The Illuminated Donkey

Oh, and a big thanks a whole frigging lot to the jerkoff who watched me almost kill myself trying to carry an air conditioner into my friend's apartment building. I didn't actually expect you to offer to help me carry the incredibly heavy box up the stairs — that thought obviously wouldn't have crossed your mind in a million years — but when you walked by me staring when the box slipped and I struggled to keep it from crashing to the ground, well that's the sign of a real stand-up guy. You goddamned prick.

Traffic Hint of the Day. I'll admit that this situation doesn't come up very often, but if you're in a rush to make a brunch date, it's not a good idea to attempt to cut through Newark an hour after Brazil wins the World Cup.

The most disturbing, if not disgusting, sight I've seen lately in New York is the appearance of a few Spider-Man t-shirts among the booths of NYPD/FDNY shirts and hats, as if to say, "Sure, that police and fire logo stuff was hot a few months back, but now we have to make room for the new stuff."

In commemoration of the 16th anniversary of Wham!'s farewell concert at Wembley, I present this link to an interview with Anderw Ridgely: Andrew Ridgeley Recalls Life in the Fast Lane with Wham! and Tells Why He Wouldn't Return to the Music Business.

Keeping with the self-promotion/celebration theme: Mike Whybark has posted the latest KG of the Week. The mystery deepens.

Is my Blog HOT or NOT?

I don't know how I missed this amazing article in May's Atlantic Monthly, but Mark Bowden's "Tales of the Tyrant," about Saddam Hussein's reign, is simply one of the best magazine pieces I've read in years. If you didn't see it, go check it out.

Boy, there's nothing like sitting next to a table of senior citizens ranting incoherently about yesterday's Pledge of Allegiance ruling to make a guy completely change his mind about it.

Love me.  Love me. 
Love MEEEEEEEE!

Prettygirl responds to her critics!

Hey everybody, prettygirl here.

I've been getting a lot of complaints about the late hour at which the page gets updated each day. Most people have been saying that oftentimes the daily whatevers don't get up there in time for anyone to really observe the whatever you wanna call it in any kind of meaningful way. At first, I just let your concerns go ignored. That seemed to work pretty well so I think I'm going to keep at it.

There's a lesson for you: The Prettygirl makes her own rules!

A Demonstration of the Effects of Alcohol on the Blogger. Back in high school health class we were shown a poster which demonstrated the effects of alcohol over the course of an evening. The top of the poster featured a man's sober signature; below were his increasingly sloppy signatures after one, three, five, and seven drinks. The lesson of the poster was...well, I wasn't really paying attention, something about avoiding drunk notary publics.

Anyway, Mike Whybark has an equally effective demonstration over on his blog today. He started out this morning with "Professor Sea Gould and Professor Mitchell," an engaging and well-researched post about Joseph MItchell's writings about Joseph Gould, collected and popularized in the book and movie "Joe Gould's Secret." Mike doesn't seem to like Joseph Mitchell's work nearly as much as I do, but I appreciated his new thoughts on his sudden retirement, and he found some links I had never seen before.

Anyway, Mike is a man who enjoys a nice scotch, and it seems he celebrated his Mitchell post with a few hours of the ol' whiskey-piskey. We next hear from him about four hours later, when he drags himself to the keyboard long enough to direct us to a very funny Sweat Flavored Gummi post, after which it's all he can do to peck out this...well, I can't really describe what "What's All the Fuss About"'s about, but suffice it to say that the penultimate line is:

And let me state for the record: The Economist can blow me.

Shockingly enough, we haven't heard from Mike since. I'm organizing an intervention for next Thursday evening; let me know who wants to come along.

(Via the indispensible Fark) And now it's time for our latest episode of...The World of Justice!

Parmesan makers bid to protect name.

The makers of Parmesan cheese in Italy have asked the European Court of Justice in Luxembourg to rule on whether it is legal for competitors to use the name Parmesan for cheese not made in Parma.

Next up for the European Court of Justice: visiting Sizzlers around the world and demanding that they throw out their trays of Swedish meatballs.

By the way, it's worth clicking on the link to see the picture of a frightening, possibly shirtless, cheesemaker with the caption, "Parmigiano is so pure you can feed it to infants." And by "worth it," I mean that it's free and you obviously have some free time.

Hey, you know what other anniversary is tomorrow? It's the 25th anniversary of Elvis Presley's final performance, in Indianapolis. It's a day of remembrance for fans of this music legend, great performer and, based on the pendant he wore in Indy, good Jew.

Ride the Cyclone! Tomorrow is the 75th anniversary of the opening of the Cyclone, the greatest roller coaster of all time. There are countless coasters which are bigger, faster, longer, or have loops or something, but none of them can compete with the Cyclone for sheer, non-stop thrills. After the first, amazing drop the ride simply doesn't let up at all until you're back out on the street, and there are a few points where you're convinced that you have about two seconds to live, and you're very comfortable with that fact.

Anyway, Coney Island is celebrating the anniversary with style, with 75-cent rides all day tomorrow and fireworks on Friday. Call Astroland at 718-265-2100 for details. Oh, and if you head down there, don't bother paying 50 cents to go into the Alien Autopsy booth; it's pretty unconvincing.

Who needs referral logs when you can just run a Google search to see which bloggers love you so much that they'll acquiesce to your every twisted demand? (Warning: this only works if you happen to be Jim Treacher.)

No Dancing Allowed is the website of a group that is attempting to loosen the Cabaret Laws that have made dancing all but illegal in New York City. Go learn more about the gradual transformation of New York into Beaumont.

I wasn't going to link to Eric Lindholm's latest Smarter Harper's Index — it had already been linked by Instapundit, I've kind of forgotten that Harper's existed — but then I learned one very important fact about Eric: he is totally down with The "D"!

Yes, I Care. I Care A Lot! I'm an Adorable Little Rodent now, which is a step up from my former Flappy Birdness. Exult appropriately.

Okay, enough surfing and posting for the day. Here's a cute picture of some kids with a miniature donkey to tide you over.

Normally I wouldn't read an article that was blurbed with the line "In defeat, the U.S. soccer team won an epic victory: It brought America into the world of sports," but for some reason I slogged into Gary Kamiya's U.S. World Cup wrapup in Salon, which basically said that it was good that the U.S. lost, since it means we're at an equal footing with the rest of the world in the world's sport, and anyway, a win would have led to mass slaughter. ["For fans in Buenos Aires and Paris and Berlin and Sao Paulo, already chafing under a Sisyphean load of Britney CDs and Rumsfeld declarations in the Pax Americana, the prospect of the Big Bully triumphing in a sport it doesn't even give a damn about would be intolerable. The untrammelled rage of 2 billion nationalistic, testosterone-spewing males, directed at Uncle Sam? Osama bin Laden is a kindly, retired Sunday school teacher by comparison."]

Well, there's a lot of crap like that, which I'll leave to others, but the part that really caught my eye, after some comments on the U.S. "finally joining the global brotherhood of athletes on equal terms," was the following:

The beauty of the World Cup is that theoretically — and, to a greater degree than in any other sport, also in practice — any country, no matter how tiny, impoverished or geopolitically insignificant, can beat any other country. China may have more people, the U.S. may have more money, Brazil may have the proudest tradition -- no matter. Little Cameroon can smoke 'em all.

Well, I'm not much of a student of soccer history, but I don't seem to recall too many Cameroon World Cup championships, so I thought I'd check the record. Basically, the idea that the World Cup is some sort of model for world equality is pretty cracked. Four countries — Argentina, Brazil, West Germany, and Italy — have won 12 of the 16 championships to date, and have sent 21 or the 32 teams that have competed in the final game. If the favorites, Brazil and Germany, win the semis this year, those figures will become 13/17 and 23/34, hardly the festival of openness Kariya makes it out to be.

Whew, I had some sugarcane juice from a street vendor and some eggs florentine at the V.I.P. Diner and I feel much better now. And while I was gone The Donk was finally visited by an 18-year-old female anime fan living in Malaysia, which was one of my main goals in starting this site. Now I'm ready to create some more shipping logistics manuals!

Correction: If you'll check the comments, you'll see that I screwed up, and that Jiun is actually a Malaysian anime fan living in Australia, which is even cooler.

Yeah, I'm a little punchy from sitting in my room for 36 straight hours working on a freelance project and listening to the Tenacious D album on repeat. So what? What have you done that's so thrilling? Screw this, I'm going out and getting some eggs.

With apologies to the Pretty Girl, my assignment for everybody today is to go to one of those apartment buildings with an intercom entry system, then start pressing buttons randomly while screaming the following:

This is [fill in your name], I want to talk to you. Hello? Don't hang up on me! I want to talk to you! You keep away from my husband, you hear me? Hello? Open the door! Answer me! I'm going to tell everybody that walks in this building that in 2R, Rossi, you're nothing but a whore! Is this the superintendent? Yes, I want you to know that you have a whore living in 2R! Rossi, Janice Rossi! ...He's my husband! Get your own goddamn man!

Then go to a bar and shoot some stuttering prick in the goddamn foot.

First person who I've never met who e-mails me gets a dollar.

As you may have heard, St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Darryl Kile was found dead in his hotel room this morning, and while no cause is yet known, the police are saying that he died in his sleep and are assuming natural causes (though I'm not sure what natural causes would be in the death of a 33-year-old athlete). I first heard the news during the FOX broadcast of today's Yankees/Padres game, and it's obviously a shocking, terrible story, especially since he's married with three young children. It's unfortunate that this is getting lumped together with Jack Buck's passing in the "another Cardinal tragedy" category, since there's a huge difference between this situatIon and the passing of a 77-year-old man who had been hospitalized for six months, beloved as that man may be.

Anyway, not too long after the announcement, one of the Padres got his first major-league hit, which prompted a discussion among the broadcasters about their first hits. And out of the thousands of pichers in baseball history, who was Steve Lyons' first hit was off of? "Donnie Moore!" he answered excitedly. About ten seconds of uncomfortable silence followed the mention of the former Angels closer who shot and killed himself less than three years after his blown save in the deciding game of the 1986 AL Championship Series.

This site is frigging cool! No, not The Donk, frankly it's been kind of lame lately. I mean the World's Tallest Buildings Diagram site, featuring side-by-side diagrams of the world's tallest buildings and structures, sorted by city, type of structure, and tons more. Check out the world's biggest rides, monuments, the tallest buildings in Las Vegas, Paris, and...um...Jersey City. (via Boing Boing)

Yeah, I'm home on a nice Saturday. I have work to do, so what's it to you? Mind your own effin' business, okay?

Final Results of the Special Father's Day Poll:
Who Is the Father of the Year?

Bull "The Great Santini" Meechum 34%
Ozzy Osbourne 30%
Frank Lindh 15%
Bernie Mac 11%
Father Paul Shanley 7%

God, I love you people. If you were here I'd call you all "sports fans" while bouncing a basketball off of the back of your heads.

Sore Loser of the Week Award:

Italian club team fires Korean hero

South Korea hero Ahn Jung-Hwan, who scored the golden goal to knock out Italy from the World Cup, has essentially been fired by his Italian club Perugia.

''I am not extending his contract,'' Perugia president Luciano Gaucci said. "He does not merit it. When he arrived, he was like a little lost goat who didn't even have the money to buy a sandwich. He became rich without doing anything exceptional for our club. And then, at the World Cup, he destroyed Italian football.

"I would have to pay [$1.53 million] to extend his contract. But I won't. He should have shown his talent while he was with us. He'll just have to go back to Korea and earn [$48] a month.''

Yep, there's nothing more pathetic than a goat who can't afford a sandwich.

Chubby Checker: Unrecognized World Visionary!

Before "Alexander Graham Bell"...no telephone.
Before "Thomas Edison"...no Electric Light.
Before "Dr. George Washington Carver"...no Oil from seed or cloning of plants.
Before "Henry Ford" no V8 engine
Before "Walt Disney"...no animated cartoons
Before "Chubby Checker"...no "Dancing Apart to the Beat!"

What is "Dancing Apart to the Beat"? Dancing Apart to the beat is the dance we do when we dance apart to anybody's music with a beat and before "Chubby Checker" it could not be found!

And be sure to check out his fine collection of jerky!

Via Esquire Magazine, a link to New York City's Parking Violations Delinquency By Country (Owed By Missions, Consulates, and Associated Staff), featuring the 25 most delinquent countries over the past five years. The leader? Egypt, with over 18,000 violations totalling almost $2 million in unpaid fines.

I'd blame Jim Treacher, but sometimes that's just the way the Jell-O judicates.

All the President’s Ken. Mike Whybark's shocking revelation that I was Deep Throat has not been met with the media feeding frenzy I had envisioned. I can't say I'm shocked that the herd of sheep which we call the American Press has continued to pursue the same old dead-end leads like Buchanan, but I have to admit I'm disappointed for Mike that this hasn't turned out to be the career-making scoop he hoped it would be.

Mike's been working his ass off at the West Seattle Pennysaver for months now, and he thought this story would help him get the promotion to Assistant Classifieds Editor he's been bucking for. [Not that I had planned to let Mike in on my little secret. You know how it is. You’re out with the guys, having a few Johnny Walker Blacks, shooting the breeze, and the next thing you know you can’t leave your house without a dozen cameramen jumping out from behind the bushes.] So just to help Mike out, I'd like to offer a little elaboration to the original report.

Back in my day, before the whole Watergate mess ruined this great nation, there used to be a little thing I like to call trust. That's right, kids, there used to be a time when you could do a simple thing like breaking a 30-year silence about your role in bringing down the leader of the free world without people getting all nosy, asking a lot of stupid questions which are frankly none of their goddamned business. But Ken, they ask, why have you waited until now to reveal these facts? How did you have access to information only available to the inner circle of Nixon's staff? Why don't you look or sound anything like Hal Holbrooke?

While I'm not yet prepared to reveal the entire story (I'm saving the juicy details for my upcoming e-book, available exclusively through Salon’s Deep Throat imprint), I can present a few previously unknown bits of information for the doubters, which will hopefully shed a little light on one of the greatest mysteries of our time.

1. It is totally the kind of thing I would do. Find anybody who knows me, and ask them if this is the kind of thing I would do, and they'll definitely say, "Yes, that is so like Ken to do that."

2. I was the Associate Chief of Staff under Nixon from 1970-1972, before I was fired for stealing office supplies. In my official exit interview/review, now available through the Freedom of Information Act, it is revealed that not only was I cited for “looking kinda shifty-eyed” and “holding a mean grudge,” but that I signed the nondisclosure form “Joe Friday,” completely absolving me from any penalties resulting from my actions.

3. I like hanging around parking garages.

Satisfied, you rotten vultures?

With regards to the renewed debate over the identity of Deep Throat, I have only one thing to say: Okay! Enough already! It was me, I admit it, ME! GOD, it feels good to get that off my chest!

Mike Whybark has the full story, with an incriminatingly doctored photo.

I really, really wanted to be Lust, but for some reason I got this one.

For Griffey, these are days of pain. Good.

The Mariners have lost a number of all-time greats over the past few years. I was in favor of the Randy Johnson trade, thinking that there was no way you offer him a multi-year contract, given his injury history (I was obviously wrong about that one, but the trade turned out pretty well for Seattle anyway). I've heard a lot of grumbling regarding "Pay-Rod"'s huge contract, but I can't really blame him for leaving Seattle (to quote Krusty, "They backed a dumptruck full of money up to my house! Oh god, I'm not made of stone!"

But Junior? Junior did everything he could to screw the Mariners, first demanding a trade to a team closer to his Orlando home then, after the Mariners had received offers from the Mets and Atlanta, revising that demand to be traded only to the Cincinnati Reds (a move that obviously limited the M's bargaining power). Once again the Mariners got lucky, this time in getting Mike Cameron, but it was as awful and selfish a performance by a player that I've seen.

Griffey collected his 2,000th hit tonight, fittingly against the Mariners (who won 8-1), but it was a lone bright spot in what is shaping up to be another lost season, filled with injuries, grumblings from the fans, and reports of his negative influence in the clubhouse. The Reds are having a good season, but it's certainly not because of the .233-hitting Griffey. This year, the Mariners have continued their run as one of the top teams in the game. It's enough to make a man believe that there's a little justice in this world.

Hey, remember a few months back when there was a big push to "adopt" your favorite blog, paying $12 to have the advertising removed from the top of your favorite Blogger-hosted site? Somebody did it for The Donk, and it was one of the cooler experiences we've had. Thanks to some help from the top, within a week hundreds of blogs were made ad-free, with Blogger picking up some much-needed cash in the process.

Well, the blogs just keep coming and coming, and I'm noticing more and more of my favorite new sites with banner ads clogging up the bandwidth. That's why I'd like to propose another wave of adoption. The next time you're visiting a fine blog that's still bannered, consider following the above link and donating the measly 12 bucks. It's a way to honor one blog and support thousands.

Still not reading Girls Are Pretty? Then you're an idiot.

I know you well and I know there's a little Village Medicine Man inside you that's just waiting to come out. You'd look dope with a femur pierced through your nose and you'll get more ass than a place called "Assy Asstowne" whose slogan is "If It's Ass And We Don't Have It, We'll Order It!" once the neighborhood finds out that you got rid of the Town Bad Tipper when you spiked his Mochachino with a droplet full of judgement day that made him bleed something out his eyes that looked like a slurpee. Dress sharp.

Go! Now! And then go again tomorrow! Did I start speaking French all of a sudden? Sheesh.

N.Z. Bear of The Truth Laid Bear has classified my place in The Blogsphere Ecosystem, and I am a...Flappy Bird, just a few links away from becoming an Adorable Little Rodent! Of course, I need about 20 more links to me to assume The Donk's rightful place in the Large Mammals section.

The intensive search for the believed-to-be-extinct ivory-billed woodpecker, covered at length in the New Yorker last March, hit a snag today when recorded sounds "reminiscent of the ivory-billed's distinctive rapping on dead wood" turned out to be distant gunfire. The recordings were made over a three-month period in south Louisiana's Pearl River Wildlife Management Area, and were the most promising lead so far in the extensive search. The ivory-bills were last seen in America 60 years ago.

There Are Other Teams. Here in the New York area we're still dealing with the aftermath of Saturday's Great Rematch, when the Mets finally had their chance for retaliation against Yankees pitcher Roger Clemens for his repeated victimization of Mike Piazza during the 2000 season. (Just to give some idea of how long ago, in baseball time, this was, only 3 of the 13 Mets who took part in the July 8, 2000 game that started it all are still with the team.)

The lunchtime hour on WFAN was filled with Mets fans calling in to say that they were satisfied with the outcome, they weren't satisfied, it was over now, it wouldn't be over until they hit Clemens, etc. Calls from Yankees fans, or from Mets fans seemingly concerned with the outcome of the games (the Mets won The Great Rematch, and took two out of three over the weekend) were few and far between.

Back in May I covered the brouhaha over the rights of Mariners fans to wear "Yankees Suck" shirts to games at Safeco. Of course, by the time Safeco management gave in on the issue, the Yankees had already left town, not to return until August. Not that it mattered to fans, who proudly wore their "Yankees Suck" shirts to the Mariners/Blue Jays series. "Mariners Suck" shirts were seen at Yankee Stadium, but only while the Mariners were actually there.

When it comes to an overriding obsession with the Yankees, however, nobody comes close to the Red Sox. From the sale of Babe Ruth through Bucky Dent's playoff-winning homer, much of Sox history is the story of falling short to the Yanks. It's considered one of the greatest rivalries in sports, but except for some individual awards, the Sox have pretty much never beaten the Yanks. This fact is etched on every Sox fan's conscious, with the result being that the "Yankees Suck" chant can be heard at Fenway no matter who the opponent is. I've been to Yankee Stadium about 20 times, and the crowd usually manages to focus its energy on the actual opponent.

So what am I saying? As a Mariners fan who has spent far too much energy these past few years alternately hating and fearing the Yankees, the time has come to take off the blinders and remember that the object is to win games and ultimately a championship, not just do better than one particular team. It's getting to the point where it sometimes feels like a successful season would be one where we beat the Yankess in the playoffs, forget what happens after that. Well, Goddammit, that ain't gonna wash no more! I'm tired of acting as though I were a fan of one of the 29 branches of the Washington Generals trying to dethrone the one true Globetrotters. My name is Ken: former Yankee-hater.

More from NJ.com. Hey, reporters! Pissed off that some stupid meeting is keeping you from your favorite show? Don't seethe quietly about it. Work it into your lede!

OKs for Two 35-Story Towers for Downtown, 70 Townhouses by Philip Sean Curran

A marathon meeting of the Jersey City Planning Board, lasting almost to the time that the "Tonight Show" airs, saw two skyscrapers and several hundred homes receive approval recently.

Philip Sean Curran: journalist, local government expert, big-time Leno fan.

And what do you do for a living? From a review of a Vanilla Ice concert that took place a few miles from where I work:

"I came to see his transition," said Bryan Shannon, alias Judas Young, a pro wrestler and water treatment supply salesman from Iselin.

Central New Jersey: leading the nation in pro wrestlers / water treatment supply salesmen for over 50 years.

Doctor Weevil has posted his collection of Blogapalooza pictures here, to go along with Ravenwolf's and Unruled Leonard's. My conclusion: starting tomorrow, I'm working out every single frigging day.

Now it's time for the latest episode of Desperate Golf Commentators Trying to Keep Viewers from Changing Channels Late in Another Tiger Woods Blowout!

"You never know, Tiger could play the next four holes at four over par...you just never know." — Johnny Miller, NBC Analyst, during a rain delay.

Thank you, this has been another exciting episode of Desperate Golf Commentators Trying to Keep Viewers from Changing Channels Late in Another Tiger Woods Blowout!

The Brooklyn Bridge. We had some time to kill between the "Reading It" event mentioned below and a show we were attending later that night, so Christine asked me, "What have you always wanted to do?" It's an excellent question, one that I recommend that everybody out there either ask themselves or somebody close to them sometime soon.

Well, the first thing that came to mind was a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. I had driven across the venerable structure a couple of times — a Cyclone-like experience with the same out-of-control and "there's-no-way-I'm not-gonna-crash-into-that sensation — but had never walked across the unusually pedestrian-friendly span. With no good reason not to, we set out on the long walk towards City Hall to the bridge.

The Brooklyn Bridge is a gorgeous, complicated work, managing to accomplish its difficult task (spanning the tumultuous East River without disrupting the incredibly busy traffic) with style and grace. We walked across the bridge, admiring its construction, the passing cars and the East River perilously close. It's a great place to sit for a while and talk, watching the passers-by, the noise slowly fading away into the background, Manhattan and Brooklyn spread out for the taking. It made me happy.

Both the NYCRoads site and this contemporary Harper's Monthly article offer the fascinating history. Gary Feuerstein presents the facts and figures, and Denton Taylor has some terrific photos of the bridge.

My friend Christine was, as always, cool enough and generous enough to invite me with her to "Reading It: An Evening [which was odd, as it started at three in the afternoon] of Literary Comedy," hosted by Jonathan Ames and featuring Rob Siegel and Todd Hanson of The Onion, Andy Blitz, Oni Faida Lampley, and Amy Sedaris, Stephen Colbert and Paul Dinello of the late and lamented Strangers with Candy.

Two things are worth passing on from the extremely enjoyable [except for one lengthy interlude] afternoon: 1) If you ever have the choice between going to a Candace Bushnell (author of "Sex and the City") reading and jabbing knitting needles into your ears, give the latter option serious consideration; 2) Based on the excerpts they read, the upcoming Sedaris/Colbert/Dinello book [called "Wiggsville" or something like that] is gonna be the funniest damn thing you've ever read in your entire life, and you should be on line for it when the bookstores open. More details on it as they become available.

Report from the NYC Blogapalooza. Well, I was the last to make it home, so I guess it makes sense that I'm the last to post a few notes about the event. As with the last gathering, it was a great opportunity to catch up with some folks from the last one, meet people whose blogs I am familiar with, and get introduced to some new people and their fine blogs.

Leading off the first category is, of course, Jane Galt, the Queen-by-Acclamation of the NYC Bloggers. I arrived somewhat late (that whole darn subway express vs. local thing), by which time the delightfully intriguing Ms. Galt was in a small room in the back of the lounge, holding court on a variety of fascinating subjects. I showed my honor, paid my tribute, and ventured onward to the rest of the crowd. It was great to see the bewitchingly modest Ravenwolf and the happily haberdashed Nick Marsala again. Ravenwolf spent the evening politely demurring when asked about her victory in the "Sexiest Female Blogger" poll, though her attempts to deflect the questioning were certainly not helped by Nick's "I'm With Sexy" T-shirt. (Check out R-Dub's photos of the event.)

[Ravenwolf also tells the mysterious tale of the bearded gentleman in the pizza place who fixated on me as the cause of: a) the stock market crash; b) the decline of American civilization; c) the decline of white civilization; d) probably a whole bunch of other stuff. My lack of offspring seemed to be a factor, though the best attempts by Jane to explain it all were unsuccessful. The man (who resembled John Rhys-Davies in The Lord of the Rings) was brandishing a large book on the history of the Istria region, of which he may have been a co-author. This sort of thing happens to me all the time. I am a magnet. When volunteers are needed from the crowd, I am often called upon. I handle it with grace and humor. He eventually moved on.]

The rakishly graceful Paul Frankenstein stuck it out until the end, charming the crowd and politely answering a myriad of questions that are succinctly covered on his FAQ. The intimidating yet comforting Dr. Weevil (cue theme song!) regaled me with his extensive collection of double-entendres and assorted witticisms (three words: funny gynecologists' names). The intimidating yet intimidating Clay Waters managed to swallow his rage for an entire evening over the fact that my Jersey-City-living ass had been admitted to the NYC Bloggers site, though he did amuse the crowd with the old "I'm sorry, I thought that was my ass" trick. The esoterically dreamy Sasha Castel inspired many a blogger's sudden interest in opera when she walked through the doors. And it is, of course, always a treat to see the superbly pseudonymmed Mindles H. Dreck, brief though his presence was.

Among the new-to-me faces were Edie Singleton of My Dating World (who, remarkably enough, has never been to New Jersey), the damned personable Jim from Objectionable Content, Liz and Matt from the quite excellent NYC Blogger Map, Leonard of Unruled (who has a wrapup and a bunch of photos, including one of my zeppelin-like head), Elizabeth of Capital Influx, Max of Common Sense, Caryn Solly, John Hiler, and the stamina-filled Jessica of the excellent Blog of Chloe and Pete, who joined me on the subway ride down towards Penn Station. If you met me and I left out your name...well, I never forget names, so it probably means that I simply hated you.

In short, smart and opinionated people plus alcohol and pizza equals FUN! Whoooo!

And hey, why not check out one of them NYC Blogs when you're finished here.

Update: Actually, lots and lots of folks posted Blogapalooza recaps after I did, or around when I did: Jim, Elizabeth Spiers, John Hiler, Edie Singleton, Doctor Weevil, Leonard, and...jeez, I don't even care anymore and I was there.

Following a long wait for a subway, a subway ride, an even longer wait for the PATH train, the longest goddamned PATH ride in history (thank you, drunken Hoboken frat boys), and a nice walk, I have finally arrived back in my apartment and hereby declare the NYC Blogapalooza officially over. Details to come after a little sleep, but a fine time was certainly had by all.

What the hell's the point. I mean, seriously, what the hell's the frigging point? Bleh.

On the other hand: I am the star of my own frigging movie! Bow down and despair, dillweeds!

Just wait `til next year.

Update: Oh, and congratulations to the fans of Los Angeles for managing to win a championship with only minor vandalism.

Will somebody please buy this for me? From the Rell Clother site, a whole page of props from the greatest movie ever made, Starship Troopers, including Dina Meyer "Dizzy's Jumpball Uniform" for a mere $2000. Holy cow, they also have a whole page of Newsradio props! I am so on this!

I have grown to hate the sound of Bob Costas's voice. It makes me want to scream.

But on a more positive note, have you seen the Ken Goldstein Bobblehead yet?

I read the much-discussed Eric Alterman's Altercation for the first time today, and have to say that I'm a bit confused. Here's the current opening piece:

ABC.com’s The Note reports that Ralph Nader has requested to be included in Grover Norquist’s regular ‘war-room’ Wednesday meeting of right-wing lobbyists and high-powered Bush supporters. The request has been granted and Nader will be there today. If true, and I trust just about everything I read in “The Note,” Nader has finally shown his true colors, people, or publicly lost his mind.

Either way, this argument is over. Nader is, for all practical purposes, a supporter of Bush and his extremist agenda. (Perhaps even the most important one.) Anyway, let the final stage of the Greens’ welcome self-destruction commence.

Well, this seemed to be quite the turn of events, so I headed over to the ABC story in question to find out more about how Nader has teamed up with the right wing. It seems that while Alterman might trust everything he reads, he may not understand it. Basically, the story on ABC is that 1) Norquist actually invited Nader to the Wednesday meeting; 2) It seems to have been a one-time thing; 3) When it was his turn to speak to the crowd of conservatives, Nader basically said a whole bunch of Nader stuff like decrying the "sink or swim" ethic of capitalism and commercialist culture. Hardly a shocking turn of events or revelation. I realize that I might be entering in the middle of the story, but is this post pretty representative?

It's time to play...Guess the Subject!

ADMIRERS KNEEL BEFORE THE SHRINE OF AN ELEGANT REBEL by ANDREA PEYSER

June 12, 2002 -- SHE bounded furtively from a car, a vision in pink Spandex top and snug jeans, to kneel worshipfully on the Queens sidewalk.
"I remember being a little girl - I used to have his pictures on my bedroom wall!" Theresa Giovanni, 24, was saying, quickly, defying her boyfriend's furious gaze to lay a bouquet on a makeshift shrine.

Make your guess and then click here to find out who this former hearthrob is.

Um...the Nets Meter is celebrating its 12th straight day on "Four More Wins, Sweetcakes!!!"

Please, let me see just one Nets Championship Series win. Please, please, please, please.

Whatever you folks do, never challenge The Fat Guy to a chili-dog-eating contest:

Today for lunch I had two chili dogs with cheese and onions, and two Chicago dogs, with onions, diced cucumber, sport peppers and celery salt. All of them were, natch, Vienna Beef dogs. On perfectly steamed poppy-seed buns. Mmmmmmm....hot dogs.

Go check out Mr. TFG, he's been on a roll lately. (Maybe that's why there's mustard on his pants! Get it? Like a hot dog roll...oh, just forget it.)

I'm sure you were all wondering: is Raven Wolf the sexiest female blogger in New York? The sexiest female blogger on the East Coast? Try the Sexiest Female Blogger in the Whole Damn World! See ya Friday night, R-Dub.

Continuing my helpful service for the poor bastards who come here looking for actual donkey information: All-Donkeys! "This site is for all people who simply love donkeys. Donkeys make wonderful pets, and - if you want to - they can make themselves very useful too!" Seriously, there's a crazy amount of donkey art and collectibles here.

Oh, and Art.com has a whole section of donkey artwork. In case you were wondering, my birthday is in less than three months.

VirtualStapler.com presents screenshots of every scene in Office Space featuring Milton's beloved red Swingline stapler.

Edie Singleton is kind enough to invite us along on her Adventures in Dating.

We talked for two and a half hours with few awkward pauses. But most of it was fake conversation, recounting funny scenes from movies and t.v. (we both love these). It reminded me of those Chris Farley "movie critic" skits on SNL, you know the ones. I was just bored. Bored through the whole thing. I only had one drink. When he asked me if I wanted another, I said no, but he got another for himself, so I had to sit there while he drank it at the rate of a hummingbird draining the Central Park Reservoir.

Hmmm, do I root for Edie to go on some quality dates and find happiness, or do I hope for more depressing-yet-funny-in-the-retelling dates like the above? Fortunately I don't have to make that decision, as I'm merely a beloved collectible.

Yes, I know that all this sportsbloggin' won't win me the ladies, but I had to mention this. As much as I dislike those Yankees, I have to admit there's something a bit wonderful about Marcus Thames smacking a two-run homer off of Randy Johnson on the first-ever pitch he's seen in the majors. That's pretty damn cool.

I have to admit it makes me a little sad to see Mike Tyson's complete destruction at the hands of Lennox Lewis. It's not that I feel any great love for Iron Mike — far from it, in fact — but rather that the young Tyson was simply the most incredible embodiment of power that I have even seen, a force of nature that I couldn't imagine being slowed, forget about stopped. I watched a number of those 1985-1990 fights, including the classic blink-and-you-missed-it 91-second demolition of the previously unbeaten Michael Spinks, and it was always worth forking over for the pay-per-view just to watch him in action. I don't claim to be a huge boxing fan or expert, but at his peak it was almost impossible to imagine anybody beating him.

The story of his long and pathetic downfall has been told often, and while it's been many years since he's been anything more to me than a psychotic sideshow (though, I imagine, that's partly an act), it was still a bit shocking to me to watch the clips of the Lewis fight and see just how little of that early fighter was left and realize just how long ago those years were.

[It didn't fit in with the above, but my favorite gambling story takes place the night when Tyson lost to Buster Douglas. I happened to be at the Meadowlands Racetrack with a few friends that night, and they were showing the fight on one of the monitors. The Douglas KO happened between races (you have to understand just how unexpected this was), as a crowded roomful of grizzled trackrats watched on in shock. Anyway, as the count reaches ten about 500 of these men turn to their companions and scream, as one, "I knew it! I wuz gonna bet on him!" before turning back to their Racing Forms to pick out their next loser.]

The Ken Goldstein of the Week to end all Ken Goldsteins of the Week.* Mike Whybark has outdone himself with the latest Ken Goldstein of the Week Suffice it to say that while I might be more valuable if you leave me in the original packaging, I'm just too much darn fun for you to let that happen.

*Ken Goldsteins of the Week may not end as implied.

Hey, folks! Going to this Friday's NYC Blogapalooza? Looking for that perfect something to wear? Well, be sure to check out the ultra-cool NYCbloggers Store, with special Brooklyn, Queens and NYC t-shirts and hats. They're the swankiest!

A lesson on the limits of negotiation. An excerpt from Samantha Power's September 2001 article in The Atlantic, "Bystanders to Genocide: Why the United States Let the Rwandan Tragedy Happen:"

Unfortunately, for all the concern of the Americans familiar with Rwanda, their diplomacy suffered from three weaknesses. [...]

[B]efore and during the massacres U.S. diplomacy revealed its natural bias toward states and toward negotiations. Because most official contact occurs between representatives of states, U.S. officials were predisposed to trust the assurances of Rwandan officials, several of whom were plotting genocide behind the scenes. Those in the U.S. government who knew Rwanda best viewed the escalating violence with a diplomatic prejudice that left them both institutionally oriented toward the Rwandan government and reluctant to do anything to disrupt the peace process. An examination of the cable traffic from the U.S. embassy in Kigali to Washington between the signing of the Arusha agreement and the downing of the presidential plane reveals that setbacks were perceived as "dangers to the peace process" more than as "dangers to Rwandans." American criticisms were deliberately and steadfastly leveled at "both sides," though Hutu government and militia forces were usually responsible.

The U.S. ambassador in Kigali, David Rawson, proved especially vulnerable to such bias. [...] Rawson found it difficult to imagine the Rwandans who surrounded the President as conspirators in genocide. He issued pro forma demarches over Habyarimana's obstruction of power-sharing, but the cable traffic shows that he accepted the President's assurances that he was doing all he could. The U.S. investment in the peace process gave rise to a wishful tendency to see peace "around the corner." Rawson remembers, "We were naive policy optimists, I suppose. The fact that negotiations can't work is almost not one of the options open to people who care about peace. We were looking for the hopeful signs, not the dark signs. In fact, we were looking away from the dark signs ... One of the things I learned and should have already known is that once you launch a process, it takes on its own momentum. I had said, 'Let's try this, and then if it doesn't work, we can back away.' But bureaucracies don't allow that. Once the Washington side buys into a process, it gets pursued, almost blindly." Even after the Hutu government began exterminating Tutsi, U.S. diplomats focused most of their efforts on "re-establishing a cease-fire" and "getting Arusha back on track."

A bit long I realize, but rather illuminating.

Dammit.

Better get all these Nets links in while there's still time. Via Joe Netsfan, the story behind "Whoop-de-damn-do!" and "Cheering the Nets, but Without Blushing" from The New York Times.

The Nets have to win tonight. That's all there is to it. Have. To. Win.

Happy 30th birthday to Keith Fernbach, not just a good friend of mine, but a good friend of mine with a kick-ass beach house!

Actual Donkey Information! Every day The Donk is visited by dozens of innocent folks who have inadvertently traveled here in search of donkey-related news and facts. Well, I’m happy to say that we finally have some to offer. The Donk’s Reader of the Week, fellow New Jerseyan Janet Frazer, came across this site in her search for a donkey to guard her garden. We were obviously intrigued, so we wrote for some further details on this heretofore unknown use for the creatures. Janet kindly responded:

Donkeys run $500-$800 (these are ordinary barnyard donkeys — not prize winning, rare-breed show donkeys which can cost much more). They are very territorial and will fend off other animals including coyotes and hopefully deer. They are used in many parts of the world to guard flocks of sheep and are handy to have around the farm as draft animals. We're going for a multi-pronged garden defense — geese, a donkey to help keep the foxes and coyotes away from the geese (and chickens), and a 3D solar-electric shock fence. Besides, donkeys are also cute and have soft noses. Why have a guard dog when you can have a guard donkey? The dog does nothing for the compost pile, while the donkey makes a nice contribution every day!

All this in New Jersey.

Thanks to Janet for this little lesson in the ways of the Guard Donkey, and we hope that she keeps us informed regarding her progress.

Yes, I'm having counter problems. It should be somewhere in the 33,000 range, but keeps resetting itself, which is not a good feature in a counter. I'll be looking for a different service; feel free to send a suggestion.

Update: I'm trying a different counter, but until I see if it works, it would be helpful if everybody who visits The Donk could e-mail and let me know.

I want to be Larry King! If you only buy one comic book this month, make it the brilliant new Eightball #22 by Daniel Clowes...Thanks to The Fat Guy for this link to an exhaustive history of the old New York Nets of the ABA...Sure, Oxygen and Hydrogen are great elements, but for my money you just can't beat Polonium...Run, don't walk, to your newsstands and pick up Q Magazine's 148-page Punk Jubilee Special...Everybody's going on about sexy bloggers, but if you ask me a truly sexy woman was FDR's Secretary of Labor, Frances Perkins...I like pie...Cleveland can claim they have a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but the real Hall of Fame is wherever The 5th Dimension is performing....Kee-rist, who do you gotta screw to get a drink in here?

Well, I've tried to listen to the new Elvis Costello three times now, and I've yet to make to make it through the whole thing. Maybe I'm missing something, but listening to the damn thing's like driving into a snowbank. Sometimes an album's appeal takes a while to sink in, but so far When I Was Cruel is heading straight for the bottom of my Costello ranking (off the top of my head: 1. This Year's Model; 2. King of America; 3. Get Happy; 4. Armed Forces; 5. Punch the Clock; 6. My Aim Is True; 7. Spike; 8. Imperial Bedroom; 9. All This Useless Beauty; 10. Almost Blue), down there in Goodbye-Cruel-Worldville. I'll try listening to it again tomorrow.

Heard he's kicking ass live, though.

Wait a minute...it's June! Holy crap, how'd that happen?!

Moral Victories Are for Losers: Thoughts on Game One. They played for 20 minutes as though they had never seen a basketball, followed by another 20 minutes as though they knew one of the teams had a dominant center, so why not keep dumping it to McCullough and hope it turned out to be him. The Nets' free throw shooting was awful, their gameplan was weak and, worst of all, they spent 48 minutes looking like Lilliputians in the land of Shaq.

So, yes, I'm somewhat encouraged regarding the Nets chances in this series. Nothing I saw after the first 15 minutes last night made me think that the Nets didn't belong on that court, and a lot of what I saw made me think that a Nets team playing at the level they've shown all season can make a great run over the next two weeks.

By tomorrow night I'll know if I'm right, or if I need to start scoping out Freehold.

And there we went.

Here we go!

New Blogger Quiz! Blogger Most Likely to Get Into a Car Accident That Was Totally Not His Fault: ME! Yep, smashed into a pretty nice Jaguar in Scotch Plains on my way home from work this afternoon. I wan't hurt, she wasn't hurt (wear those seat belts, kiddies), the cop gave her a ticket, gave me a big hug, so everything's gonna be okay. I wasn't even delayed enough to miss any of The Big Game!

Ken Needs Beer. Hey, does anybody know where I can pick up some bottles of Bishop's Finger? I brought a bottle of this wonderful brew back from London a few years back, and I have never been able to find it hear in the States. Any help is greatly appreciated.

Well, at least things are exciting there now. In her rather condescending "In the Time of Hugo Chavez" article in Sunday's New York Times Magazine, doesn't seem to have much interest in whether Chavez is good or bad for Venezuela, or how he'll accomplish any of his stated goals, outside of consolidating power, but rather just seems oh-so-thrilled that at last things are interesting there:

For decades, Venezuela had plodded along as perhaps the dullest and least fantastic country in the region. An oil nation with the largest reserves outside the Middle East, it has boasted a relatively dependable, although flawed, democratic system since 1958. Then [...] along came Chávez with his camouflage pants and his talk of revolution. Finally this spring, the Venezuelan president, a throwback in so many ways, provoked an equally retrograde reaction: a coup. And the events in Venezuela raised unsettling questions in the region as a whole: Could epaulets come back in style?

It's all so...quaint!

Too-Much-Tolerance Watch. James Taranto’s Best of the Web has a few continuing features meant to expose some recurring hypocrisy or idiocy, such its "Homelessness Rediscovery Watch" and “Zero-Tolerance Watch.” Too often, however, Taranto casts too wide a net for targets. While Mark Helprin’s warning that “[i]f George W. Bush becomes president, the armies of the homeless, hundreds of thousands strong, will once again be used to illustrate the opposition's arguments about welfare, the economy, and taxation,” may have merit, Taranto seems to think that any mention, anywhere, of the fact that there still might be a homeless person or two out there proves the point.

The “Zero-Tolerance Watch” usually highlights some ridiculous reaction to harmless student behavior, like a first-grader being issued a lengthy suspension for pointing his finger like a gun. Yesterday’s edition seemed a little…more tolerant than usual.

A freshman at Rhode Island's Cumberland High School says he was only joking when he drew "flaming sticks, the word 'bomb,' and the words 'CHS will pay,' " the Providence Journal reports. It hardly needs saying that school officials wildly overreacted. They suspended the unnamed boy for 10 days and evacuated the school while police searched it and had the youngster arrested. He was arraigned on disorderly-conduct charges and could spend up to six months in "the state Training School." "It's not just a case of a kid doodling a picture of a bomb," Detective Sgt. Albert Skeldon tells the Journal. "This was specific."

Am I wrong here, or does this not seem like such a wild overreaction? This isn’t some seven-year-old pushing another kid, this is a high-schooler submitting what appears to be a school-threatening note; a two-week suspension with further investigation seems about right to me.

A man who knows a good deal when he sees one. Well, somebody's putting their money where their blog is for the upcoming NBA Finals, featuring America's Team battling the forces of evil. Everybody's favorite blogger and the next Mayor of Los Angeles Tony Pierce has called me on my belligerent rantings and possibly sleep-deprived challenge, putting up an overnight shipment of two whole Zankou chickens, slow roasted, a nice tub of garlic spread, and a dozen or so pitas against an framed original photograph of Bruce Springsteen's boyhood home. (I might even throw in one of The Stone Pony, not that it will have to come to that.)

For those of you out there more interested in more conventional wagers, the current series line has the Lakers at -$900, meaning that you'd have to bet $800 to win $100 if you bet on L.A. The Nets are at +$600 meaning that a $100 bet will get you a whopping $600. Since Vegas doesn't have any equivalent odds in chicken, I guess Tony and I will just have to leave our wager as is.

Update: Ken Layne and Jeff Jarvis are also getting caught up in the madness.

For those of you who pored over every word of Mike Whybark's Blimp Week (and if you didn't, what the hell's wrong with you?), you'll be happy to know that this week he's been posting regular Blimp Week follow-ups. And if you don't like blimps, perhaps you'd care for El Salsa Molé?

C'mon Los Angeles, let's see what you got.

Oh, and about that little wager I proposed: Pierce, Layne, Welch...I'm looking at youse.

Hey California! After tonight's battle to see which team will be the next to fall to the unstoppable juggernaut that is the Nets, perhaps one of you would care to make a little...wager on the outcome of the finals. You know, like the mayors do. I can put up some local, representative goodies, like black-and-white cookies, saltwater taffy, and culture, while you folks could put up whatever the hell you people have out there (perhaps a nice shipment of El Pollo Loco).

I'm personally rooting for the Lakers, since victory will be that much sweeter against the defending champs, plus I personally can never get enough endless whining about officiating.

This is one of the freakiest things I have ever seen. But that might only be because I've never seen a monkey pile at work.

On the heels of the much-beloved Up Yours Sexiest Male Blogger (in which yours truly finished just out of the top ten), Matt Moore over at The Blog of the Century of the Week kicks off the Sexiest Female Blogger poll. Unfortunately, in his attempt to stir up some controversy, Mr. Moore perpetuates some disinformation:

A developing trend?
I certainly hope so. Amy Langfield has already started talking trash about the other most sexiest contestants, and the voting hasn't even begun. Lets get it on, ladies! I want to see hair-pulling, eye-gouging, bitch-slapping posts about this. The guys were so, well, demure in their fight to come out on top.

Now Matt, I want to see some hair-pulling as much as the next guy who owns the director's cut of Chained Heat, but I think it's okay now to let everybody know what went on behind the scenes at The Sexiest Male Blogger contest. Sure, it was all smiles and handshakes in front of the curtain, but what about when Ken Layne hid Stephen Green's depilitator? Or when Pejman "accidentally" let slip that juicy piece of gossip about Tim Blair and the national rugby team? And we won't even get into the time when all Tres Producers showed up at Dawn's house sharing one impeccably tailored suit.

Frankly, I hope that the female contestants are a bit more couth about their competitiveness than we were, Matt.

We here at The Illuminated Donkey cannot recommend Girls are Pretty strongly enough. I think we gave GAP a plug pretty recently, but the darn thing keeps getting better and better so here we are again. For those of us who have difficulty finding a reason to get out of bed, The Pretty Girl offers a valuable service by letting us know exactly what we should be doing every single day. Just this week we have celebrated

Just F*cking Drive Day!, Write A Letter Of Apology To Someone Who'd Forgotten All About Your Very Existence Over A Decade Ago Day!, Do Laundry Until You Get F*cked Day! Not to be confused with Do Laundry Until You Fall In Love Day (that's not until October asshole), Get Back In The House! GET BACK IN THE F*CKING HOUSE!!!!!! Day!, and Go To Starbucks, Order A Coffee, Sit Down At A Table Where You Can Be Seen From All Angles, Remove The Shoe And Sock From One Foot And For The Next Three Hours Intermittently Lift Your Bare Foot Up To Your Nose And Smell Day!

Start reading Girls Are Pretty and I promise that those gnawing feelings of emptiness will soon disappear.

Against her religion? Wearing tight clothes: Yes. Killing babies, women and sick people: maybe. Thauriya Hamamreh, who volunteered for a suicide bombing mission in Israel in part because she was dumped by her boyfriend, had a "change of heart" when she was told to "disguise herself as a modern Israeli woman so she would not raise suspicion."

"They wanted me to have my hair loose, wear sunglasses and make-up and tight clothes. I said no because it's against my religion," the newspaper Ma'ariv quoted her as telling reporters.

A day before the planned attack, Ms Hamamreh began pondering the "righteousness" of the task and whether she would be accepted as a martyr in paradise because she had volunteered mostly for personal reasons, including feelings of social isolation after being rejected by a man she had hoped to marry. "I started thinking that I would be killing babies, women and sick people and imagined what it would be like if my family were sitting in a restaurant and someone bombed them," she said.

Damian Perry takes the big-picture view of this.

Nader Said, a Palestinian "sociologist", gave Reuters the usual line about how suicide bombers are just trying to liberate their land from the evil Jews occupiers — but he also made this startling observation:

Said said some of the suicide bombers, men and women, were socially isolated — such as one bomber who suffered from epilepsy — and were trying to gain social acceptance.

"Many of them feel powerless in all other aspects of their life but now...they can change reality, they can prove to their mothers and fathers and schoolteachers that they are worth something," he told Reuters.
Isn't it becoming obvious that the Palestinian leadership, these brave "freedom fighters" standing up for truth, justice and Jew-killin', are taking advantage of the mentally ill and cynicially using them as weapons? Doesn't anyone else out there think this is the sickest f*cking thing in the world?

My plan to take the Big Apple Blog Bash in an entirely new direction and turn it into one giant camping trip will apparently have to be put on hold (which is a damn shame, as I had already bought graham crackers and marshmallows to make s'mores), as Live from the WTC has already announced Blogapalooza 2002. Those of you who attended one or both of the previous NYC gatherings know that they're buckets of good, clean fun (Fascinating Fact: At 50% of the previous bashes, somebody has bought free pizza!), and this one promises to be bigger and shinier than ever!

Steven Den Beste is back from vacation, with tales of ribaldry regarding prostitution, pai gow poker, and string bikinis. Welcome back, sir.

Some new, procrastinatin' polls up. But they are, unfortunately, not nearly as entertaining as "Laughing Boy" Isaac Taylor. He is funny with a capital FUN!