I miss those Upstairs Lounge days: endless amounts of drugs, the irreplacable and legendary Bridget Sweeny at my side, Perkins Street afterparties, the pill kids, the Scituate Mariner reporter's beat, listening to jj72 and Sigur Ros, frequent trips to Canada, the better half of my 20s, and not being bitter and jaded about Boston. What a motherfucker of a time.

Playoff predictions and 2007 MLB awards

The fall is my favoritest time of year: Day trips to Salem, the cool autumn weather, the start of the hockey season and best of all, baseball playoffs. Here are some random thoughts on potential October glory, followed by 2007 award semi-predictions:

In the American League, my head is telling me the Cleveland Indians will not only be in the World Series, but win the whole fucking thing. My fandom and New England residence tells me it’ll be another Yanks-Sox ALCS, which is what we’re all hoping for in the Northeast. The gimpy Angels won’t do much against a rejuvenated Red Sox squad, and look for the Sox to ultimately prevail over the Bombers in a mildly anti-climatic six-game ALCS tilt. ALCS MVP: Mike Lowell.

In the Senior Circuit, shit, who knows. Can anyone accurately predict Phillies-Rockies and Cubs-Diamondbacks? I’ll just say Phillies in 5, Cubs in 4, and the Phillies over the Cubbies in 7 games for the NL title. Bartman the Sequel will cause more people to believe in that stupid assed Billy Goat Curse. NLCS MVP: Chase Utley.

So World Series? Red Sox over the Phillies in 5 games. But a Cubs/Sox WS would be worth a look, though the Cubs aren’t as sexy as they were in 2003, when they should have advanced to the Fall Classic. World Series MVP: Jonathan Papelbon.

2007 Hardware:

AL MVP: Alex Rodriguez, Yankees
All-Everything picked a great time to evoke a contract escape clause and lead Jason Corey’s Orkney Road fantasy team to glory. Now here’s hoping he goes and signs with the Dodgers for $30M a season. Any other year and this award is Magglio Ordonez'. Not this one, though.

NL MVP: Matt Holliday, Rockies
Jimmy Rollins had a great season, but he had Chase Utley and Ryan Howard propelling him to that 20-20-20-20 feat, which isn’t so impressive when we see Curtis Granderson also did it this year. Holliday hit .339, knocked in 6,745 runs and did it with a decrepit Todd Helton and overrated Brad Hawpe hitting behind him. He wins this, even if he didn’t touch home plate last night. Utley and Prince Fielder would be in the discussion as well, if Utley didn’t get hurt and Fielder’s Brewers didn’t suddenly remember, “Oh fuck, we’re the Brewers.”

AL Cy Young: Josh Beckett, Red Sox
The stat-heads are out in full-force here, as CC Sabathia and Josh Beckett should have the closest vote since the Blue Jays’ Pat Hentgen edged out the Yanks Andy Pettitte in 1996 by a vote of 110-106. I know Sabathia pitched about 35 more IP than Beckett, but to pitch in Fenway Park half the season and win 20 games should give him the edge. Even though being the Best Starter on the Best Team is usually enough to win it, I admit though, at no time watching Beckett pitch this year did I think I was watching the eventual Cy Young Winner. And that’s a problem.

NL Cy Young: Jake Peavy, Padres
Quite an unsexy list here for a second straight season. I thought the National League was all about pitching? No 20 game winners again, and Peavy has Petco Park in his corner. But so did Greg Maddux. I’ll spare my grandchildren the confusion of seeing Brandon Webb as a back-to-back Cy Young winner, and consider it a public service. If Cole Hamels stayed healthy, he could’ve had a say in this. If Aaron Harang played for a team besides the Reds, he'd get attention here as well.

AL Rookie of the Year: Dustin Pedroia, Red Sox
Every talented team needs a sparkplug atop the batting order, and after a dreadful start, those 4- and 5-hit games started pouring in for Baby Eckstein. Dice-K wasn’t spectacular, and after the Bob Hamelin fiasco in Kansas City a decade ago, we’ll wait to see more results from Brian Bannister before bestowing him some MLB hardware. Alex Gordon rebounded nicely for double digits in HRs and SBs, but it wasn’t enough, same with future Royals slugger and Berkman-clone Billy Butler. Is Jacoby Ellsbury eligible next year? If so, the ‘08 trophy can be engrained now.

NL Rookie of the Year: Ryan Braun, Brewers
Yeah, his glove has more holes in it than Pete Doherty’s forearm, but the guy fucking mashed for the final two-thirds of the season, keeping the Brewers from total freefall. I’m not sold completely on Troy Tulowitzky or Chris Young, despite his near 30-30 season. The Rox SS might have stolen the award with his team's redonkulous playoff sprint.

AL Manager of the Year: Terry Francona, Red Sox
This guy just doesn’t get enough credit. Eric Wedge did a good job in Cleveland, but that division was a mess after the Tigers. Francona deals with the pressure of Boston, handles an overbearing media and insufferable fanbase (with unrealistic expectations, suddenly) all while massaging 25 mega-egos in one confined, century-old clubhouse. He won’t come close to winning this award, but shit, he deserves credit for keeping this team focused, especially as the Yankees were throwing a beatdown on the AL. He’s not the best strategist, but in Boston that’s not the most important part of the job. The payroll, unfairly, works against him.

NL Manager of the Year, Charlie Manuel, Phillies
Ned Yost lost this in the final month, and getting suckered into a beanbag war with the Cardinals showed how much control he lost, in himself and the team. D-Backs skipper Bob Melvin deserves votes, but Manuel kept the Phils in the hunt in the NL’s best division despite losing its best positional player (Utley) and starter (Hamels) for more than a month each, as well as using wife-beatin’ Brett Myers and Tom Gordon as his closer. All in the pressure-cooker that is Philly. Damn.

AL Comeback Player of the Year: Carlos Pena, Devil Rays
Pretty fucking obvious here. Northeastern University spawns a 46-HR monster. Too bad he was passed around by teams like a drunk hipster chick at an Allston afterparty before settling in down in St. Pete.

NL Comeback player of the Year, Josh Hamilton, Reds
I know Dimitri Young already won this today, but while D-Yo had a great season and helped nurture young Nats after dealing with a litany of personal issues last fall (from divorce to arrest to drugs), my vote goes to Hamilton. Almost ten years after selected first overall by the Devil Rays (ahead of Josh Beckett), he’s finally shaken drug addiction and mashed for a few months with the Reds before injuries derailed his season. The most encouraging story in sports this year, Hamilton came a long way. He’s got the tattoos – and lost years – to prove it.