As my OutKast obsession blossomed in 2001-2002, I found myself yearning for all the Southern things about which they reminisced: a Cadillac, a porch swing, and a babymamma. I now have one of these things, and I just found out my cousin now has another. I'll save the Cadillac for retirement.


7 thoughts

Perhaps in response to Eric's "We Haven't Been Properly Introduced", my 7 thoughts:

1. I don't blog drunk often enough. I started "blogging" when I was 22, single, working for a soulless bank, and drinking whatever I wanted. I'm sure there were plenty of times when I drank a few Labatt Blue Lights and told you how evil women are. Today, I'm talking two SoCo Manhattans at dinner, a bottle of Pinot Noir, a bottle of Shiraz, and a bottle of Malbec. Let's get this on.

2. Women aren't evil. Sure, most of them are f***ed up, but so are most men. Get over it. The only reason I complained about women is probably because I was socially inept (and probably still am). Now I've found one who not only cooks me a delicious meal every night and pays the mortgage on the house I live in, but takes the time to vote in QHS 200s, puts up with my serial statsifying, and pretends to prefer hanging out with my friends, who talk about why Stephen Speilberg can't hold Wes Anderson's boom mic, to her friends, who talk about menstruation, pregnancy, and Scott's Step 2 lawn care. I love her much more than I've ever let on in this blog... or elsewhere.

3. I love the Red Sox... but not as much as I'm supposed to. I cherished every moment of last year's championship, not just because the Y*****s lost, but because Ortiz, Cabrera, Pokey, Foulke, and the rest of them fought through it all and won, against all odds. This year, I care so much more that the Y*****s lose, whether to the Red Sox, Orioles, Twins, or Foothills Trophy 12-year-old Little Leaguers, but I root for the Red Sox every night, whether they're facing Kevin Brown or Jon Garland.

4. I'm a f***ing liberal. In 1998, I registered for the first time, in Mr. Strough's government class, as a Republican (friggin' Schwenker!). Then I went to Bentley, learned to hate Bush, moved to Brighton, lived with Schroeck, and became a liberal. Holy Christ, I'm a liberal. I'm sure most of you remember that I won the 8th grade religion bee (and the accompanying rosary, my 3rd), but today, I find Christianity well and good for sheep, and well-meaning, but flawed beyond relativity. I support gay marriage, abortion (in the right circumstance, of course), and the regressive tax. I support stealing from the rich to give to the poor. I like education, healthcare, and peace. Call me Canadian.

5. I'm an accountant, I suppose. I got a fantastic (and fantastically expensive) education at Bentley. After fighting this thoroughly (thanks to Byron and my bartending professor), I realized that I'm in a soulless, but potentially lucrative field. I did it for fun for more than a year and a half, learning very little in terms of accounting (but a lot in terms of liberalhood and life). I may have skipped a few classes, but I can lose the only other accountant at an 80-person startup, finish the billing, pay the bills, and close the quarter. Maybe my future brings something different, but I'm an accountant now, and the execs like me, so I'll stick with it.

6. I love to read. That's right, read. I can't finish a novel unless a beat poet/prosest wrote it or Bill James approved it, but if it's about baseball (or the newly hapless Y*****s losing), I'll read it. Alan Schwartz, Rob Neyer, Jim Caple, Buster Olney, we've got an agreement- you hate on the Y*****s, and I'll support you. That's who I am.

7. I think that's it. You've read about it; that's me. I'm a simple guy; I like beer, boobs, hating the Y*****s, and avoidiing poverty, and that's about all there is. Eat me, Bush and Sheffield. Welcome the rest of you, to bmoconline. I hope you come back for a month or two.


Lance Going Downhill?

From yesterday's telecast of the ESPYs, where Lance Armstrong was nominated for Best Male Athlete:

"In 2005, Lance Armstrong tried to put to rest any doubts that at age 32, he was past his prime."

It makes me wonder: if we gave a little more money and a little more respect to English teachers, might there be one person who could edit sentences like this before they get to a national audience?


17-1 is never enough

The Red Sox beat the unspeakables on Friday in a 17-1 drubbing that matched May 28th's pantsing run for run, yet I still can't watch these two teams play with a regular heartbeat. I couldn't hate this year's Y*****s any more if they stole my house and killed my children.

This weekend's daytrip was to Erin's birthday/graduation/housewarming party in Connecticut. Sandwiched between trips to Cape Cod (Jill's cousin party), Maine (4th of July with Byron and Alyssa), New Hampshire (party at Ginella and Scott's), Saratoga (one of the next two weekends), Rochester (Beth's 8/7 wedding), and more possible Connecticut and Maine jaunts, Jill and I will have made daytrips to every New England state except Vermont in a six-week span, and I didn't blog adequately about any of them. The reason: work is still retardedly busy, and there's no end in sight until my August vacation.




Congratulations and thanks to baseball fans all over the world who voted for Scott Podsednik to be the last player on the AL All-Star roster over Derek Jeter and Hideki Matsui. After all those years of Jeter having terrible first halves but being selected as a reserve by Joe Torre, and last year, when he was batting about .220 at the break and the fans decided to vote him in as a starter for the first time, only after the greatest collapse in sports history does Jeter not make an All-Star team, despite hitting over .300 and being in the top five in the league in runs scored to this point.

For those of you not familiar with how this miracle happened, I'll do my best to explain. First, the fans vote for the best shortstop in the AL. Wisely, we selected Miguel Tejada by a wide margin. Next, a group of players, coaches, and managers voted for the second best shortstop in the AL. Just as wisely, they chose Michael Young. Next, Terry Francona picks the odds and ends to complete the roster. He tabs such superstars as Shea Hillenbrand, but no Jeter. Feeling bad, he throws Jeter on the "Final Man" ballot, where fans get one last chance to pick the last player on the team. And we picked Scott Podsednik. God bless us every one.