I hate beans

I would’ve loved to have been a musclehead tonight. Considering I was at Turner Field, I would’ve fit in nicely.

There was plenty of ugliness on the field (it’s official: the Braves run of excellence is over) and even more in the stands. First, I had to deal with hordes of nouveau Red Sox fans. At least a quarter of the crowd in Atlanta was cheering for Boston, and I’m certain only about a quarter of those people actually hail from New England.

They needed a good beating.

Like the fat sack of shit sitting two rows in front of me, zestfully rooting for the Red Sox in a Southern twang. Hard to figure him for a Brookline-ite. "Hey, I bet you’re a Steelers fan," I yelled in frustration, to which he replied: "How’d the Falcons do last year?" To which I replied, under my breath, "So if your kid gets a bad report card do you stop loving him?" My buddy Al Kosa was more direct: "Lose some weight!"

He needed a good beating (the Sox fan, not Al).

Is there anything more annoying than a frontrunner? Maybe the hick standing in the aisle with his shirt off exhorting the Braves fans to … do the wave, in the 8th inning (he needed a good beating). Let’s face it: the pro sports environment in Atlanta is tepid, at best. Most "fans" either don’t care or root for another team.

I tried to get in the spirt of things, responding to the repetitive "Let’s go Red Sox" chant with "Bill-y Buckner" or "Buck-y Dent," which elicited mostly nervous looks from the surrounding throng, like this one chick with pig tails who caught my eye, implying, with her furrowed brow, that I was being mean.   

No, I’m trying to be a fan. It would be nice to have some company, but you could fit all the die-hard Braves followers into a Holiday Inn banquet room (an overstatement, perhaps, but not that far off). It ain’t easy being a baseball acolyte in a region filled with transplants brainwashed by the alleged appeal of football — "That fourth instant replay challenge sure was exciting."

And it’s worse when you have a bunch of yankee rednecks throwing it in your face.

She’s gorgeous!

This is my boss, Jonathan Hart.  A self-made millionaire. He’s quite a guy.

This is Mrs. H. She’s gorgeous. She’s one lady who knows how to take care of herself.

By the way, my name is Max. I take care of both of them. Which ain’t easy, ’cause when they met … it was murder.

Why am I posting the “Hart to Hart” theme song? For starters, I always dreamed of having a gal friday like Max:

“That’s Mr. B. He’s gorgeous!”

Granted, that would be a little creepy. 

Meltdown

Let us take a minute to revel in the unraveling career of Thomas Mapother –

Sources say that a hot studio property, an action thriller that Cruise desperately wanted to make in the coming year, has been taken away from him. For the first time ever, in fact, Cruise has not gotten first dibs on a Hollywood project. Instead, the movie will probably be offered to George Clooney if it hasn’t been already.

“There isn’t a major studio that will offer Tom Cruise a $200 million movie now,” one source told me. “There’s going to be a big reconsideration now of what he should do next.” …

Cited as a major factor in his career trouble: Cruise’s insistence on making an issue of his involvement in Scientology.

“People who knew him just a few years ago had no stories about Cruise pressuring them to be part of it,” says a source. …

What happened? “Obviously they [Scientology] told him it was time to pay up one way or another,” says an old Cruise associate. “They definitely forced him to go public.”

You are the wind beneath my wings

Even more celebrity masturbation (the well never runs dry), this time from the paper of record in its review of balladeer Rufus Wainwright‘s re-creation of Judy Garland’s famous Carnegie Hall show:

For those who came to worship, Mr. Wainwright could do no wrong. If there were no boos, an audience clearly primed to go crazy never exploded into cathartic pandemonium. Still, Mr. Wainwright’s courage to stand as a surrogate for every Garland fan who ever gazed into the mirror and fantasized about stepping into her ruby slippers spoke for itself. Simply for doing it, he was a hero.

Let me remind you, this comes not from US Weekly, but The New York Times. Someone inform the hyperbole patrol.

Happy Father’s Day

I’m offended … you’re fired!

I’m not crazy about being called a deviant, just as I’m certain Christian fundamentalists don’t like me calling them nut jobs. But whereas I would probably not lose my job for saying such a thing, Robert J. Smith, a member of the Metro (Md.) transit authority, lost his for repeating the former.

"Homosexual behavior, in my view, is deviant," he said. "I’m a Roman Catholic." Smith said his comments had been part of a discussion about a proposed ban on same-sex marriage. "The comments I make in public outside of my [Metro board job] I’m entitled to make," he said. His personal beliefs, he said, have "absolutely nothing to do with running trains and buses and have not affected my actions or decisions on this board."

If he repeated such comments in the workplace — and it reflected in his hiring practices within the department — that would be another story. But there’s no evidence of that, and Smith shouldn’t have to apologize for being a religious conservative, as much as I disagree with his views.

Maryland’s Republican governor Robert Ehrlich canned Smith, saying his comments were "insensitive." If insensitivity has become a firing offense, then I’m in real trouble.

At the Metro meeting, board member Jim Graham, who represents the District, had called for Smith to disavow his remarks or apologize or for Ehrlich to remove him. "As someone who cares deeply about human rights, and as an openly gay elected official . . . I cannot remain silent in the face of these comments," Graham said, reading from a prepared statement.

I care deepy about human rights, too, and I care just as much about the First Amendment. The two are intrinsically tied, and Graham, like many liberals, doesn’t seem to realize that being offended is not a capital offense.

Bear-ly tolerable

I sort of like Joe Lieberman (aka the dad on "ALF") but his latest campaign ad is about as juevnile as they come. No wonder he’s struggling to secure the Democratic nomination for another term in the Senate. 

Watch it here.

She’s gorgeous!

This is my boss, Jonathan Hart.  A self-made millionaire. He’s quite a guy.

This is Mrs. H. She’s gorgeous. She’s one lady who knows how to take care of herself.

By the way, my name is Max. I take care of both of them. Which ain’t easy, ’cause when they met … it was murder.

Why am I posting the "Hart to Hart" theme song? For starters, I always dreamed of having a gal friday like Max:

"That’s Mr. B. He’s gorgeous!"

Granted, that would be a little creepy. 

Meltdown

Let us take a minute to revel in the unraveling career of Thomas Mapother —

Sources say that a hot studio property, an action thriller that Cruise desperately wanted to make in the coming year, has been taken away from him. For the first time ever, in fact, Cruise has not gotten first dibs on a Hollywood project. Instead, the movie will probably be offered to George Clooney if it hasn’t been already.

“There isn’t a major studio that will offer Tom Cruise a $200 million movie now,” one source told me. “There’s going to be a big reconsideration now of what he should do next.” …

Cited as a major factor in his career trouble: Cruise’s insistence on making an issue of his involvement in Scientology.

“People who knew him just a few years ago had no stories about Cruise pressuring them to be part of it,” says a source. …

What happened? “Obviously they [Scientology] told him it was time to pay up one way or another,” says an old Cruise associate. “They definitely forced him to go public.”

You are the wind beneath my wings

Even more celebrity masturbation (the well never runs dry), this time from the paper of record in its review of balladeer Rufus Wainwright‘s re-creation of Judy Garland’s famous Carnegie Hall show:

For those who came to worship, Mr. Wainwright could do no wrong. If there were no boos, an audience clearly primed to go crazy never exploded into cathartic pandemonium. Still, Mr. Wainwright’s courage to stand as a surrogate for every Garland fan who ever gazed into the mirror and fantasized about stepping into her ruby slippers spoke for itself. Simply for doing it, he was a hero.

Let me remind you, this comes not from US Weekly, but The New York Times. Someone inform the hyperbole patrol.

In honor of the World Cup

“Soccer was invented by European ladies to keep them busy while their husbands did the cooking.”

–Hank Hill

Hainting life

After sampling a few minutes of Britney Spears‘ big TV interview Thursday night, I’m reminded of a term my grandfather often used to describe, shall we say, well-worn females –

“That woman’s a haint.”

“What’s a haint?”

“You know, a haint.”

My grandfather was never big on explaining himself. Like when he introduced me to the adjective “pussel-gutted” …

“That woman’s pussel-gutted.”

“What’s pussel-gutted mean?”

“You know, pussel-gutted.”

BTW, pussel-guted means “fat,” at least in the Boone family dictionary.

Induce vomiting now

Sick pic of the week, courtesy of gossip queen Perez Hilton –

Really, I should avoid such easy targets … not like you can’t find nine million other blogs that make sport of Star Jones. But, as John Denver sang, some days are diamonds, some days are gold. In other words, to quote Admiral Stockdale, I’m out of ammo.

Asshole of the week

Hard to believe, but our winner is a professional athlete — former Atlanta Brave Odalis Perez:

He stopped his O’s 45′s program, in which he bought 45 tickets for inner-city school children to attend his starts, after losing his starting job. He said he would not reinstate the program now that he is starting again because he felt he never got enough credit from the club or the public for his charitable contributions.

“When you spend your own money you want to be recognized for that,” Perez said. “I don’t want to be a hero, but just pay more attention to what I’m doing. People don’t want to give me the recognition for it.”

Okay, Odalis, I’ll recognize — You’re a fat piece of shit (literally) who’s just about pitched yourself out of the majors.

Noted and quoted

“It is better to have a permanent income than to be fascinating.”

– Oscar Wilde