We Got Hat

Well the decision was made for me Christmas morning, when unwrapped and opened a box containing the above fedora.

Now I'm ready for the Bunny's New Year's Eve gala affair.

Cape Cod Confidential

The name of Bernard Cornwell is well known to the legions who have followed Richard Sharpe's adventures in print and on the screen.

But the Boston Globe's Alex Beam writes today about the author's "modest profile" in the United States. By modest profile Mr. Beam means 'not a celebrity writer like Stephen King,' as Mr. Cornwell's annual royalties come to about $2 million. He does, however, maintain a King-like volume of output:

Cornwell writes a book about every five months, working eight hours a day at least five days a week. So far, he has written 43 novels on themes varying from the King Arthur legends (his personal favorites) to modern sailing thrillers -- such as 1988's ''Wildtrack," in which ''a crippled veteran of the Falkland's War sails into the north Atlantic to discover whether a famous television [personality] is a murderer," according to his website, www.bernardcornwell.net. He documents each day's progress in an accounting ledger he keeps open next to his desk.

Joyeux Noel

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to one and all.

Rule of Threes

BigStupidTommy did it, then Sheila, Emily and Bill. So here's mine, just for the hell of it.

Somehow I omitted beth's list o' threes, and my cousin posted one as well.

Three Names You Go By:
1. Dan
2. Danny
3. The Silver Fox
Three Things You Like About Yourself:
1. Sense of loyalty
2. Sense of humor
3. Ability to read fast
Three Things You Hate/Dislike About Yourself:
1. I procrastinate too damn much...
2. ..because I am lazy...
3... when it comes to doing things that don't much interest me.
Three Parts of Your Heritage:
1. Irish
2. Italian
3. New England
Three Things That Scare You:
1. Clowns
2. Snakes
3. Flying
Three of Your Everyday Essentials
1. Coffee
2. Reading
3. Finding out the latest Red Sox news.
Three Things You Are Wearing Right Now
1. Boxers
2. Pants
3. Shirt
Three of Your Favorite Bands/Artists (at the moment):
1. Johnny Cash
2. The Replacements
3. X
Three of Your Favorite Songs at Present:
1. Sinnerman - Nina Simone
2. Adeste Fidelis - Bing Crosby
3. Don't Bother Me - Beatles
Three New Things You Want to Try in the Next 12 Months:
1. Reading the books I have, instead of buying more.
2. Get better at keeping in touch with distant friends.
3. Save some money.
Three Things You Want in a Relationship:
1. Trust
2. Understanding
3. Smoking hot monkey love
Two Truths and a Lie:
1. I love dipping Cape Cod potato chips into tomato soup
2. I don't think Fenway Park is all that it's cracked up to be
3. As a child I was nearly trampled by a rampaging herd of pigs
Three Physical Things About the Opposite Sex That Appeal to You:
1. A smile
2. A laugh
3. Curves please. (No waifs need apply.)
Three Things You Just Can't Do:
1. Get another dog
2. Buy wedding gifts on time. I know, this is appalling.
3. Eat cabbage
Three of Your Favorite Hobbies:
1. Reading
2. Watching movies
3. Uechi-ryu
Three Things You Want to do Really Badly Right Now:
1. Have Abe & Louie's streak tartar for lunch
2. Find that last present that will complete my Christmas shopping
3. See my dog again.
Three Places You Want to Go on Vacation:
1. Scotland (Edinburgh)
2. Sicily
3. New Zealand
Three Kids Names:
1. Theodora
2. Liam
3. Euclid
Three Things You Want to Do Before You Die:
1. Drive across country
2. Publish something. Anything.
3. See the Red Sox win.... oops, never mind.

Electric Sex, or, Christmas Specials

Only one thing in the world could've dragged me away from the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window...

...a set of festive questions from Theater Thursday:

1) Which holiday movie/special do you have to watch every single year?
As far as I am concerned the Special of Specials, the ur-Christmas movie, is A Christmas Story. Period, end of story. Darren McGavin as the profane father cracks me up.

In the heat of battle, my father wove a tapestry of obscenity that as far as we know, is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan.

and the lamp sequence... pure comedy goodness, from start to finish.

I would also love to get my hands on the George C. Scott version of A Christmas Carol.
2) Which holiday movie/special could you live without every year?
Let's see, there's that hideous cartoon about the mice who break the clock - that's right out. I've never seen Miracle on 42nd Street (or 34th street or whatever) and the claymation Little Drummer Boy is my least favorite of the many claymation holiday shows.

Oh yeah, and a barely remembered version of The Little Matchstick Girl: she's poor, she's cold and then she's dead. Ho ho ho.
3) Do you have any special traditions that you do while watching the holiday films? (i.e - decorating the tree, drinking eggnog, opening gifts)
Nope. But beer does make everything better, don't you agree?

The Time of Your Life

Over at Cursed To First beth has put together a series of retrospective posts titled Pretty Good Year on the 2004 Red Sox season. Frankly, it's as good as anything I've seen written in a national publication. And trust me, I've read every damn thing about the Sox I can get my greedy monkey hands on. So start reading now.

Part the First: Intoduction and Regular Season

Part the Second: Regular Season

Part the Third: Regular Season and Post-Season Prologue i.e. ALDS

Part the Fourth: ALCS: Games 1,2,3 and 4

Part the Fifth: ALCS Games 4 and 5

Part the Sixth: ALCS Games 6 and 7

Part the Seventh: World Serious

Part the Eigth: Epilogue

Best I Ever Saw

Well, it's not exactly news anymore, but Petey is gone, lured away by the Mets' offer of a guaranteed fourth year. While it may be a good short term move for the Mets and Petey, others think both sides will eventually find the new contract to be a burden. I'm inclined to agree. I think the Mets will find that looking for Pedro to be solid n' steady number one starter for four years is the baseball equivalent of chasing the willo-o'-the-wisp; I doubt Pedro will enjoy pitching meaningless games in August. After the initial homeymoon I do not see cordial relations between the prickly Dominican and the New York media.

In the meantime, the Boston press and airwaves are filled with stories on Petey's departure, many bashing the erstwhile Boston ace, calling him 'selfish' and 'a mercenary.'

Whatever. I don't understand why Pedro left, and I don't pretend to be able to understand. I don't know Pedro Martinez personally. I've never had a right arm once touched by the Baseball Jesus, an arm that reduced batters to helpless flailing children at the plate. I have no idea what motivates a man with millions of dollars in the bank. The notion of negotiating 50 million dollar contracts is so far from any reality I've ever experienced that I can't imagine what thoughts pass through the mind of an athlete pondering such a deal.

I read (or at least recall reading) that Roger Kahn once gave Roger Angell what I consider a very solid piece of advice regarding baseball players, namely that 'they are what they do.' Enjoy what they do and try to leave the rest out of it as best you can, because what to you is an diverting and possibly consuming passion, is to them ultimately a business. Writing in today's Boston Globe (and also citing Angell's advice) Bob Ryan sums it up nicely:

I got one of those angry e-mails yesterday. You know, the ones that decry the "modern" player, with his lack of loyalty, as opposed to the old-timers who played for "the love of the game." Because of Pedro, this e-mailer was henceforth through with baseball. He'll find something else to do next summer, rather than follow the Red Sox. Sounds tough. Maybe he will, and maybe he won't.

But these are almost invariably the sort of people who don't know that Hall of Famer Edd Roush sat out the entire 1930 season because he could not come to a contract agreement with the New York Giants. Mr. Roush did not play solely for fun. He played for money, as do they all, then and now.

They are what they do. And what Pedro did was to be the best pitcher I've ever seen. And he did it sporting my team's sacred B, giving me with some of the most exciting, and moving moments I've ever had as a Sox fan. I've written about Petey and some of my memories of those glorious moments previously; I could write more and similar posts about many other Pedro highlights I can easily call to mind. But I think I'll mark the ending of my own personal 'Pedro Martinez Era' with a tiny snapshot of a memory that gives just a glimpse of how the man once electrified all of Red Sox Nation.

Sept 10, 1999. I'm sitting in my car, in short-term parking at Logan Airport. Petey is on the mound at Yankee Stadium. I should be going into the airport, to pick up my girlfriend. But Pedro is mowing down the Yanks, and I can't bear to step away from the game in progress. I look at my watch and think: sure the plane's landed. But she has to get off the plane, right? And then get her bags... right? So I don't have to move yet... right? Right!

I stretch it out as long as I can, and then make a mad dash across the parking lot into the terminal.

"Hi! Welcome home! Got your bags? Good - we need to get back to the car."

"Can you run? No seriously... can you?"

There's Not a Moment to Lose

The hectic holiday season continues apace, but I think I have the whip hand in regard to gift purchasing. It is entirely possible that I may not need to make the traditional (morning of) Christmas Eve raid on the local mall with Heather to complete my holiday gift shopping.

However, The Bunny's Second Annual Black Tie New Year's Eve party looms large in the near future, and I am still in need of a suitable hat to wear with my tuxedo. I'm currently pondering several options - all in black of course. There's the New Orleans Pork Pie, The Tracy, and of course, the Fedora.

A decision - and a purchase - must be made soon.

The Urge To Order

I have little doubt that were I ever to subject myself to dissection by one of the many mental health professionals that abound in this world, I would be informed that I am, ahem, slightly obsessive compulsive. Nor is there any doubt as to where I acquired this tendency. As a young sprout I often witnessed my father's unvarying pre-departure ritual, which consisted of a) piling my sister and I into the car and then b) dashing back into the house to 'check on the [wood-burning] stove' -this despite the fact the he always checked the stove before walking out the front door.

Well, the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree as they say. I don't have a wood-burning stove but more than once when leaving my apartment shortly after cooking I have felt an inexplicable urge to go back and check the stove. (I've also noticed that using the ironing board shortly prior to departure has the same effect). To date I've successfully resisted these compulsions but I honestly believe that overall it's a losing battle, as my obsessive tendencies simply manifest themselves in other directions.

Naturally I'm talking about my habit of making lists. Lists of all types, lists in my day book, lists in my nifty little moleskin notebook. I could dissemble, and claim that this habit of list making is merely my way of imposing order on an inherently chaotic world, or that it's a handy of keeping track of a large variety of interests and tasks.

But no. What it really means is that I'm a fucking weirdo, or, if you're feeling kindly disposed towards me, that I'm eccentric. Yes, eccentric will do nicely.

The latest outburst occurred the other night, when I was re-ordering my bookshelves. I should add at this point that re-ordering my bookshelves is another one of my obsessive pleasures. My books are shelved and aligned according to a vaguely discernible but ultimately indecipherable system, known only to me. A rogue volume not placed according to the system is as unsightly as a missing front tooth in Ms. America's smile; new books must be properly placed, and since my bookcases are full, fitting a recent addition into the collection often involves shifting older volumes about, all the while making sure all is in order. The whole process can be said to resemble a mad librarian's version of musical chairs.

Anyhoo - as I was going about this chore the other night, I started to take a note of the books that I hadn't yet gotten around to reading. Soon I enough I became curious as to exactly how many unread books I owned... and a list was born. So far the list contains 45 entries - and I haven't even touched on the bookcase in the bedroom or the nightstand (which serves as an auxiliary bookcase). That's about six months worth of reading material, more when I consider that six of the offenders are Winston Churchill's massive tomes on the Second World War.

I should just stop acquiring new books. But that's another compulsion altogether.

Nosey

The gentleman above is Arthur Wellesley, known to the soldiers under his command as 'Nosey' and to history as the first Duke of Wellington. The portrait was done by a Japanese artist, Hiroshi Sugimoto.

The career of Bernard Cornwell's fictional British soldier Richard Sharpe parallels Wellesley's career; Sharpe fights alongside the future Duke of Wellington from Assaye to Waterloo.

In the historical notes accompanying one of the Sharpe novels, Cornwell mentioned Elizabeth Longford's biography of Wellesley, Wellington: The Years of the Sword, as a particularly valuable source of information. I spent several years seraching for a copy, but to no avail. The book is out of print, and that part of me that enjoys the book hunt refused to resort to the expediency of ordering Longford's work on line. The answer, in the end, was simple enough: go to the library. The Quincy public library held a battered copy of The Years of the Sword and I've the past week dipping into it's pages.