Americablog? You suck!

I don't know why I did this. What was I thinking? I knew the end result wouldn't be good, and I knew this from the outset, yet here I sit, pissed off and wondering how I could have been so stupid.

See that little box up top? Type anything you want in there, and it'll search this blog or the blogosphere at large. So, curious about what was being said about my wife's boss, I typed his name in there.

Why. Why, God, why.

Suddenly, I'm wading into the murky depths of the political blogosphere.

The signs told me not to do this. Why, God, why?

See, I don't know how to describe my politics. They're centrist, as best I can tell, leaning on libertarian. A shade of red here, a shade of blue there - perhaps that makes me purple. Or just a donkaphant.

There are a few things that really do gripe my ass, though. Censorship - I'm in the media, after all. Incorrectly identifying a counter-trey. Chris Berman. Red Sox-Yankees. Recently, however, there's a fast-climber up the charts: partisanship.

I do not suffer Joe Biden or Chuck Schumer lobbing grenades across the aisle, nor do I appreciate when Ted Stevens goes to Washington (state) to whine about a Senator from that state voting against one of his bills. I grow increasingly frustrated with the bickering that happens on the Hill, and exponentially frustrated when it spills over the general populus. And, so it seems, there's no middle ground on the political blogosphere.

And if partisanship is hobby No. 1 of the blogosphere at large, then media-bashing is hobby No. 1A.

At least that's what the sign said. Of course, I strolled right past it.

Why, God, why?

There were the typical lefty posts of this and that, some bordering on vicious and some just flat out inane (a student and political dork from Charlottesville lauded Jack Carter for his message of fiscal conservatism; my wife's boss is the single biggest fiscal conservative in the Senate). Then I saw the one that really blew my mind.

Some liberal folks accuse the AP of "repeated stories that contain outright errors and fabrications intended to mislead their readers into believing accusations that are unsubstantiated and untrue." I won't link, because frankly the place doesn't deserve any more traffic. But it's a place called AmericaBlog, which, strangely, seems to represent only half of America - the Democratic half. They were pissed about AP's wording in a story about Harry Reid accepting free tickets to a boxing match, and wrote with such urgency that it seemed this reporter's error (or, fabrication, if you prefer) would surely lead to the universe collapsing upon itself. There was talk of boycotts and getting every paper in America to subscribe to Reuters and whatnot.

Look, I could care less about the politics of the thing. It's neither black or white to me, and before I met my wife, Nevada politics had absolutely zero bearing on my life. So I surely don't have a dog in the fight.

But the media bashing? Good Lord. Stop already. I posted a rather snarky comment, No. 83.

How'd that boycott go? Seems like you got a lot accomplished.

Look, the former head of AP famously didn't disclose who he would vote for - not even to his own family.

If you want to chide the reporter for f--king up, that's one thing. But to dissect every word and declare him incompetent and biased? Good Lord. Get a life.

If this truly is what you do, I feel a tremendous sorrow for you personally.

And the last time I was at work, we were still getting AP copy. So I guess you didn't win, huh?

Don't worry, there's always a next time. You never know when those devious bastards at AP will misplace a "the" that will eventually lead to another GOP win and, of course, the downfall of mankind.

If you're really serious about killing AP, you'll have to go to every single small-town newspaper in America and convince them that they should abondon their readers and never run any copy from outside of their immediate area just so they can take a stand on a preceived slight. And that seems to be more than a two-bit blogsite can handle, IMO.

I don't know if I should feel good about that, or no. The words weren't exactly a slick knife, but more like blunt-force trauma. Either way, no matter how deftly written, the partisanship of the blogosphere consumed me. Whether I used a knife or a hammer, that great blue shark still swam up and got me.

Why, God, why.

Unexpected flashback: DM

A recent thread on SportsJournalists.com about Gnarls Barkley took me back to my youth. Stay with me here.

Gnarls Barkley is a band - perhaps you've heard "Crazy" on the radio. It's a pretty sweet song, and you can hear it on their homepage.

Of course, their page also breaks down the band nicely. "Gnarls Barkley = Cee-Lo + Danger Mouse." An important distinction here - that's DJ Danger Mouse, not the pint-sized hero of that people of a certain age that had Nickelodeon might remember.

Reading about DJ Danger Mouse brought back fond memories of the cartoon Danger Mouse. Luckily, there are episode clips here and there on YouTube and IFilm, and one complete episode ("The Dream Machine") that I found on Google video.

I used to watch that show as religiously as I watched the 90-minute block of Thundercats, Transformers and G.I. Joe. I can't say for sure why I liked it; I guess the idea of programming from someplace as remote as England was cool (though the number of Asian names during the credits during Thundercats probably made that more remote than England; yet the T-cats never spoke with an accent).

I always thought Penfold was the shit. As before, I'm not sure why I identified with a right-hand-hamster; perhaps it was because he served as the comedic relief. I always strived to be the comedian, but its effect was limited because I was (and still am) rarely quick-witted.

Maybe I just always wanted a car that could take off and fly. Maybe I wanted a direct patch-in to HQ in my living room. Maybe I just wanted a seventh-floor flat in a mailbox on the corner in a city.

Who knows? But then again, who can say as 11-year olds why we're attracted to one thing and not another? For me, Danger Mouse was always kick-ass.

Since I found videos and SJ.com folks who knew of it, I'm glad to see I'm not the only one.

The big 5-0

Holy crap, my humble little blog is 50 posts old. Who knew?

I guess my favorite post, still, is the one about the potential pratfalls of a Philadelphia Olympics. Apparently it was good enough to get a notice on Oddsnark - still the only random, unaffiliated link I've gotten to this site.

But I think that's OK. I don't know what I expected to get from this, but I think it's worked. I find myself bringing a reporter's curiosity to everyday experiences. Most of it is the typical introspective stuff you've come to know and love. Like wondering if the grass on the National Mall feels any more special than, say, a blade of grass in Las Cruces. Or wondering why I got choked up at the site of a program from a fireman's funeral - it was a drawing of a dalmatian, it's head hung low with a single tear coming from its visible eye. A sad story, to be sure, but one that caught me in just that certain way.

Maybe the Yuengling's got something to do with it. You may have noticed that there's a lot of posts on late Thursday/early Friday - a few hours after I return home from our softball game, with a handful of beers consumed (some weeks more than others). At least I'm not a mean drunk, I guess.

I wonder if this blog has fulfilled its mission. I've asked some erstwhile blog folks what they think, and based on their feedback, I guess this isn't really what one would expect from a blog - lots of links, multiple updates a day, that sort of thing. And that's cool, but it's just not what I'm trying to accomplish.

And that's OK, I think. After all, I'm not beholden to anyone's rules in this deal. Plus, it's a cool thing to have such complete ownership over something; perhaps that's why I enjoy my NASCAR blog at work so much. There's no sports editor sighing and wondering why I'm more interested in going to a Kasey Kahne interview session than working on my high school golf preview. (Not that he's said that, mind you.) The topics are mine, the words are mine, the ideas are mine. And that's a wonderful feeling.

This was meant to be a sort of creative exercise for myself, and I think we get a checkmark next to that mission as well. I've always been pretty good at remembering random details; recently, the highlighting color on Al Saunders' playsheet, or the reaction from Penn State cornerback Justin King when he couldn't remember the right word to describe a receiver from our area.

I think the blog has helped with that. Each day, each hour, is a chance to see something I've never seen or look at something in a way I've not considered. I walk down the street and random thoughts pop into my head; maybe it's enough to blog about later, maybe not. But either way, I feel like I'm a bit more perceptive to the world around me.

One of the basic tenets of journalistic writing is show, don't tell. And if this blog has done anything, it's helped me show a lot better.

I know the crew around these parts doesn't exactly approach a throng, but thanks to you guys for playing along. Keep those comments coming ... I definitely need to be told when I'm full of shit.

Apparently that happens from time to time.

Peek inside the apartment, Part III

My old buddy Cheryl gave me a book review off of the last post on the topic. My pal Matt seems to enjoy these too; and if I know him at all, I think he'll really like this peek:

Brian's Collectibles/Paraphernalia in the Computer Room
Framed photo: Moravian defender sacking hapless Muhlenberg quarterback

Framed poster: Philadelphia Flyers uniforms through the years

Philadelphia Eagles blanket (gift)

Framed collection of previously used press credentials (including Washington Redskins, Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Red Barons, Wilkes-Barre/Scranton Penguins, 1997 ALCS, 1999/2000 NFL Draft, Philadelphia Eagles training camp, Winston Cup garage/pit pass at Pocono, Busch/Truck garage/pit pass at Nazareth, 2000 Kickoff Classic, Penn State football and 2003 FIFA Women's World Cup

Philadelphia Eagles mini-helmet (gift)

Moravian College Greyhounds mini-helmet (bought in Bethlehem)

Retail football from Super Bowl XXXV (won while answering a trivia question at a Moravian homecoming)

Game-used Major League baseball (caught at an Orioles game, I think)

Game-used American League baseball (old school! Not sure how I got it)

Mariners souvenir baseball (bought at Safeco Field, Seattle)

Lehighton Area H.S. Indians mini-bullhorn (origins unknown)

Matchbox-type cars: No. 43 Wheaties and No. 43 Cheerios, then driven by Moravian grad John Andretti (origins unknown)

Rogue Chipotle glass (at right; bought at the Rogue Brewing Company in Newport, Ore.)

Framed, autographed 1981 Steve Largent Topps card (gift)

Pint glass, Dansbury Depot (bought in East Stroudsburg)

Unopened box of jelly beans from the office of the President of the United States (gift)

Shot glass, 2006 Final Four (bought in Indianapolis)

Bobblehead: Albert Pujols in a Potomac Cannons uniform (came with ticket to Cannons game)

Bobblehead: Donovan McNabb (currently knocked over, thanks to Grace the cat; gift)

Pint glass, 2006 Final Four (bought in Indianapolis)

Bobblehead: Generic Penn State football player (gift)

Terrell Owens cutout (haven't gotten around to flushing it yet; gift)

Matchbox-type car commemorating the 2003 UAW-DaimlerChrylser 400 at Las Vegas Motor Speedway (gift)

Potomac Cannons souvenir baseball, autographed by Reds 3B Edwin Encarnacion (won at auction at Cannons game)

Pint glass, DeSchutes Brewery (bought at the brewery in Bend, Ore.)

Double shot glass, Philadelphia Eagles (since the team drives me to drink; origins unknown)

Pint glass, Budweiser/Bristol Motor Speedway (origins unknown, but I've never been to Bristol)

Pint glass, BT's (bought at restaurant in Radford, Va.)

Mega shot glass, Clinton-era Presidential Pardons Problem Solver (it reads: "RX: Fill to problem level with your favorite beverage. Repeat dosage as needed." Problem levels, from bottom to top: Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy, Wife Becomes Senator, Greedy Brothers, Rich Friends, Department of Justice, Final Night Party Guests, Losing Speaker Fees, New York Times Editorial, Congressional Hearings, Presidential Library Donor's List, Waiving Executive Privelige, Tarnished Legacy; origins unknown)

Pint glass, Yuengling brewery (bought in Pottsville, Pa.)

Super pint glass, Dan Marino's Fine Food & Spirits (gift)

Super pint glass, Mickey Mantle's (bought in New York)

HHC: Q&A

In the interest of letting my creativeness run without bounds, I present my recent interview with an NFL football. We got together over lunch at a recent vegetarian place near Redskins headquarters in Ashburn, Va.

HHC: So, give me the basics about yourself and your life story.
FB: Well, I started out as the skin on a cow in rural Ohio. From there, we got shipped to Wilson's football factory in Ada, Ohio, and, well, here I am.

HHC: That's a pretty short answer to something that could go in depth - we're talking about post-death experiences, the afterlife, reincarnation and all of that.
FB: It really wasn't that big of a deal. The brain was more concerned about it than I was - and the brain of the cow doesn't have that much depth to it, so it thought it was just getting a treat before it realized it was a death trap. For the rest of us, though, we just kind of went with it.

HHC: What happened after all of you were separated?
FB: That's really when the rough part began - for us, anyway. I mean, have you ever felt a cow's skin? It doesn't naturally have all these dimples, you know?

HHC: Ouch.
FB: It was more scary than anything. It sure didn't hurt - all the nerve endings were incapacitated by then anyway. We thought we were headed for the Coach handbag line, and that was really what scared us.

HHC: What happened to the rest of your, um...
FB: Colleagues? Don't know. I heard that the tenderloin ended up at a dog food factory. That's a shame - he was a great guy.

HHC: He? I thought you were part of a female cow.
FB: Dude, skin and meat and bones, we don't have a sex. Referring to he and him just makes life a lot easier on all of us. Plus, it personalizes things. The tenderloin was a good friend, you know, not just another piece of meat.

HHC: Moving on. Tell me what your second life has been like as a football.
FB: It's not nearly as glamorous as you might think. We got sewn together with our with our new colleagues, the stitches and laces and got branded with an NFL logo and Tags' [soon-to-be-former commissioner Paul Tagliabue] Hancock. After that, it's a little blurry; all I remember is that it got really dark and we got jostled around quite a bit.

HHC: That must have been your flight to Northern Virginia.
FB: Right. We actually flew from Indianapolis into Dulles.

HHC: How did you know it was Indianapolis?
FB: We were in the cargo hold with a bunch of local yokels who kept stammering on about Kelvin Sampson and Jermaine O'Neal. Folks in Cincy don't care about them.

HHC: Got ya. So once you arrived at Dulles, what happened?
FB: More darkness and more jostling, but it was thankfully a lot shorter. We were in a box and the box wasn't opened until we arrived at Redskin Park. When someone finally opened the lid, we were afraid we'd landed in Norman [Okla.], but then we remembered we were NFL balls. Some of us got separated, but I was lucky because my best friends were still with me.

HHC: Best friends? Were you from the same cow?
FB: One of them was. But I can guarantee you - if you spend a two-hour flight smooshed up against someone you don't know, you'll be damn good buddies by the time you disembark.

HHC: Fair enough. When did you finally get on the field?
FB: The first day of training camp. My God, was it hot. We kept getting all wet from these guys' sweat. It was kind of disgusting, actually. One of my good friends was on the ball for a snap when a defensive tackle let go of a huge loogey - part of it actually splattered him. And then you have to deal with all the residual stickiness from those [expletive] gloves that all the players wear.

HHC: Still, you'd finally made it to training camp. You must have felt like you'd finally made it to the big time, no?
FB: Let me tell you about my first practice, in order: Used to get defensive linemen to move on the ball, not the sound; tossed in a bag; pulled out and used by the longsnapper to practice his snaps; handoff to Rock Cartwright; dropped by Ataveus Cash; complete to Taylor Jacobs; handoff to Tyler Lumsden; put back in bag.

HHC: You're right, those guys are mostly fringe players or role players.
FB: Yeah, one of those guys who I thought was a good friend became Clinton Portis' favorite ball. Now he doesn't talk to us anymore - he thinks he's too good for us, lucky bastard. He's no different than the rest of us. It's just that Portis thinks he is.

HHC: I had no idea there was that much bitterness among footballs.
FB: Oh, definitely. He got his comeuppance though. Portis fumbled once, and was so pissed he punted the dude into a nearby creek, where he was promptly swallowed by a northern snakehead.

HHC: Isn't that a little harsh, celebrating the demise of someone who was once your friend?
FB: We got a code we live by, you know. "Skin, through thick and thin."

HHC: A code among footballs? Come on.
FB: You're part of the family now, too. The secret's out. And just to prove it, if you publish any of the following, a similar fate will befall you. [several minutes of off-the-record comments]

HHC: I'd like to live, thanks.
FB: Your lips and fingers are in on this too, you know.

HHC: Consider me warned. But you'd say your overall experience at camp has been positive?
FB: No doubt. I mean, one of my other good friends wound up in the kicker's bag. It was sail through air, GUH! Sail through air more, thud. All I've had to put up with was a harmless five-foot fall.

HHC: Anything else about you that you think our readers would want to know?
FB: Just like the players and the coaches and the referees, we come from all walks of life. Some of us are from cows in Ohio, some from Pennsylvania, some from Indiana. And they were some courageous cows that gave themselves so Derrick Frost would have something to kick around on Sundays. And don't forget the code, either. We're watching you.

HHC: Thanks for your time.