The Illuminated Donkey

A moment of silence, please.

In what is certainly one of the proudest moments of my blogging career, I have been invited to join the Yahoo Skee Ball Group by the illustrious Paul Kronenberg of Brooklyn, a Brooklyn native who is currently trying to track down information on Skee Ball manufacturing pioneer Morris Goldberg (though I would suggest to Paul that if you're looking for fascinating history about the game it's easier to just make up stuff).

Anyway, dual Donk/Skee fans (I'm looking at you, Mo-Skee) will definitely want to head over to the Group and join up. The current thread discusses how Skee Balls are made, and I just discovered this link to the $100,000 Skee Ball World Championship!

Jim over at Objectionable Content sings The New Post Blues, with a little help from noted blogger George Thorogood.

A Correction. We here at The Donk humbly apologize to Mr. Mike Whybark for an error that was made yesterday on this site. Unfortunately, one of our Fall interns did not thoroughly perform his fact-checking duties, with the result being that a transcription error led to us linking to this comical picture of a monkey instead of Mr. Whybark's "blog." He has graciously pointed out our mistake, and I can only placate Mr. Whybark with the promise that the intern in question has been removed from his position, and steps are being taken to ensure that he will never work in the publishing industry again. Once again, we offer our full apologies to Mr. Mike Whybark.

A shout out to Goldsteins mere and pere, who are celebrating their thirty-second-and-a-half anniversary in fabulous Las Vegas, holing up at the pirate-packed Treasure Island when they're not too busy gambling and whoring. When I spoke to my parents this afternoon my dad was up about $400, using a super-secret roulette system he promised to sell to me at a very reasonable price.

Actually, right now my parents are at the Siegfried & Roy show, where I would bet a million dollars my dad is sitting there thinking, "I could be playing 5-10 hold `em at the Bellagio, and instead I'm paying more than two bills to watch these two yahoos and some freaking cats."

Old, old, old, old, old. Paul Frankenstein was kind enough to point out this U.S. Open Finals recap, with the teaser that, "Hey, according to the NY Post, guys who are 31 are officially geezers," though I tend to discount sentences that begin with the phrase "according to the NY Post."

Among my other fellow bloggers who made me feel real damn good about my 31st were Marc Weisblott, Jumpin' Jim Henley, not-so-Jumpin' Jim...um...Jim, Clay "Muddy" Waters, and that damned Whybark character.

As usual, the only one who made me take my mouth off the exhaust pipe was the lovely Ravenwolf, who says more with a simple "Wheee!" and some sort of colon/capital-P combination than most people can say with actual words and sentences. R-Dub: I thank you.

Oh, and speaking of me: ME! ME! ME! ME! ME! But speaking of Jahna D'Lish, the winner of our somehow controversial 50,000th Visitor Contest (three people may have actually seen the 50,000 meter, but only one actually sent me proof), fans of this rising star will definitely want to check us out on Thursday, when The Illuminated Donkey becomes The Illuminated D'Lish! Dear freaking lord that's gonna be something!

Well, it could be worse...oh wait, it can't. Following hideous losses to Villanova and Buffalo by a combined 71-30 margin, my alma mater Rutgers is currently the lowest-ranked Division 1A college football team in the whole frigging country. Sheesh.

Continuing the theme of my out-of-control life: on Friday I noticed I was getting a lot of hits from the Moby message boards, where I have never been. Obviously, this piqued my interest, so I headed over there to discover the lovely news that a certain "ddonkey", who identifies himself as a 13-year-old boy and who has left over 7000 messages on the Moby boards (including such witty gems as "I MAKE FOR POOPY!!!"), has been nice enough to list this here site as his own personal homepage! Gosh, thanks, you thieving crapmaster!

Drug-Testing Scandal Rocks Bridge World! While the country's attentions have been focused on baseball's troubles, another sport has been having an even worse summer. Bridge has been hit with a series of scandals and disappointments related to its efforts to become recognized as an Olympic event.

As part of the campaign to become recognized, in 2000 the World Bridge Federation adopted Olympics guidelines, including random drug testing. Now, in the wake of August's World Open Championships in Montreal, American Disa Eythorsdottir was stripped of her silver medal for refusing to take a drug test. Eythorsdottir had been taking a prescription diet drug for a back condition and could not be told whether it was on the list of banned substances. Meanwhile, World Bridge Federation President Jose Damiani told members that he was "not very optimistic" about bridge's chances for admission.

Whoooo!!!! Last night's birthday bash at dba was a kickass blast, thanks to the best darn friends in the world, including 50K-Contest winner Jahna D'Lish and her agent Jewels, Sports Keith, Marc, Little C-Za, and Jessica (whose Summer daily comic strip you should definitely check out). Many beers were downed (the dba has over 100), many bachelor-partying-Fratboys were tortured (including one who may have been about one more word away from kicking my ass Broadway-style but I made it out alive), and many conversations degenerated as the night progressed. Other than the disturbing wrapping paper on one of my presents, it was a perfect night.

I'm 31.

Other momentous September 7 events include:

• The first Miss America Pageant, held in good old Atlantic City in 1921.
• The birth of Buddy Holly in 1936.
• Julie "Marge" Kavner was born in 1951.
• The debut of ESPN.
• The fatal shooting of Tupac Shakur along with Marion “Suge” Knight in Las Vegas in 1996.

Jim Treacher reviews a bootleg video of Run Ronnie Run, the as-yet-and-maybe-forever unreleased Mr. Show movie, and compares it to an SNL movie and uses the phrase "It's just anvils thudding left and right for 86 minutes." This is an unfortunate development.

50,000: It Wasn't You! Unless, of course, you are the unbelievably alluring and persistent Jahna D'Lish!!! (Lemme tell ya — you wish that her name was hyperlinked!) Jahna's grand prize — the D'Lishification of The Donk — will go into effect sometime next week, so keep your eyes peeled, and thanks to everybody who tried and failed.

Oh, and here's your runner-up prize...DONKEY BASEBALL!!!

Um...wait a second...while Jahna is the only person who sent me the 50,000 screenshot, two other people have claimed (with no perjorative insinuation attached to that word) to have also seen the magic 50K Site Meter on their very own computer screens. Those two people — fellow Jersey Cityer Clay Waters and the blogless yet still kickass Mo-Skee — seem like honest folk, so I need to figure out what the hell is going on.

50,000: It Could Be You! Remember, if you are that lucky #50,000, simply send us an e-mail with a screenshot of the magic number (or without one, we're not that picky), and you will become the Donk Superstar for a Day! Keep checking in, Sports Fans!

What the hell is going on?!?!?! First I get my likeness and for all I know my entire freaking life stolen by some devilishly clever fiend (or fiendishly clever devil, perhaps), and now Matthew Sheren over at The Sardonic Subversive fills me on how Tuesday Morning Quarterback (formerly of Slate, now on ESPN.com) columnist Gregg Easterbrook has written his NFL predictions in haiku form! Gee, where the hell have I seen that before?!

For Pete's sake, folks, why don't I just put all my comedy gold out on the porch and let you drive a U-Haul up and load it all in! Go right ahead! I don't care! Wheeeeee!

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wait, lemme catch my breath here...

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Only 100 visitors to go! Sometime during the next 24 hours we will be receiving our 50,000th visitor, and the tension is mounting.

The Voting Has Ended! As you may know, we are being unceremoniously booted from our Pulaski Skyway home office at the end of November, so over the past few weeks we've run a poll to let our readers decide our next location. And in a stunning, come-from-behind victory, the results are:

1. New York City (60 votes): 31%
2. New Jersey (52 votes): 27%
3. Seattle (50 votes): 26%
4. Texas Gravel Pit (17 votes): 9%
5. Witness Relocation (12 votes): 6%
6. Dublin, Georgia (3 votes): 1%

It was a thrilling finish, with a late surge by the east-coast posse breaking the seeming Seattle stranglehold. I'd like to thank all my readers for their diligent and repeated voting, and I'll be sure to ask for all of your help the next time I have a tough dilemma the same week that hell freezes over.

In Greece, Use a Game Boy, Go to Jail. (via Jahna)

The Greek government has banned all electronic games across the country, including those that run on home computers, on Game Boy-style portable consoles, and on mobile phones. Thousands of tourists in Greece are unknowingly facing heavy fines or long terms in prison for owning mobile phones or portable video games.

The law applies equally to visitors from abroad: "If you know these things are banned, you should not bring them in," said a commercial attaché at the Greek Embassy in London, who declined to give her name.

Internet cafes will be allowed to continue to operate, providing no games-playing takes place. If a customer is found to be running any sort of game, including online chess, the cafe owner will be fined and the place closed.

The Greek government introduced the law in an attempt to prevent illegal gambling. According to a report in the Greek newspaper Kathimerini, Greek police will be responsible for catching offenders, who will face fines of 5,000 to 75,000 euros (about $4,980 to $74,650) and imprisonment of one to 12 months. "The blanket ban was decided in February after the government admitted it was incapable of distinguishing innocuous video games from illegal gambling machines," the report said.

50,000 Visits: the Countdown Begins! One day this week, most likely Thursday, The Donk will receive its 50,000 visitor, and just as we did for #10,000 and #25,000, we're giving away a fantastic prize. The rules are simple: check the Site Meter counter to your left whenever you visit The Donk. If you see a 5 followed by a whole bunch of zeroes, just send me an e-mail, preferably accompanied by a screen capture, and you win!

And what do you win? Well, besides a commemorative certificate suitable for framing and a few assorted knicknacks, for one day The Illuminated Donkey will become The Illuminated...YOU! For one glorious day next week you and only you will be the focus of the 225th most-linked-to blog in the whole blogging ecosystem! Stories, anecdotes, commentary, poetry, and more — all of it about your interests, your hobbies, and just plain you, in all of your wonderful youness.

Keep watching this space for more details regarding this once-in-a-lifetime prize, and keep checking the Site Meter for your chance to win.

100 Things About 100 Bloggers (via Paul Frankenstein)

1. I was born in Brooklyn, New York
2. I have a mother, father, brother, and sister, all of whom I like a great deal.
3. I had a younger brother, Robert, who died at five when I was six.
4. My family moved to New Jersey when I was under a year old.
5. I have lived in New Jersey for 26 of my 31 years.
6. I would consider myself a Jersey guy no matter where I moved to.
7. I am proud of this identity.
8. Then again, when I lived in Seattle I would often answer “New York” to the question of where I was from.
9. In New Jersey, I have lived in Parlin, Old Bridge, New Brunswick, Plainfield, North Brunswick, and Jersey City.
10. Not counting family or relationships, I have had five roommates; all the arrangements have gone well.
11. I think that I am an easy person to get along with.
12. I consider myself very fortunate regarding my friends and family.
13. If I think somebody is upset with me, I need to rectify the situation as soon as possible.
14. I have had three full-time, salaried jobs, as well as about at least ten hourly/temp positions.
15. I have been fired once.
16. It wasn’t that big a deal.
17. I hate job interviews.
18. I think that I am very good at what I do for a living.
19. The most valuable lesson I have learned at work is that nobody ever wins an argument.
20. One of my proudest achievements was my Employee of the Year award at my last job.
21. I have a terrible nail-biting habit, and constantly bite and pick at them as if they done me wrong
22. I have a systematic method for eating corn-on-the-cob, removing each row to eventually leave a clean, stripped cob
23. I prefer almost all vegetables raw, including corn-on-the-cob
24. My specialty dish is deviled eggs.
25. I used to like sushi, but seemingly overnight I completely lost my taste for it.
26. I much prefer vanilla to chocolate.
27. I don’t care for cheesecake.
28. I have ordered the soy burger dinner with swiss at Dojo’s at least 25 times.
29. I have worked in a Burger King, Roy Rogers, and a small diner.
30. Given the choice between being evicted from my apartment and working in food service again, I’d have to think about it.
31. There are two foods and only two foods on which ketchup is allowed.
32. Tabasco is a gateway condiment to far more dangerous sauces.
33. During the Gulf War my friend Keith and I created a mixed drink called the Wolf Blitzer, consisting of Yoo-Hoo and amaretto.
34. I wish that I drank more in college.
35. I have probably smoked less than 20 cigarettes in my life.
36. I have lost a fair amount of weight twice in my life.
37. I now need to do this again.
38. I had bright red hair as a child, but it has progressively darkened to its current brown.
39. My best feature is my calves.
40. I have really bad teeth.
41. I have had three root canals and countless fillings.
42. The sickest I have ever been was my two-week sinus infection during the L.A. riots.
43. I have never had any piercings or tatoos.
44. Wearing any sort of jewelry or accessories really annoys me.
45. My favorite baseball team growing up was the Phillies, mostly as a backlash against obnoxious Mets fans.
46. My favorite player was Mike Schmidt.
47. Baseball is my favorite sport to watch.
48. Tennis is my favorite sport to play.
49. I have never beaten my dad in tennis.
50. I once bowled a 201.
51. Despite my being pretty bad at baseball, my Little League teams won championships all six years I played.
52. Despite my being a fairly good player, my soccer teams lost every game my last three years.
53. I was the team scoring leader my last year of soccer with one goal.
54. I have never been to an NFL game.
55. I have been to minor-league hockey and indoor soccer games.
56. The most exciting moment of my life was watching Jim Leyritz hit a game-winning 15th inning home run to beat the Mariners in the 1995 playoffs.
57. I realize that this is fairly sad.
58. I’ve spent way too much money in my life on sports cards and comic books.
59. My dad and I have a baseball bat signed by every living Hall of Famer
60. I’ve stopped buying things like action figures just because they’re cool and I think they’d look good on my desk.
61. My favorite place in the world is the Guggenheim Bilbao.
62. My favorite place that I visit regularly is Manhattan’s Frick Museum.
63. Either that or the Lower East Side in general.
64. I have visited seven countries, though three of those were for less than a day.
65. The first Joseph Heller book I read wasn't Catch-22.
66. I’m not sure how, but I drive an average of 500 miles a week.
67. Driving 70 on a sunny day, windows down, music blasting, is one of my favorite things in the world.
68. I’ve been in three car accidents, two of which were my fault.
69. I much prefer cold weather to hot.
70. I like shoveling snow.
71. I can do fairly complicated calculations in my head.
72. The most money I’ve ever won at poker was $1100.
73. The most I’ve ever lost was $700.
74. Those two sessions were three days apart, which proves something or other.
75. Within minutes of browsing in a book or record store I’ll need to use the bathroom.
76. During college I essentially wore nothing but t-shirts with cartoon characters.
77. I felt very good the day I realized that I no longer had any of these left in my regular wardrobe rotation.
78. I rarely get worked up over things.
79. My sister thinks that my biggest problem is that I refuse to admit when I’m wrong.
80. I think she’s mistaken about this.
81. When compared to the films and music of the last two decades, TV has nothing to be ashamed of.
82. I’ve never been in a fistfight.
83. I’ve appeared onstage in front of thousands.
84. The first record I ever bought was Joe Jackson’s Night and Day.
85. On the other hand, when I was 12 and my grandmother let me pick out any cassette I wanted at Kmart, I chose Olivia Newton John’s Greatest Hits.
86. I own everything Elvis Costello has ever released.
87. I think at his peak, Woody Allen was the funniest stand-up comedian ever.
88. I am neither a cat or dog person.
89. I subscribe to far too many magazines.
90. I have fairly neat handwriting.
91. I should paint and write more.
92. I normally prefer listening to talk radio as opposed to music while driving.
93. Someday I’m going to think about all the time I’ve wasted and need a stiff drink.
94. That drink will likely be Johnny Walker Black.
95. I automatically check everything I see for spelling errors or typos.
96. I’ve only been in one strip club.
97. I have spent an insane amount of money attempting to win stuffed animals on boardwalks.
98. I don’t think I make a good first impression.
99. All things considered, I think I’m a pretty decent guy.
100. I really should have spent the last two hours working on freelance projects instead of this silliness.

The summer season officially ended yesterday for me as my friend Jahna and I took one last trip down the shore. The weather was horrible, Seaside Heights was near-empty, but did we let that stop us? Hell, no! What are we, a bunch of damn farmers, worrying about the rain?! Giant slices of pizza, beers, Skee-Ball, and stuffed Spongebobs were eaten, drank, played, and won, respectively, along with plenty of Frogger and air hockey.

Following Seaside we decided to take an ill-advised trip down to A.C., where we dined on meat, meat, and more meat at the Tropicana buffet, followed by some light gaming and spectating (including the last throes of some kid's roulette meltdown, playing the remnants of a $35K stack of black $100 chips in big piles around the layout). We learned about pai gow tiles and dropped a few bills into the slots. Lady Luck is a filthy slut.

Summer in New Jersey kicks ass, but now it's all over. Sniff.

Highlights from the U.S. Open: More Tennis than You Can Possible Imagine! Boy, that was a ton of tennis fun. Before I run through our day, here's a little background on the logistics involved at the Open, definitely my favorite sporting event, more like a county fair than a spectator sport. The grounds in Flushing consist of 18 courts, including the Arthur Ashe Stadium (where the main events are held), the Louis Armstrong Stadium and connected Grandstand, and 15 other courts of various seating capacities (ranging from full bleachers to a couple rows of seats), plus the practice courts. Other than our reserved seats in the upper regions of Ashe Stadium, we could sit anywhere we wanted to watch any of the nine or ten matches taking place at any time. Scoreboards around the grounds keep you updated, letting you head over to check out a good match in progress.

We led off with the Kim Clijsters (7) vs. Vera Zvonareva match in the Grandstand, a train wreck of a match in which the high-ranked Clijsters played about as bad a first set as I've seen, including double-faulting break points in two straight service games. In the second set, Clijsters regained her composure and started playing well, while at the same time Zvonareva, a fiery young Russian (who was born on my 13th birthday), just completely lost her shit, taking a questionable call and a few bad shots and weaving them into a display of racquet-smashing, heavens-cursing anger and self-loathing that made me fall instantly in love with her. In-match coaching is banned in tennis, and you had to think that a few calming words might have settled her down enough to help her take a match she was obviously capable of winning. In any case, we left after Clijsters took the second set in a match she would eventually win 1-6, 7-5, 6-4.

We headed over to watch Venus Williams (2) thoroughly demolish Martina Muller, a 77th-ranked German who no chance of giving Venus any sort of challenge. I know about the whole "on any given day" credo that makes sports worth watching, but with the entire stadium rooting on every one of Venus's terrific shots, watching as she returned every one of Muller's best-hit shots with almost no effort — well, I'm surprised Muller won the three games she did in the 6-1, 6-2 match.

After that, we headed to our not-all-that-terrible seats in the main stadium to watch the rematch of last year's controversial Lleyton Hewitt (1) vs. James Blake (25) match. It was a psyched crowd watching the American take on the defending champ, with large contingents of both face-painted Americans and Australians cheering on their man. Blake took advantage of some uncharacteristic late lapses by Hewitt in an exciting first set to take the first-set tiebreaker. The next two sets weren't nearly as good, as Hewitt wore down Blake to go up two sets to one. Watching this match really made me understand the decline of the serve-and-volley game; it wasn't so much Hewitt's booming serve that made Blake's visits to the net so unsuccessful, but how when Blake did go to the net Hewitt would either hit a remarkably hard passing shot down the line for a winner, or directly at Blake, leaving Blake no time for anything but a reflexive, soft return. Blake made something like six straight unsuccessful net approaches before abandoning the strategy in the second set.

I wanted to see some doubles, and a glance at the scoreboard showed that the New York Times front-page coverboys Amir Hadad of Israel and Aisam ul-Haq Qureshi of Pakistan had taken the defending champs Wayne Black and Kevin Ullyett of Zimbabwe to a third-and-deciding set. Now, here's part of the Times's report on the match:

Hadad and Qureshi drew another warm welcome from a near-capacity crowd. The fact that Hadad, a Jew, and Qureshi, a Muslim, could play together despite all the nationalistic and religious implications earned them as many fans in New York as it did in London.

As I said, I can't vouch for the kind of welcome they received, but when we arrived for the deciding set there might have been 200 people in the Grandstand (far less than there had been for the earlier Clijsters match), and we were able to walk down to two of plenty of open lower-level seats in the third row. The crowd may have been somewhat for Hadad and Qureshi, but it a low-key, casual crowd, and the only indications of anything of interest about the match were a higher police presence and a sardonic cheer of "C'mon guys, do it for world peace," after another poorly played point. Black and Ullyett won the error-filled set 6-2.

In a bit of a surprise , Blake had taken the fourth set, so we rushed back to the stadium for the fifth, but by the time we got to our seats Blake was down 5-3 in a set he would lose 6-3. After that, we caught a couple of games of Martina Navratilova's doubles match, as well as a little mixed doubles before we were completely tennised out, as I imagine you are by now as well.

Happy Zeptember everybody! I was at a Plainfield party last night that was celebrating Zeptember in style, kicking it up old school, blasting "Rock and Roll" at the stroke of midnight accompanied by frenzied screams and the thrust of devil horns. It rocked.

Oh, you didn't celebrate Zeptember? You say that you wait until Rocktober to really start busting loose? I guess that's just the difference between us true rockers and you rockers of convenience, only rocking out on the really big concert days and special Two-for-Tuesdays. I guess it takes all types, man.

Where Will Ken Go? It's turning into a rout! Here's the latest voting:

1. Seattle: 44%
2. New York City: 24%
3. Texas Gravel Pit: 12%
4. New Jersey: 9%
5. Witness Relocation: 7%
6. Dublin, Georgia: 3%

A lot of folks have complained about the one-vote-a-day rule, so starting now voting will be unlimited, though readers with computers which contain a dangerously high level of radioactive asbestos may find themselves restricted to the original one-a-day rule. Our apologies.

I'm heading to the U.S. Open tomorrow night, and it should be pretty sweet. I've gone once before, and with its multitude of simultaneous matches and (mostly) open seating, it was possibly the most enjoyable sporting event I've ever attended.

I'm not sure what players I'll get to see (they don't announce the schedule until that day), but I'm hoping that whatever matches I check out will be better than this travesty. I don't have a lot of experience with tennis stats, but I'm guessing that 40 unforced errors in a two-set match (an average of over two-and-a-half a game) ain't what you're looking for out of Kournikova. I just hope that this doesn't affect her endorsement deals.

I am afraid, as well as very afraid.

Goddamn I'm pissed. Screw them all. They could have had this settled yesterday, or last week, last month, but they wanted us to go to sleep last night panicked, spend the day hitting the refresh button on MSNBC, and now be eternally grateful because they worked "tirelessly" "through the night" to save baseball. Well, eff the players, and eff the owners, and eff their not-a-whit-of-difference agreement.

Plus, the Mariners have looked like crap lately.

I'm an idiot. After 30 years on this planet I still haven't learned that if there's a cool event or concert I should get the tickets right away rather than lollygagging and hope a pair of tickets magically appear in my mailbox. I did that with the Mr. Show Live! show coming up, and I just did it again with the tons of great stuff that's part of the New Yorker Festival (I'm not linking to it because you'll just go check it out and see everything that's sold out and hate me as much as a friend of mine who I just severely disappointed by doing the same thing.).

Anyway, if anybody bought any tickets to the NYF that they can't use, please give me a heads-up since there's a good chance I'll want them. Or maybe you could just take me with you; I'm nice, and I sometimes say amusing things (but only after the show), and I've been known to pick up a beer tab.

Now this is extremely weird and sad.

Brookins Turned in Playbook, Misread Message.

A communication mixup put Packers halfback Jason Brookins' brief Green Bay career on hold. On Tuesday, the day NFL teams had to trim their rosters to 65 players, Brookins was asked for his playbook by a Packers official. He thought the request meant that he was being released. What he didn't know was that it was for some late additions to his playbook prior to Friday's game against the Titans. By then, it was too late. Brookins had already gotten in his car, turned off his cell phone and headed to his offseason home in Missouri.

After spending Tuesday trying to get ahold of the incommunicado Brookins, on Wednesday Packers coach Mike Sherman was apparently unsure if he wanted Brookins to bother to make the drive back to Green Bay. Not exactly the story you want to tell your friends back home when they asked what happened to that promising NFL career.

"Commissioner Joins Baseball Talks" two days before the players are set to strike. Gosh, mighty freaking big of him, doncha think? Frigging cretins.

Hey, Tennis Fans! The ATP site is amazingly comprehensive, listing the results of every single match since 1990 for every player on the men's tour. Wondering what Michael Chang's been up to lately (or more specifically, why he's still out there, plugging away)? Turns out that this year Chang managed to go through a pathetic stretch of six straight first-round tournament exits, a streak broken by winning the Calabasas Classic.

Now, what makes the ATP site especially browseworthy is its listing of the prize money won by each player in every tour appearance. You may know that the U.S. Open winner will cash in for a cool $900K, but I bet you didn't know that Chang picked up only $7200 for that Calabasas win (by contrast, every player in the Open will take home at least $11,000).

I'm used to only hearing about the big paydays, so it's fascinating for me to check out the record of some low-level grinder: $1460 here, a couple of not-worth-the-trip $520 checks, a big $9700 score. It's a good look at how the other half lives.

Lane McFadden is just as important as he always was, except now he's being all important in Alaska, clerking for a federal judge in Fairbanks. Adjust your links accordingly, and keep an eye out for the first-even Alaskan BloggerBash.

Fine, I watch the frigging show, so sue me. And if you also watch American Idol, you'll definitely want to check out Jonathan Ruane's obsessively detailed recaps. Bonus: he hates Nikki just as much as I do!

Happy 50th birthday, Pee-Wee!

Do you want to read something absolutely frigging beautiful? I mean so frigging beautiful that you'll start weeping like a teeny tiny little baby? Then go read Christopher "Spoons" Kanis's tale of how a simple blog post led to an Instapundit link, which then led to...well, I'm not gonna give it away, but it's frigging beautiful. Sniff.

Where Will Ken Go? It's turning into a rout! Here's the latest voting:

1. Seattle: 44%
2. New York City: 24%
3. Texas Gravel Pit: 12%
4. New Jersey: 9%
5. Witness Relocation: 7%
6. Dublin, Georgia: 3%

A lot of folks have complained about the one-vote-a-day rule, so from now on you can vote eleventy-jillion times a day, though users with computers which contain a dangerously high level of radioactive asbestos may find themselves restricted to the original one-a-day rule.

Continuing my sporadic theme of Slate's waste of valuable screenspace to try to sell me books I wouldn't take out of my library's Free Box, I present Peter Owen's Book of Sailing Knots, the Business Process Improvement Workbook: Documentation, Analysis, Design, and Management of Business Process Improvement, and the classic 1982 edition of Bicycling Science. Slate must be making tens of dollars on those referral cuts.

Hall of Famer Hoyt Wilhelm passed away Friday, and though his career ended when I was an infant, the knuckleballer was always one of my favorite players. I started looking into his career when my favorite player, Kent Tekulve, was chasing his career appearances record (Tekulve would eventually pull up short, and the ageless Jesse Orosco has since cleared the record by 100 games and counting).

There have certainly been better relievers in baseball, but almost nobody can boast a more unique set of accomplishments.

• Wilhelm didn't make his debut until he was 28, but would pitch until he was nearly 49, appearing in 1,070 games, a record that stood for almost 30 years.
• That 1952 rookie year was perhaps his best. He appeared in a record 71 games for the pennant-contending Giants, won 15 and saved 11, led the league in ERA, and finished fourth in MVP voting. Famously, he hit a home run in his first at-bat, the only homer of his career. (There are reports that he hit the only triple of his career in his second at-bat, but this may be apocryphal.)
• Wilhelm didn't start a game until 1958, and only started 52 in his career. In one of those 1958 starts, however, he no-hit the Yankees in a nationally televised game.
• The following year, Wilhelm started 27 games, winning 15 with a 2.19 ERA. He became the first pitcher to win ERA titles in both leagues. Despite his success, he would start only 15 more games in his career.
• Though he never led the league, he retired with a record 227 saves (Wilhelm is now no longer in the top 20).

There's something about relievers like Wilhelm, Quisenberry, and Tekulve that make them natural favorites for guys like me who were not shall we say, blessed with athletic ability. I'll always remember watching Tekulve in one of his last games making the unbelievably hyped Gregg Jefferies look completely ridiculous, swinging at pitches nowhere near the zone. I'm sure fans who got to watch Wilhelm pitch have their own favorite moments like that.

Are You Ready to Rock?!?! Were you walking around your city or town last night, wondering where all the rock had gone? "Gee," you may have thought, "there was plenty of rock here just last night. Where'd it all go?"

The answer, my friends, is The Knitting Factory in Lower Manhattan, home of last night's unbelievably good Jason Loewenstein show. I went into the show cold, not really knowing anything other than that he was/is (see, I don't even know that) in Sebadoh, a band whose CD's I listened to once or twice a few years back. I went with my friend Little C-Za, a rabid fan who had been having a rough day involving low water pressure and a hastily rented Wet-Vac.

Anyway, it was one of the best damn shows I've ever seen. There were only three people in the band, but it sound like fifty, a symphony blasting out a pure sonic wall of rock. Many beers were downed, several devil finger-signs were spotted, and a cabride up to Penn Station was spent in breathless wonder (other than the few moments when our driver slammed on his brakes to avoid a carful of dipshits who had to park RIGHT THERE!).

The Jakerock site lists the tour dates (Jeez, they're in Pittsburgh tonight, a long freaking ways-away, that's gotta be worth something), and if he's playing near you and you don't go see them then you're not my friend.

My enjoyment ruined, one article at a time. The abovementioned Little C-ZA and I are heading to the U.S. Open next weekend, something I have been looking forward to a great deal. Sure, our main stadium seats are in Row Z, but there's plenty of outer-court action, and maybe there's bunches of AA-ZZ rows that we can look up on. Besides, Little C-Za's last name begins with a Z, so maybe it's good luck.

I had plenty more rationalizations, or at least I did until reading Peter Dizikes's Slate article "Ashe Heap: The Dump That's Hosting the U.S. Open," which was so helpful as to use our freaking seats to demonstrate how much Arthur Ashe Stadium blows.

While the best tennis venues provide a sense of intimacy, Ashe's double-decker stack of luxury boxes, located immediately above the courtside seats, pushes everyone else higher, making fans in the upper deck feel as if they're watching tennis through the wrong end of a telescope.

Just how bad is it? Fans in the depressingly designated Row Z at the very top of Ashe, peering at a court a fraction of the size of a baseball diamond, sit 120 feet in the air, higher even than their counterparts at neighboring Shea Stadium.

Thanks a lot...DICK!

The America's 911 Ride caravan just passed by my window on the Pulaski Skyway, on their way into NYC. Good on yer, folks.

New Jersey in the House!!! I can't help but notice that the "Remain in New Jersey" option in my super-special poll is lagging far behind the New York, Seattle, Gravel Pit, or even the Witness Relocation Program options, and I have to admit that I'm a bit disappointed. I consider myself a Jersey kinda guy, and The Donk a Jersey kinda blog, so this can only mean that I have failed to effectively extol its virtues.

That's why I'm bringing in the professionals, since I obviously don't have the cognitive capacity to do so. NJGuido.com is a remarkable site devoted to the sheer joy of summertime down the Jersey Shore. The hottest clubs, music, ladies — they're all there and all good. NJGuido's philosophy is "There are no excuses. Party like a rockstar," and it's a philosophy they live to the absolute fullest.

Living is being an anxious lion with a heart that is filled with strength not from rest or from perfection but from the feeling of being alive and the thought of getting older, knowing that one day it will not be able to rule the jungle and catch its prey any longer. Everyday you wake up to life but are you living? Go out and prey on the feeling of being young, knowing that this is your time to truly live. Have a lion heart and live. Don't miss a weekend, there are no excuses.

Most religions have started with less-elegant and convincing credos than this.

Anyway, before you vote again, please read NJ Anthem, which sums up the sheer glorious wonder of the Garden State in the summer. God bless us, every one.

I've created a little poll to your left to help answer this whole relocation question once and for all. I'm tired of the numerous threatening messages, the late-night phone calls, the hired goons banging on my door at two in the morning. It's time to settle this hullabaloo the only fair way: a completely arbitrary and unverifiable poll with no controls or safeguards. Get to it!

In other Donk news, we're slowly and surely coming up on our 50,000th visitor, and that lucky gal or guy is gonna get them a prize that makes all my other prizes look like bags of flaming dogcrap left on your doorstep. Keep your eyes peeled.

If you're starting to get a little teary-eyed over the impending strike, be sure to read this New York Times Magazine article about the utterly pathetic Mets season. It'll dry them peepers so fast you'll need a gallon of eyedrops if you even want to blink.

''I don't get it,'' he begins in typical [Mike] Piazza fashion, a tone that suggests that what he really doesn't get is how other people don't see things his way. ''It's just amazing to me that people think we're striking just to make more money. I appreciate the money and the lifestyle, but it's not the reason why I play. If you take everything away from me I would be able to put a roof over my head and food on my table. I'd do something. I wouldn't sit around and moan about guys who are making money.''

He's on a roll: ''And then people will read this and say: 'Oh, how dare you, your dad was rich. Blah. Blah. Blah.' I'm sick of that. There's a lot of opportunity out there. Go and make it. I give 100 percent to what I'm doing. I'm not going to apologize for what I make. That's not what this country is about. As players, we're fighting to make what the market will bear. We're centurions for the American way.''

Memo to the soon-to-be-striking players (and owners, for that matter): if you're looking to win over our hearts and minds, be sure to keep in mind that we're the frigging market that you're attempting to gauge the bearability of, and avoid that whole American Centurion tack, since it frankly makes us want to punch all of you in the throat.

In a related note, the "With whom do you side in the baseball contract dispute?" Times poll that accompanies the article has the owners and players running even at about 20% each, with Neither garnering about 60%.

Jeez, I had a whole bunch of brilliant stuff ready to post, but it all kinda got lost on the PATH ride back to Jersey City. Crap. I remember thinking that it was going to be really funny and cool, so I guess we all lose. Me sleepy anyway.

Oh, I did learn something on the D Train heading to Yankee Stadium: if you're a bald, way-overweight, poorly groomed 40-year-old guy in an ill-fitting Jason Giambi jersey, repeatedly saying, "Dude, that is exactly why I'm not in a relationship" in reply to your friend's tales of womanly woe is a great way to make everyone on the train understand that your singleness is completely voluntary, and has absolutely nothing to do with issues of attractiveness, hygiene, or large ketchup stains on the front of said Giambi jersey.

Meanwhile, here's a quick update on my relocation decision:

• The East Coast folks are threatening to kick my ass if I even think about moving back west.
• The West Coasters, in a stunning display of two-can-play-at-thatness, have threatened to kick my ass if I don't think about moving back west.
• The Fat Guy has offered to let me live in an abandoned pop-up trailer-tent in a Texas gravel pit.

Advantage: Texas!

Everybody's favorite sports parody site, Twisted Fans, has been forcibly moved off of its old URL to a spanking-new address, so go re-check it out. I once described it as "Like the Onion...but with balls!" and they liked that a lot and used it as a pullquote and I got a bunch of traffic, so I decided to do it again. Plus, if you're so inclined, you can kick their collective asses in fantasy football.

The 7th Annual Air Guitar World Championships are taking place in Finland, and it could be the key to a brighter future.

The purpose of The Air Guitar World Championships is to promote world peace. According to the ideology of air guitar playing all war and disease would cease to exist and all bad things would disappear if everyone in the world only played air guitar. This is why at the end of every competition all people in the world are invited to play air guitar simultaneously.

Of course, everybody's wondering if anyone can dethrone reigning champ Zac Monro of London, who is looking to become the first repeat champion. Last year, Zac rocked out to Blur's Song 2 (which was also enjoyed heartily by tonight's Yankee Stadium crowd, which "Woo-Hoo"ed right along), but is keeping this year's choice under wraps until showtime.

(Oh yeah, thanks to everybody who said HO-OOOOO!)

Chuck Smith Answer! I know this will sound strange, but for some reason I'm getting a ton of search engine hits today looking for the answer to a question that begins "What NL East team said they debuted 30-year-old rookie Chuck Smith to give 36-year-old." I have no idea what this is about (Some sort of trivia contest? Please somebody let me know), but I'm pretty sure the answer has to be the Florida Marlins. Please send my share of the prize in care of this blog.

I want a new stadium, with plenty of luxury boxes! Ever since I announced my upcoming forced relocation, a classic East/West Coast bidding war has broken out in the message boards, with each side making their case to be my next home.

The Seattle folks have teamed up to offer me, among many other things, all the croutons and Ichi-rolls I can eat, a lifetime membership to the Lusty Lady, Mount Rainier, and a plate of cookies with a tuck-in to top off every night. The East Coast folks have threatened to kick my ass if I move. So it's pretty much a toss-up right now, I guess.

Check out this terrific Marc Weisblott Blogcritics piece analyzing the Clear Channel College Entertainment artist pricelist. Did you know that Pauly Shore is still asking for $17,500 for a night of his specialness? Up-and-comers Badly Drawn Boy seem like a bargain for $7500, especially considering that the "generally available" Blessed Union of Souls are asking for $10K and Silverchair $15K. Go check it out..

If you're like me — a man who may conceivably go out on a date at some point in his life — then you'll definitely want to check out Edie Singleton's Mating Call for a few pointers on what you can do to look like a massive tool:

He mentioned a couple times that he basically expects a kiss at the end of a first date, because if you don't kiss, what's the point? I responded that it was funny that I totally didn't feel that way! He said, especially after shelling out a lot of dough, etc, etc, it is nice to get a kiss. I insisted on paying for half of everything.

Seriously, I'd like to stick up for my gender and such, but this is the third or fourth dating story I've heard recently where we end up looking like total retards. Guys, let's be careful out there.

Baseball Strike Betting Line:

• Over/Under: days the general public will discuss the strike: 1 (possible influence: American Idol finale on September 4).
• Over/Under: days the strike will be the main topic on WFAN Sports Radio: 3 (possible influence: NFL/Giants season opener on September 5)

As big a fan as I am, and as much as I'd like to see the Mariners in the playoffs, if there is a strike I doubt it would take more than a couple of days for me to completely forget about baseball. The same seems to be true for most of the people I've spoken with: hardly anybody can understand why these jerks can't get there act together, and not many more care. (Now that I think about it, the only people I know who would really care are some heavy sports bettors who need their daily fix.) Bleh on all of them — bleh, I say!

New York Notes. I caught the second half of 24 Hour Party People last night, a darn fun film that captures the inspiration and the stories, if not quite the madness, behind one of my favorite musical movements: the Manchester sound of the 80's. I can't really offer a full review, since I'm still hoping to check out the first half of the film.

Why did I miss so much of the film, you may ask? Because my friends told me to meet them at a certain bar near the theater, then thought that the bar was closed because "it looked dark inside" (shocking, I know), leaving a message on my (not with me cellphone) to meet them at a different bar. Oh, I was not-so-much pleased. Anyway, after the movie we spent many hours and dollars at some bar which had the sign "Please be aware of all your possessions at all times," which I thought was an interesting philosophy.

Finally, on my way to the PATH station, some car slammed on the brakes near where this other couple and I were walking. The female passenger rolled down her window and screamed, "OHMYGOD!!! Did you see that rat?!?!" Three in the freaking morning, walking in the middle of New York Freaking City, and I have some idiots scaring the shit outta me with the news that there's a rat on the loose. After a quick call to alert the media I was on the train back home.

Lemme hear you say HO-OOOO!

Tony Woodlief has some choice words for those bastards at Quaker Oats.

Well, no more, Quaker Oats Company. You can keep your tortured oats and your freakish pancake powder, because this is one customer who is on to your cruel game. Do you know what it's like to look into the face of your heretofore innocent toddler, and to discover a betrayed expression as he lets gray gruel ooze out of the corners of his mouth? "Why, Daddy?" he asked. "Why?"

Can you sleep at night, Quaker Oats Company? I can't. Not anymore.

If you can read this entire letter and remain dry-eyed, then you either have a heart of stone or are some evil hat-wearing Quaker freak.

Googlebation! Here's the latest update:

• Ken: a strong #24 (Ken Layne still #1; Ken Howard nowhere to be found).
• Goldstein: #2 and rising.
• Donkey: #1 forever, bay-bee!
• "Besotted Degenerates" : still #1...whew!

Without Google, I would have no proof that I really exist.

I'm not claiming to know a lot about sales or marketing, but can it really be the best use of Slate's advertising space to repeatedly offer me this 1999 Baseball Year in Review video, or this slightly discounted copy of the 2000 Tampa Bay Devil Rays Yearbook (in case I wanted to relive their magical 69-92 season)? There is free shipping on orders over $99, in case I wanted to order 13 of these keepers. I swear, these same pieces of crap keep popping up every other time I check the site. Do I have some kind of "Will buy old garbage" cookie on my hard drive or something? Sheesh.

New Jersey: The Secret Weapon in the Fight Against Communism. There were numerous factors which contributed to the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 — decades of mismanagement, an escalating and financially crippling arms race, an increasingly unhappy populace — but I like to think that my own New Jersey had a little something to do with it. More specifically, Bon Jovi's "New Jersey," which 13 years ago today became the first U.S. album to be released legally in the Soviet Union. (Due to currency restrictions, the Russian label paid for the albums with a truckload of firewood.) The group also helped organize and perform in the Moscow Music Peace Festival, the first of its kind in the U.S.S.R., giving Soviet youth some idea of the glories that awaited them if they overthrew the Communist regime and built some Turnpikes and Skee-Ball alleys.

It's turned into Relationship Month over at Paul Frankenstein's mercurial blog, and while I personally prefer to wait until the temperature drops back into the double-digits to discuss such weighty matters, Paul jumps right in to ask and sort of answer the tough questions: Men are pigs: yes or no? and Women: are all of them psycho?

I remember once seeing a trial lawyer on TV discuss the jury system, describing it as the worst possible method for determining guilt or innocence...except for all the alternatives. That ran through my head as I read this New York Press report from Russell Birnbaum, the foreman for the federal jury in the retrial of former police officer Charles Schwarz in connection with the Abner Louima affair.

The cumulative weight of the evidence was leading us to believe the government’s accusation that Mr. Schwarz held down Mr. Louima when he was violated by Officer Justin Volpe. But this one lone juror rejected the testimony of almost every witness who testified against Mr. Schwarz. Anyone who spoke against Mr. Schwarz was automatically mistaken, misguided, duplicitous. "Liars. They are all liars—or maybe they forget," she said of the prosecution’s witnesses. "How do I know?" In a broad and unmistakable inflection, our obstructionist uttered this generic reply to almost every question.
[...]
[S]everal jurors asked our obstructionist if any evidence, real or imaginary, would persuade her of Mr. Schwarz’s guilt. She replied, "I don’t know."

It's worth reading to see how sometimes the most important things in life are decided by a few random, crazy factors.

James Taranto's Best of the Web has been taking some sportswriters, Keith Olbermann chief among them, to task this week, calling them "ninnies," "sanctimonious, oversensitive weenie[s]," and "tedious." Their collective crime? Objecting to Florida State football coach Bobby Bowden adopting Flight 93 hero Todd Beamer's rallying cry "Let's roll," as his team's motto.

Now, I don't consider myself either sanctimonious or tedious (though I have been known to be a touch oversensitive on occasion), but the idea that Bowden will be calling on Beamer's spirit to spur the Seminoles to convert a third-and-long against Miami seems a bit...unseemly.

Taranto finds ridiculous the idea anybody could have a problem with this, especially now that the Todd Beamer Foundation has given its seal of approval to the Seminoles' use of the motto. While that's interesting, the fact that Lisa Beamer approves of Bowden's use of the phrase doesn't really have any effect on how I see the situation, and it's certainly not the conversation-ender that Taranto perceives it to be.

Ted Williams' son may be trying to freeze his dad in order to sell his DNA later on. The family of Martin Luther King Jr. charges textbook publishers to reproduce his speeches and has licensed the footage of his "I have a dream" speech for a television commercial. Am I equating the "Let's roll" usage with these acts? Not at all. But no matter who owns the rights to Beamer's or King's words, the truth is that they're really owned by all of us (not to get too corny here), or else they wouldn't mean anything at all. While it maintains certain important legal rights regarding usage, the Foundation does not get to decide what the phrase and the courage that inspired it means to any individual.

Jeez, I feel like a big pile of stupid crap today. Just go read something else today, like....oh, I dunno...Jim Henley's Unqualified Offerings. He's very good, and writes about anthrax and Bruce Springsteen. That's pretty versatile.

As for me, I'm going to eat chickpeas out of the can while watching scrambled porn.

Oh, and I still need a place to live in a few months.

Donkey Command Central needs a new base of operations. I just got a horrible, horrible e-mail from my landlords, informing me that they are selling the condo and, therefore, kicking me out, effective pretty darn soon. I love this place and all its fun little extras, and having to leave will completely blow. So...anybody know about a Blogger-friendly apartment?