Something for Everyone

Chatterbox says that when AO is OK, the Orange are A-OK. We’ll call that Chatterbox’s law, or maybe the fourteenth law of thermodynamics. Either way, on Sunday in the dome, AO was not OK, and the Orange were often playing with a man down. In fact, with Flynn under the weather, or whatever was the matter with him, we were often two men down. Add to that the fact that Jackson was totally MIA, just lost out there, and then it was almost a miracle that we had a shot at the end, three shots really, to tie the game and sent it into OT. Alas, none of the three went down, so the game ended, and we’ve yet to beat a quality opponent since the conference schedule began.

Tonight they’re playing in the Garden, which used to be the home away from home, and depending on how long this posting takes, perhaps we’ll know the outcome before it gets to mannymontaigne. The big question, as I see it, is not whether AO is OK, but whether we get to play seven-eight deep, or continue to play short-handed as we have ever since Rautins got hurt in the first Georgetown game. He was out for a couple games, and then got dinged later on. AO has been struggling with tendonitis for a couple weeks. And the bench just isn’t deep enough to allow that many starters to go down. Right now, we’re only playing seven, because Boeheim has lost confidence in Joseph. I think he’s looked all right; maybe lacking a little self-confidence, but what do you expect if the coach sits him every time he makes a mistake? Fortunately KO has stepped up his game the last couple weeks, playing big under the boards, blocking shots, and occasionally hammering the opposition. A guy behind me in the Dome has a term for those muggings KO regularly commits, usually when someone has an open layup: the Belgian block. I thought it was a horseshit call when he was tossed from the Georgetown game, but I have to concede that some of his other fouls may have predisposed the refs against him.

Danny says he can’t wait for baseball season, because he wants to get back to some real hating here. He’s disinterested in the whole alkaline diet thing. Andy mentioned in a comment that he’d like to see more discussion of the movies, probably because he can’t get excited about single malts; that is unless they have a PH over 10. So here’s a way to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak – hating on the Oscars.

I’ve always hated the Oscars, a self-indulgent night, where the entertainment industry takes itself far too seriously, all the while patting itself on the back, and usually giving out awards to the wrong movies, actors, composers, you name it. It’s often a source of friction around here, because Susan loves to watch it, and I can’t stand it- with one exception. I liked Billy Crystal, and would usually watch his opening number. So this year, I came upstairs when I thought the thing was starting, so that I could see Hugh Jackman’s imitation of Billy Crystal. Unfortunately my timing was off, and I got to see the whole red carpet thing. Celebrities in gowns, being interviewed by fawning wannabes. You know what’s interesting about that? To quote Seth Rogan, “Nothing!” Worse, I had to sit through an interview of some gown designer named Valentino, who must be like the great grandson of the famous Rudolph Valentino, but through inbreeding has because a moron, an idiot. So the word for the night was insipid. Each interview was more insipid than the next. I need a new vocabulary here; what’s a word for the most insipid thing possible?

Then I watched about five minutes of Hugh Jackman. He told some purported jokes, only the joke writers forgot one thing: jokes are supposed to be funny. You know what’s funny about Hugh Jackman? That’s right, “Nothing!” I gave up. Even the chance to see my girlfriend Beyonce couldn’t keep me watching.

When we were in the Berkshires, I was telling everyone my theory that TV is really Invasion of the Body Snatchers. We’ve all gone to sleep and woken up zombies. A nation of zombies. And if you don’t believe me, what better proof is there than the Oscars? An entire night of mindless idiotic banter, fools dressed up in gowns and tuxedos, and everyone giving each other awards. Here’s my solution: from Clockwork Orange, which was actually a book before it became a movie. Next year, when everyone sits down to watch the Oscars, we hook them up electrically, and then give them a shock every time an award is presented. Have to sit there all night long; eyes clamped open; getting shocked every time that little statue appears on stage. That will cure everyone. Hate; hate; hate.

Right on the Edge

I’m right on the edge. Here’s how that works. I came home last night, after a long and often aggravating day, longing for a chance to relax. I glanced wistfully at the cabinet that held bottles of HP, of Aberlour, of Macallan, Bruichladdich, Bunnahabhain, all the usual suspects. But despite their beckoning call, I passed that cabinet by. Instead, I opened the fridge, and took out a bottle of sour cherry juice, which I then mixed with Pelligrino water. I could have added a nice maraschino cherry and pretended that I was once again six years old, sitting in Lorenzos, listening to Carl Mano play the guitar, and imagining myself as an adult enjoying a cocktail, as my folks were then doing. But I didn’t do that; I settled for the cherry juice and alkaline sparkling water, and skipped the optional reminiscence.

The great thing about Pelligrino water is that it’s highly alkaline. Cherry juice too. Andy claims that when he drinks these alkaline beverages, he feels decades younger, if only for an hour or two. Me, I drink them and feel nothing much at all. Now, if I were to drink a stiff pour of Macallan 17, after a long and aggravating day, I might not feel 21 again, but I sure as hell would feel a lot more mellow. But when you’re living on the edge, you can do without that mellow feeling. I guess the point is that you school yourself to relax, notwithstanding all the stress and aggravation. I’ll be a Zen master in the midst of turmoil and chaos. Either that or I’ll just be aggravated and pissed off most of the time. Who knows?

The one thing I won’t do is drink that green stuff that Andy makes every morning. I tried it, and as much as I like strong tastes, I really couldn’t see making a habit of that gook. See what happens is that Andy looks in his fridge for anything that’s old, and green, and otherwise inedible. Is there an avocado skin that you’d ordinarily throw out? Perfect. How about all those green things on the top of carrots, and beets, and parsnips? Those are great too. Same for the stump at the bottom of a lettuce or cabbage. Or maybe there just some weeds that fell on the floor, or the greens they stuff in the vase when they deliver the flowers, or even a piece of cheese that’s no longer recognizable because it’s turned totally green. That’s fine too. Apparently the greener and the more disgusting it gets, the more alkaline it gets, so it becomes good for you. I almost forgot – you have to add a couple lemon peels for flavoring.

Andy then throws everything in a juicer, grinds it up, and pours it in a big beer glass, which seems to me a waste of a good beer glass, except you have to pour this gunk somewhere if you want to drink it. Now if you don’t have a juicer, you can mix everything up in the garbage disposal, and then drain it into a big glass. Either method works just fine. And it tastes about the same, even when flavored with all of yesterday’s garbage.

But as I said above, that was a bit too much for me. I’ve agreed to go with the no alcohol and no coffee diet for the time being. And I’ve also signed on for the alkaline diet regimen. Ionized water, cherry juice, bananas, the works. But I won’t go for the green stuff. That wouldn’t be living on the edge; that would really take me over the edge, into who knows where.

The Lovers Ball

We're in Great Barrington; there are six malts sitting out in Andy's kitchen, waiting to be tasted. Last night, for Valentine's Day, we went out for dinner and they had a nice selection of scotch and ports and cognacs on the menu. And at each meal, there have been some nice Pinot Noirs, including a very respectable Carneros Pinot that G found. And so what have I been drinking? Perhaps that non-chill filtered Edradour, that G-Man brought up from Jersey? Or maybe a Guinness and a glass of Talisker, a perfect combination for a wintry night out? Guess again. How about ionized water, with a PH of 9. Last night, we asked for Pelligrino water, because, come to find out, it's one of the most alkaline beverages one can find. At least I had enough self respect not to drink the elder-freakin-flower beverage that Andy found at the organic foods supermarket. What the hell is going on here?

One of the reasons I haven't been posting since the first of the year, is that I've been on the wagon. Doctor's orders. (When I told Dr. Ron, himself a whisky lover, he told me to get a new doctor.) The condition is called GERD, and when I first went to my doctor, he gave me a list of things I had to cut out of my diet. First on the list was alcohol; and I didn't freak out immediately, because I didn't realize he meant actually stop all drinking. I thought he meant only have one or two. No, he meant no alcohol. The next thing on the list was coffee. No Booze and no coffee? I told my doctor: "That's half my diet. What am I supposed to drink?" Not much as it turns out. Right now, as I sit here, Andy is making vegatable juice. I can't wait. Cherry juice is fine. Anything with a PH over 7 is great. So what do I do, bring my PH strips to the restaurant?

Anyway, as this is a blog about Montaigne, Manny and malts; and if we've stopped reading Montaigne, and if Manny has gone west, and no longer wears Red, and if now I can't write about malts, what is there to post about? But what the hell, the doctor says this isn't permanent, he says that once I heal up, then I can resume in moderation. And now that it's February, it's only a few days until the pitchers report, and spring training begins. So let's look on the bright side; let's thing of the glass as half full, even if it's half full of something other than whisky or wine.

Speaking of baseball, don't you just love that A-Roid was juicing? How much fun was it to learn that? We've tagged him in the past: he's E-Rod, and A-Fraud. So I won't belabor this recent disclosure. But I hope that all the fans, not just in all the visiting parks, but right in the Bronx, give him the shit he deserves, all year long. I hope that New York's blue collar fans, stuggling through a down economy, ride his thirty million dollar ass all year long.

And here's my simple solution to the entire steroid problem. Bar all the users from the record book. They no longer have any career statistics. So when it's time for the Cooperstown voting, there's nothing for anyone to reference. Palmiero? How many home runs? Who knows? And then, once all those guys are cleared out, Aaron and Mays can be restored to their proper places. And maybe a generation from now, other guys wil come along who can challenge Hank Aaron for the all-time lead in home runs, but at least he won't be written out by all these guys who put up gaudy numbers with chemical assistance. I expect the haters will have strong opinions on this, but in warm afterglow of Valentine's Day, even without single malt scotch whisky, it's all about love and fellowship; hating seems so out of place. Don't you think?