Can Green Bay win the Super Bowl?

Shit, why not?

I remember 1998. Don't you? It was a simpler time. Saddam ruled in Baghdad. Bill ruled in Washington. George was mostly harmless down in Austin. Google had just been founded, and not everyone had Internet access. Hardly ANYONE had high-speed Internet. Britney was hot, Jay-Z was just a rapper, and two generations of Dylans won a Grammy award. My how things have changed.

It seems like a different era. However, the (potential) Super Bowl matchups are eerily similar. Back in 1997-1998, the Green Bay Packers were the cream of the NFL crop. Led by their best-quarterback-in-the-league Brett Favre (coming off his 3rd consecutive MVP award), they rolled into the Super Bowl the odds on favorite to defend their title. Their opponent? The Denver Broncos, led by aging legend John Elway. There was no way, everyone said, that the Broncos could stop Favre and the Packers. Everyone was wrong. John Elway put Denver on his old-ass back and carried the team to one of the most improbably and memorable World Championships in memory. The Packers were stunned. I know. I'm a Packer fan.

Fast-forward to 2008. Assuming that what should happen happens (Packers-Patriots title game), consider the similarities. First, Favre is the new Elway and Brady is the new Favre. Brady is the league's MVP, as was Favre back then. He plays on the unstoppable juggernaut Patriots, the heavy favorites to win it all. The 1997 Packers were no different (save for the 19-0 thing). Why will the Packers win? Simple. Brett Favre wills his young team to victory. They have the talent to beat the Pats. The stadium will be full of green and gold. Why the fuck not?

Watch out, New England. That's all.

Visions of Johanna

No particular reason...

Visions of Johanna -- Bob Dylan

Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it
And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it
Lights flicker from the opposite loft
In this room the heat pipes just cough
The country music station plays soft
But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Louise and her lover so entwined
And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind

In the empty lot where the ladies play blindman's bluff with the key chain
And the all-night girls they whisper of escapades out on the "D" train
We can hear the night watchman click his flashlight
Ask himself if it's him or them that's really insane
Louise, she's all right, she's just near
She's delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna's not here
The ghost of 'lectricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Johanna have now taken my place

Now, little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously
He brags of his misery, he likes to live dangerously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a farewell kiss to me
He's sure got a lotta gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the wall while I'm in the hall
How can I explain?Oh, it's so hard to get on
And these visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn

Inside the museums, Infinity goes up on trial
Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while
But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues
You can tell by the way she smiles
See the primitive wallflower freeze
When the jelly-faced women all sneeze
Hear the one with the mustache say, "JeezeI can't find my knees"
Oh, jewels and binoculars hang from the head of the mule
But these visions of Johanna, they make it all seem so cruel

The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him
Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him"
But like Louise always says"Ya can't look at much, can ya man?"
As she, herself, prepares for him
And Madonna, she still has not showed
We see this empty cage now corrode
Where her cape of the stage once had flowed
The fiddler, he now steps to the road
He writes ev'rything's been returned which was owed
On the back of the fish truck that loads
While my conscience explodes
The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain
And these visions of Johanna are now all that remain

Jeter Swallows

God this pissed me off. Derek Jeter (left, making an error), by all accounts a decent-but-not-great shortstop, has won another Gold Glove. He beat out, among others, Alex Gonzales (below right, turning a double play) of the Boston Red Sox. AGon was the anchor of a Red Sox infield that was the second best of all time. His defensive play was the talk of baseball all year (he made 7 errors to Jeter's 15). He set records for consecutive games without an error. Because he only played in 111 games, I guess he got overlooked for an overrated player. Jeter had a great year at the plate, but in the 6 hole, he was just run of the mill.

The word "easy"

Our client (the makers of a certain brand of calcium citrate supplement) is having issues with the word "easy". "It doesn't sound technical enough," they say. Doctors don't, apparently, want to hear that something is "easy". They want to hear about its "ease of use" for their patients. I loathe this need for certain groups to use jargon in order to feel that their degree is worth something more than the paper it's printed on. As if the 6-7 figure salary isn't enough. I don't know what I'm trying to say. All I know is that "easy" worked about as well as any other word in the English language at performing its function in the headline. The fact that the word appears 3 times on the page may have something to do with it.


Wait! Our copywriter has just sent us some other options, and... they're all crap. Good for her.

Patrick Bateman for President

American Psycho was on TV last night. And I thought I was crazy. Unemployment is bad, but if success begets that sort of behavior ( I know it's just a book/movie), I'm going to join Terenzi in Nicaragua. Speaking of that particular Central American nation, I am reminded of the Sandinistas. Not because Rob lives with one, but because, like those guerillas, Patrick Bateman is a revolutionary. It is not a revolution turned outward, however, as it may seem watching him hack up Paul Allen with an axe, blood spilling all over his apartment in the American Gardens Building (nice). No, instead it is a revolution against himself, and as a consequence of his identity, the predominant culture of his, and indeed our, time.

Booing Johnny Damon

I am a fan of the Boston Red Sox. I will never forget the 2004 World Series team. That being said, Johnny Damon deserved to be booed at Fenway Park. While most people made a case for booing him based on the fact that he is a money grubbing piece of shit Yankee motherfucker, I will offer another, far more practical, perspective.

In addition to the fact that he is a Yankee, and all Yankees deserve to have obscenities shouted at them wherever they may be, he is the leadoff hitter and catalyst of what is, on paper, the most dangerous and potent offense in all of baseball. When that offense is one that you have to face a whopping 19 times during the course of the regular season, and is also your main competition when the pennant race is in full swing, any advantage that the Boston Red Sox can gain over the Yankees at home is critical to their success. What the fuck is the point of giving your enemy a good feeling when his only goal is to piss you off by putting the ball in play and crossing the plate? They call it Home Field Advantage for a fucking reason. If the Fenway Faithful can make Johnny Damon, A-Rod, Jeter, or Giambi less comfortable at the plate, they should do it. We owe it to the current Red Sox players, most of whom are playing their asses off for 162 games, to help them out the only way that fans can: BY CHEERING THEM AND BOOING THE OPPONENT!! In a rivalry that has been so tightly contested as of late, giving aid and comfort to the enemy is not an option.

Why I'm still unemployed

Well, I've had a few interviews since I last talked to myself. My last name is Lindner. Note the "d" surrounded by 2 "n's". It's difficult for people to fathom such a stretch of consonants, especially those who work in Human Resources. Apparently I'm a potential human resource. Anyway, I was supposed to get an e mail a few weeks ago from a potential hirer. The interview was wonderful, akin to hanging out with a girl at a bar for 2 hours, knowing full well that you're getting laid after last call. Well, she disappeared before last call. My e mail address, spelled correctly on my resume, was most likely spelled mlinder1@gmail.com. That would not go to me. Rather, it would go to someone who has the last name Linder. Everyone knows that the Linders are losers. A bunch of fucking cocksuckers. I'm a Lindner. Big difference. The shit I have to deal with sometimes. Jesus H. Christ.

The second one

Today I was given the rare opportunity to participate in market research. These sorry motherfuckers are paying me 75 bucks to bullshit about drinks (nonalcoholic, unfortunately). Also continuing to read Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments. Good book. Actually, this is kind of therapudic. Especially knowing that no one will read it. Unemployment sucks. Thinking of law school, but that could be just an excuse to go back into academia, the only world I have ever known.