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Charlie Hatton
Brookline, MA
Ah, spring is in the air. And that can only mean one thing.
No, not ‘love‘, ya doe-eyed mushbrain!
It means that it’s one of the two brief magical times of year when the grand sports of baseball and college basketball overlap. Sure, I love football as much as the next guy. And hockey’s fine, and golf’s okay, and holy frostbitten knees, wasn’t that Olympic curling just riveting?
(Answer: No, not so much. I’d sooner scan sumo matches for ‘wardrobe malfunctions’ than sit through another nine hours of ‘Shuffleboard on Ice’. But that’s just me. No Canadian blood, you see.
Not on the inside, anyway.)
My true sporting loves, though, are baseball and college hoops. And when they’re both in full swing and relevant (read: when my favorite team hasn’t tanked their way out of contention yet), it’s truly a magical time. There’s nothing quite so satisfying as filling out a ‘March Madness’ bracket on the same day you draft a fantasy baseball team.
(Where ‘nothing quite so satisfying as’ may be replaced at your discretion with:
Wishful thinking and poor draft strategy aside, though, the last two weeks of March are always a party. It doesn’t hurt that St. Patty’s Day is often stuffed into the first March Madness weekend, either. We’re gonna be cramming beer and bar food down our throats anyway; why not let the Irish take credit for a day? It’s all good.
“Our pocket protectors and taped-up Coke bottle glasses positively shudder in anticipation.”
The toughest thing about this time of year is coming up with yet another flimsy-but-plausible excuse to duck out of work during the first weekend of the basketball tourney. The games start on Thursday, but the weekend doesn’t kick off until Saturday. That’s definitely poor planning on someone’s part. I blame the ancient Sumerians, for coming up with a seven-day week in the first place. What, they never heard of metric? Lousy fricking Sumerians.
This year, I’ll have to be more creative than usual. In the past, when I switched jobs every couple of years, it was easy. I could have my tonsils ‘taken out’ over and over, or keep ‘killing off’ great-aunt Edna. But I’ve been in this office for more than two years now, and they’ve got a policy:
‘Fool us once, shame on us. Fool us twice, shame on us again. But fool us three times, and you’d better update your resume, bitch.‘
I paraphrased a little, from the employee handbook. But you get the point.
So I’m not sure what it’ll be this year. A ‘flooded basement’, perhaps, or a ‘locust infestation’? An ’emergency vasectomy’? ‘Demonic possession of a pet gerbil’? A bout of ‘forty-eight hour gangrene’? We’ll see. Meanwhile, I’ll make my picks and shell out my cash, in exchange for the right to get sloppy drunk and shout at other peoples’ TVs this weekend. That’ll be nice.
And then there’s baseball. True, the season hasn’t really kicked off yet, but this is high times for us fantasy nerds. The calculators are clacking with comparisons of three-year slugging averages versus spring training results against left-handed pitchers on Tuesdays in stadiums named after citrus fruits. Our pocket protectors and taped-up Coke bottle glasses positively shudder in anticipation.
In honor of the drafts in which I’m currently immersed — and to show that love really is in the air — I’ll close tonight by bringing you a fully-loaded, plausibly positioned, twenty-five man roster of:
Major League Baseball’s ‘All-Porn Star Names’ Team
Catcher: Raul Casanova
First Base: Jeff Bagwell
Second Base: Russ Johnson
Third Base: Michael Cuddyer
Shortstop: Pokey Reese
Left Field: Larry Bigbie
Center Field: Grady Sizemore
Right Field: B.J. Surhoff
Outfielder: Nook Logan
Outfielder: Terrence Long
Infielder: Nick Swisher
Catcher: Pete LaForest
Utility: J.J. Hardy
Starting Pitcher: Gary Glover
Starting Pitcher: Rich Harden
Starting Pitcher: Wandy RodrÃguez
Starting Pitcher: Woody Williams
Starting Pitcher: Kerry Wood
Reliever: Nate Bump
Reliever: Travis Chick
Reliever: R.A. Dickey
Reliever: Jimmy Gobble
Reliever: Buddy Groom
Reliever: J.J. Putz
Closer: B.J. Ryan
Now if we can just get Bobby Cox to manage the team, Jim Hickey as pitching coach, and Dick Pole as bench coach, then we’ll really be smoking the ball! So to speak. Ahem.
Who knew baseball could be so hot, eh? And this in a sport that has a coach tell you what to do when you reach ‘first base’, then sends you home once you get to ‘third’. Hardly seems fair, does it?
Permalink | 1 CommentSince unveiling the new site design here a few days ago, I’ve noticed quite a dip in site traffic. In the past week or so, the average day has netted a little south of half what I’d normally expect.
Of course, I thought I knew the culprit immediately. It had to be the ‘author pic’ I added to the header, right? Like my wife — and parents, and coworkers, and friends, and the dog, if she could talk — say:
‘We can listen to your nonsense, or we can look at you — but for crissakes, not at the same time!‘
“…how the hell am I supposed to compete with kitchen utensil porn? That’s crazy talk.”
So naturally, the photo seemed to be the problem. But then I realized — if people were coming here, and getting fed up with the drivelovisual overload, their hits would still register on the counter. They’d be quick hits, to be sure — frantically-barrelling out-the-door, panicked and disgusted hits — but they’d be hits, nonetheless. And I’m not seeing those hits.
That’s when I realized that I’ve landed myself in a sort of Google grace period. When I moved, I updated my software, too. In the process — for reasons I’m sure made some grain of sense two weeks ago — the name of just about every single page changed. All the entries, all the archives — all renamed in the revamperization.
A jaunt through the error logs confirmed my theory. There are a fair number of people out there, searching for things like ‘ridiculous pointless drivel’ and ‘craptastic’ and ‘douchebaggery’ — not to mention an awful lot of porn — and being pointed to entries in my archive. Entries that no longer exist, as far as the out-of-synch search engines can tell. Thus, the quirky webheads, the unstable queriers, and the clammy legions of pornseekers slap up against my ‘404: Not Found’ page, which doesn’t register a blip on the old Visit-O-Meter. Mystery solved, Watson.
It’s interesting, really — to me, anyway. Flipping through the site logs now, I see the ‘quality’ hits concentrated together into a dense, sticky mass of webby goodness. These are folks referred here from other weblogs, or directory listings, or even syndicated entries pointing back here to the ‘mother ship of bullshit’. Those visits are ‘targeted’, in that the people on the other end are usually in the market for the general sort of blather I dish out here. It might not be a perfect match all the time, but those people tend to have a look around, and explore the joint — even with that ugly mug of mine staring back at them. That’s impressive.
The hits from search engines are far less specific. They’re more noise than signal, or the chaff surrounding the wheat. All pasty, and no nipple, if you will.
Still, eyeballs are eyeballs — and maybe occasionally one of those hits leads someone here who decides they’re less interested in ‘Olsen twin nip slips’ or ‘Rachael Ray spatula porn’ than they’d be in a few paragraphs of goofball story.
(No, it doesn’t seem likely, does it? But how the hell am I supposed to compete with kitchen utensil porn? That’s crazy talk.
And ‘heart healthy’, to boot. I’ve got no chance.)
Anyway, I suppose the ‘bots will get the new site structure info back to their metal masters soon, and those search engine hits will be back in full force. Meanwhile, the relative calm is sort of nice. It’s like leaving a big booming party to play cards with a few close friends on the porch. It’s a little breather, before you get back inside and debauch the night away.
(Except I never get invited to any parties with Olsen twins or spatula shenanigans. Or debauchery. Or porches, for that matter.
Come to think of it, we never play cards, either. Nobody ever said it was a perfect analogy, dammit.)
So if you’re here before things get all Googled up again — welcome! Thanks for stopping by, and I’m glad to have you. Hopefully, you’ll find whatever type of nonsense you came here looking for.
And if not… well, I’ve got a drawer full of spatulas down in the kitchen. I’m sure we can think of some way to make your visit worthwhile. I’m just here to help.
Permalink | 6 CommentsThis ought to be interesting.
In browsing through my most recent feature here — Charlie’s Big List of Lists — I relaized that I missed one. I ‘seeded’ the list with several titles, and eventually made a list for each. Rxcept one. A lone straggling orphan, relegated to the bottom of the page.
“BOOBING! BOOBING! BOOBING!”
Of course, being last means that I may not have been fully convinced it would work in the first place. And now, I have no idea what the hell I had planned for it. But I can’t stand to see things left unfinished — and I’m not quite ready to splat a new batch of titles down — so I’ll give it a shot.
(Hey, it’s the weekend. You can’t expect a well-planned epic opus every day.
Or, possibly, ever. Meh.)
So, in the spirit of completeness and bored, addled octagenarians everywhere, I bring you:
Bingo Night with People Who Don’t Quite Grasp the Concept
“I-19.”
“G-53.”
“B-2.”
“BIG! I spelled B-I-G!”
“It’s BINGO, Mrs. Brown. Not BIG. Keep playing. O-70.”
“GOBI! GOBI over here!”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“It’s a desert! I’m not making it up this time!”
“It is a desert, yes. But it’s not BINGO. O-68.”
“B-*sigh*. B-14.”
“BOOB! BOOB! B-O-O-B, boooooob!”
“Mr. Reynolds, no. And let go of Mrs. Harrison’s shawl. We’ve discussed this. N-37.”
“Nothing? No one has a bingo yet? G-55.”
“I-22. Anyone?”
“N-44?… Meh. Fine, what have you got?”
“I got a BOOG.”
“BIGGIO?”
“BOOBING! BOOBING! BOOBING!”
“CHECKMATE! King me already, ya mensch, ya.”
“GIBBON!”
“Close enough, GIBBON it is. Extra applesauce for Mrs. Graham tonight. Can we watch Jeopardy now?”
Permalink | 1 CommentIt’s time I let you in on a little secret. In the spirit of real names, full disclosure, and goofy personal photos, there’s something I really need to get off my chest:
You’re not the only one for me.
Now, don’t get angry. You — the reader, right here, on this site I’ve been slapping words onto for two and a half years, you — you’re special. You’re the sugar in my Cheerios, the cascade in my Guinness, the rolled-up sock stuffed down my pants to impress the ladies. I’d be lost without you. You’re the best.
But you’re not the only one. I’ve been writing… elsewhere.
“You’re the sugar in my Cheerios, the cascade in my Guinness, the rolled-up sock stuffed down my pants to impress the ladies.”
I was up-front about it when I started last spring. My comedienne friend Jenn hooked me up with a ‘contributor’ gig on the online zine ‘Zoiks!‘. Zoiks! had no archives, so when a new issue arrived, I lovingly carted the last issue’s bucket o’ words over here, for your perusal. It was a comfortable arrangement; we were all happy. No one complained about my shameless polylogy.
(For those of you coming late to the party, a search for Zoiks! should uncover those cross-posted articles.
And yes, I know the search result screen sucks bare naked white ass. It’s on my list. Please to be patient.)
After a while, Zoiks! went under. That ended my motormouth moonlighting for a while. But I was undeterred, and pledged to find a wider audience to annoy with my shenanigans. And I’ve done so, in a number of ways — article submissions, syndications, and exciting new partnerships. I’ve even created a page of my collaborations, soon to be available via the ‘Highlights’ menu.
But I would be remiss — remiss, I say! — if I didn’t give two such items special mention here. And so, I shall. Never let it be said that I’m supporting remission of any kind.
Firstly, I’d like to thank the good people at Issues Magazine (especially including a certain someone who stops by here from time to time), for running one of my pieces in their ‘Humor’ section this issue. This is their ‘Music Special’, and there’s lots of great stuff there — artist profiles, fiction, poetry, and much more. It’s definitely worth checking out.
(Sadly, my piece only vaguely fits in with the ‘music’ theme — it’s the bit about mangling a Hallmark card poem for my sweetie. But if they’ll have me back, I’ll fit in better next time, I promise!)
And second, I’m pleased to announce the kickoff of a new site of mine, entitled (most appropriately) ‘Dial ‘M’ for Moron‘. For a while, I’ll be populating it with posts and articles seen here and/or elsewhere. Sort of a greatest hits section of ‘goofball’ posts. Later — who knows? Exclusive content, custom features, audiovisual extravaganzas… you’ll have to tune in to find out. Many thanks to the fine and friendly folks at Big Blog Media for having me in their network and setting me up so nicely.
That’s all for now — have a look at those other sites, and check back for zany hijinx tomorrow. Right now, it’s Miller Guinness time. This weekend kicks off… now.
This site is my baby, my favorite, my first literary love. It’s also a ‘scratch space’; the posts here are written free-form, stream of consciousness, and off the cuff.
(‘No!‘ I hear you cry, in mock amazement. ‘Really? Get out.‘
Hush up, you.)
Sometimes, though, it’s fun to write something a bit more polished. Something with a beginning, a middle, and an end; without (quite as many of) the asides and inside jokes and bizarre tangents. These pieces often emerge from the ‘salvageable’ bits of one or more posts here; it’s just a matter of cleaning the rough off the diamonds, if you will. Or off the dull, scratched imitation quartz, if you prefer. The analogy stands, dammit.
The results are pieces suitable for submission to rejection by a magazine editor, maybe, or a newspaper columnist. These articles occasionally make it pasts the guards here and over the weblog walls, escaping into the dusky shadows of the interweb. When that happens, I like to list them here — they’re my ‘ones that got away’.
Maybe someday, I’ll figure out why they got away, and write something else someone will have. Baby steps for now, though. Baby steps.
Other Sites Where I Have Written Regularly:
Bugs & Cranks (baseball; often Atlanta Braves-related)
ZuG.com (general goofiness; ‘Zolton Does Amazon’ article series, more)
Articles in E-Publication Elsewhere:
(These articles were submitted and accepted for publication, or [presumably] pulled from a syndication source directly.)
The Science Creative Quarterly February 14, 2007 — Love in the Laboratory
Issues Mag July/August 2006 — Summertime Soothers
Issues Mag May/June 2006 — A Matriculation Proclamation
Issues Mag Mar/Apr 2006 — My Hallmark Moment
Boomer Jokes! Mar 2006 — The Good Old Days Are Gone (syndicated)
Points in Case Feb 2006 – Do NOT Air This Sitcom (Twelve Simple Rules…)
ESL Teachers Board Feb 2006 — How I Feel About Pirates (syndicated)
Global Lampoon Feb 2006 — Reality Shows We’ll (Hopefully) Never See (syndicated)
Global Lampoon Feb 2006 — Valentine’s Day for Dummies (syndicated)
The Spoof Feb 2006 — Twelve Simple Rules for Sucking Less Than ‘Eight Simple Rules’
Syndication/Writers’ Sites I Sometimes Use:
(Some articles have been posted to many of the sites on this list.)
Article Dashboard — my articles
Content Articles — my articles
Free Articles Zone — my articles
Publishers Cloning House — my articles
Write Your Articles — my articles
Defunct Sites Where I Once Contributed
Dial M for Moron (not so much defunct as ‘all defuncted-ed up)
Zoiks! ezine — regular columnist; several articles (now back online; archives presumably kaput)
(Note: If you should find my work on another site — or god forbid, printed on actual paper! — that I’ve missed, please email me to let me know. You’re the best.)
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