Hands across America

I'll keep this one brief. I'm sure holiday cheer still abounds...

A local bar provides ample respite from the bitter cold, but just next door another interesting treat lies in wait. Photographer Jeremy Moss (no web ref available) has chosen to acknowledge the Christmas season by photographing "giving hands." This is to say an entire series of 6" x 6" portraits of outstretched palms, intended to remind us of "those less fortunate than us."

Aside from the standard fare -- withered looking meat hooks, of a darker complexion where possible -- was one photograph that blows the mind. Four-fingered hands (both of them), beseeching us all for what holiday cheer we might spare.

I had only one thought upon seeing this freak show: "Yo, Jeremy. It's your buddy Pork chop. Your wife told me you was taking pictures of hands and shit. I figured that my niece would be pretty awesome for that. She's only got 8 fingers. Maybe that could help you sell some pictures... I don't know. Give me a call."

And the rest, as they say, is history. Perhaps this is an unfair appraisal; maybe old Jeremy just happened upon an 8-fingered person during his daily rounds. But it seems more likely that a friend deserves the credit.

At any rate, if you find yourself at Brooklyn Social, try the Manhattan. A classic New York drink served with style (and a tucked-in tie), with no attitude whatsoever.

Keep the cheer going.

What you talkin' 'bout, everybody.

Merry Christmas from the Wu Tang Clan. And to the fuck who stole my jacket: you will have your time in hell. It will be winter, approximately Dec. 23rd, and there will be (quite literally) hell to pay. Fuck you quite solidly, my friend. I walked home in a shitty scarf and all you got was a 4-year-old J. Crew peacoat, you fuck. I hope you get cancer from the defective lining.

More to the point: the Wu-Tang crew, and Happy Holidays. (Roll-call.)

Old Dirty (R.I.P.)
Inspectah Deck
the GZA
the RZA
Raekwon
Ghostface Killah
Meth
Red

And, most importantly, Brooklyn Zoo (Zoo!).

I lost my jacket, but not my BK spirit.

Also, my Xbox just broke.

Holla.

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Time.

For the Holidays, try some 5 spice powder -- great for stir-frys and our absolute favorite, grilled meats. John_Halfz, erstwhile Washington compatriot, has retired to the restroom. I have no idea what devilry Amtrak served aboard his 4:00 from Union Station, but it seems the fare was not to his liking. Five spices or no, avoid food items (like pretzels) served from steaming vats of whitish liquid.

Speaking of which, J.C.H. probably demands some attention. If you find the 5 spice too sweet, then try "kicking it up a notch." Chili powder (pure ground chili, and not the stuff with other spices) will cook up nice with just about any meat, vegetable or fish, and warm up your nose to boot.

Signing off, to attend to a friend.

Mr. S.

Bonus question!!!

I realized belatedly that the previous question is fairly easy and does little to explain how this plan might actually work. So I present an extra-special bonus round. Same etiquette applies.

Vinny has thought better of his initial plan. Now he has convinced each of his 24 teammates to help him out. If all 25 players park at the curb during each of the team's 181 home games for 4 hours per game, how many seasons will it take before they have raised $100 million--keeping in mind that Tomokazu Ohka gets confused and buys 4 and a half hours per game (really an extra half hour for the lucky next customer).

Salvation!

After spending much of the weekend discussing with friends why the D.C. baseball fiasco was a done deal, I was shocked to hear late last night that Tony Williams has come to the rescue. And as far as I know, he does not smoke crack, which is probably a step in the right direction for Washington's municipal politics.

The plan that has saved the deal was ridiculed just yesterday by the Washington Post's Tony Kornheiser. (I'd supply the link but you'd need to register.) Basically, the idea is to sell control of parking meter revenue to an Ohio-based private company in order to raise about $100 million, or about half of the money the city needs to find in the private sector. I was never great at math but, like Kornheiser, I have difficulty imagining how many quarters it would take to raise that kind of dough, even at 25 cents per 30 minutes. Consider it a challenge: the first reader who answers the following question correctly will get a special prize. Post your answer as a "comment" below.

Vinny Castilla has left his El Camino at a meter outside RFK stadium. He hopes that his $2.00 in quarters (and the 4 hours of time it buys him) will be sufficient to last through an exhibition game against the Harambe Market beer-league team. Vinny is in luck: the game will be over in plenty of time. But if his 8 quarters bought 4 hours of time, how many quarters (and how much time) would Vinny need to make $100 million in revenues for the Nats?

Get out your pencils...

Anyway, according to espn.com and others, the folks over at the city council have done this math already, and are confident that the plan is feasible. Still, as Kornheiser wrote yesterday, that's a lot of quarters. Keep also in mind that it takes 27 quarters to buy a pack of cigarettes in Brooklyn; in Iowa it takes just 9.

Who's your daddy now, bitch?

DISCLAIMER #1:

Today I really wanted to put up a picture of Pedro Martinez wearing his Yoda mask in the dugout but, alas, could not readily find it. I would have dug deeper, but I don't want to get sued--I know Pedro is rich and tempermental, and I should also probably watch out with the orgy of proprietary images... At any rate, if I had been able to find the Yoda picture, the headline would have been the much more hilarious "My new Daddy you are (bitch)."

DISCLAIMER #2:

I try each day to find worthy news from beyond the world of sport but it seems as though the harder I try to avoid it, the more that sprouts up to report. There are plenty of sites out there for tales of the strange but true, rumor & inquiry, marginalia & minutiae, and other sundry diversions. I estimate my current readership around 3; this does not include any pets or non-englishspeakers, but the margin of error is exactly +/- 2. All of this being said, I will henceforth try to limit the sports reporting to a minimum, or at least to supplant such material with a laundry list of other items when possible.

Chapter I: Pedro signs with Mets

I'll make this quick: the Mets may be Pedro's new daddy, but his new bitch is the NY sports media.

All day he was faced with would-be "tough" questions that were little more than poorly worded jibes, such as "what about New York fans who don't like you?" and "what do you have to say about your health, or suggestions that you have lost your stuff." Pedro's consistent reply to such idiocy (roughly): "you guys make all that crap up."

He's absolutely right. He has been playing in Boston, folks, not Kansas City. He doesn't put up with annoying questions that cannot be neatly fielded without stepping on toes. He knows that only his performance, and his team's performance, really matter in the end. He will not bite at such idle bait--he knows better, tosses it aside and occaissionally displays a keen sense of humor in doing so. New York sports reporters will not eat him; he will eat them.

Of course, the reporters will say they are just doing their jobs and they are correct in this. This does not alter the fact that Pedro is their new daddy. Concerns about Pedro's health and attitude are entirely justified, but he cannot be expected to acknowledge them if he hopes to remain a top-calliber pitcher--especially given that he was sought by the Mets to catylize winning attitude as much as immediate success.

Chapter II: Other

(As you can see, my ability to create a reasonable chapter structure is not as developed as Halfzie's... Then again, I don't have the arsenal of T-Model material that is slowly filling his Premier Tome.)

All of you nerds out there will no doubt be delighted to hear that I have finally taken the plunge and upgraded to mac's OS X Panther. I'll spare you the lurid detail. All I have to say is one word: Exposé. For those of you who aren't nerds, this name refers to the feature whereby hitting the "f9" key allows the user to see all of the programs running at a given moment on screen, at once. You can then toggle from one window to another without having to guess which one to view.

Another, perhaps more poignant, meaning of "Exposé" has to do with (once again) the D.C. baseball fiasco. I thought that Exposés would be a much better nickname than "Nationals" for two reasons--One, the fact that the team used to be the Expos and had undergone a somewhat passive change. This would definately be hilarious to a French person. Two, Washington D.C. is a place rife with rumor and inquiry, and the pesky paper trails they tend to exhume. An honest-to-God double entendre!

Now that the deal seems to be entirely dead, and the so-called Nationals bound for Las Vegas, Richmond, or any number of other nauseating locales, I suppose exposé might take on a third meaning. But more importantly, if they remain the Nationals, does that mean we can move our central government to Nevada? It would be a more fitting place, I think.

Epilogue

Oops, I did it again. Sports and more sports, alleviated only by some nerdly self-indulgence. Oh well. William Saffire I'm not, but don't be suprised if he steals that little "exposé" bit.

Word.

"I got seven mack-11s, about eight .38s..."

Ladies and gentleman. Let it be known: I am alive and well.

Despite my failure to post for exactly one week, I have not yet succumbed to the forces of darkness. My mind has merely been infected by ghosts. But fear not. Christmas cheer is just around the corner.

Today, the NY Times extols the virtues of the .38, a weapon that a guy like me can relate to. (Who said they were pansies over there?) If I knew the first thing about shooting guns, or had even the most remote need for one, it would surely be a six-shooter bulging off my right ankle.

Meanwhile, my previous post has proven to be nothing but a load of poppycock: D.C. most likely will not get a professional baseball team, at least not for more than one season. It seems that the Lilly-livers over at the city council were sufficiently intimidated by the "No taxes for D.C. baseball" poster campaign and decided to demand that much of the stadium be privately financed. Assholes. We all know that public financing does little besides enrich a team's owners, but I also know that I'll be mighty upset if I'm not munching a pretzel at Marion Barry Field in August of 2006. So much for optimism.

There is plenty of other news out there this week, sports-related and otherwise. As luck would have it, I've become rather busy. Before I go, however, here's a spicy tidbit to tide you over. Word has it that Halfzie has taken up a position over in Tommy Thompson's office, and he's not leaving until Tommy does. You heard it here first--Beltway gossip from a Washington outsider.

Six Months Out of Every Year

Well, sports fans, try as I may to discontinue my habit of posting on baseball or football news, there simply isn't much architecture gossip that hasn't already been scooped by crack "Eavesdrop" reporter Aric Chen. I suppose I don't get invited to the right parties after all.

Instead, D.C. baseball drama. The fledgling Washington Nationals, nee Montreal Expos, are by now almost certain to become a reality in the 2005 season. The remaining hurdles include securing the approval of MLB owners and a final financing package for a new stadium in Anacostia. From the looks of their website, however, it seems that all of the major parties involved are on board.

I won't dwell too much on the intricacy of the events that precipitated this whole deal. The bottom line is Major League Baseball in our Nation's Capitol for the first time in three decades. This is good news for me: If I have my way I'll be joining ol' Halfz down in Boomtown after Christmas. Perhaps I can live among the rats in his front yard.

Speaking of rats, and J_H, a new poll on his broadside hints at possible collaborative efforts in the future. Vote wisely, and if you are in need of guidance, observe carefully how the following groups are voting these days: MLB owners, MLB players, the people of Iraq, the U.S. Congress. With any luck, the question of the day in our case can be resolved with less rumor and intrigue.

I'd stay and chat, but I feel the need to do something productive for a change. I hope my readers would concurr: visiting NYC landmarks on a day like today is something productive.

9/11 = 2

A while back I assured readers that architecture, design, and urbanism would be among the principal topics of this page. Those of you who felt misled by this claim no longer need worry. Yesterday the Times reported that insurers of the World Trade Center have been ordered by a federal jury to compensate its leaseholder, Larry Silverstein, for two separate 9/11 incidents instead of just one. Though the insurance companies involved are expected to appeal the decision, Silverstein is hailing it as a victory for all New Yorkers. A double payout for him means a more readily financed rebuilding effort, and hopefully a more successful one as well.

Since September 2001, Silverstein has steadily retreated from his initial plan to replace all of the square footage lost on 9/11, largely because of the uncertainty of large-scale real estate speculation in the aftermath of a recession. What first emerged as an ill-conceived master plan was refined and modified a number of times, but seemed unlikely to be built in its entirety so long as Silverstein was paying for it. The complex of tall buildings proposed in the Liebeskind master plan, for example, had been scaled back so much that by earlier this year, they were expected to be built as 3-4 story "retail bases" that could potentially accommodate office space above in the future as demand dictated.

This would have been an unfortunate development indeed. The core elements of the master plan for ground zero--David Childs' Freedom Tower, Michael Arad's memorial, and Santiago Calatrava's transit hub--always remained, but the other space around the site seemed doomed to become a kind of outdoor shopping mall, with Best Buy, Old Navy, and other large "box" stores the likely tenants. Regardless of how well Mr. Liebeskind's initial master plan elements are carried out by their individual architects, a cluster of shopping around the former WTC site would detach the area from the much denser fabric of lower Manhattan, and might be more akin to the Fulton Mall/Metrotech development found across the river in downtown Brooklyn--hardly a worthy model of civic space or good urban planning.

Even if he does receive a double payout from his insurers, the total amount Silverstein can be given is only 4.6 billion, according to lawyers involved in the case. Still, this amount would be enough to finance the Freedom Tower with some to spare, and both the memorial and the new transit hub will be financed by others. Hopefully, the idea of building up the areas around the memorial only as tenants are found can now be abandoned. While any additional new towers will undoubtedly contain retail space, it will ultimately be better for the city if the retail is not the first thing the public sees built next to ground zero.

Get Rich or Die Trying

Attentive readers will note that Friday marked the first weekday without a post since this page's inception. In fairness, it had been a busy news week and I was anxious to skip town for some r & r. But today I am back in effect.

The real news over the weekend, as far as I'm concerned, was the altercation that took place aboard a chartered jet at Murtala Muhammad Airport in Lagos on Saturday, between American rapper 50 Cent, aka Curtis Jackson, and Nigerian counterpart and apparent foe Idris Abdulkareem, aka Eedris Abdulkareem (pictured above). The disagreement allegedly started when Abdulkareem refused to vacate first-class seats reserved for 50 Cent and his G-Unit crew. Mr. Jackson was not directly involved as he was waiting in a car outside the plane when the incident transpired.

This wasn't the first time trouble had arisen between members of 50 Cent's security detail and Mr. Abdulkareem; backstage scuffles were reported during earlier tour events. The onboard melee was sufficient to bring 50 Cent's Nigerian tour to an abrupt end, as he and his entourage immediately arranged transportation back to the U.S.

Judging from Abdulkareem's appearance, I would say that he and 50 Cent would be about evenly matched in a fight. Then again, 50 did famously survive 9 gunshot wounds, some to the head, in 2000. The larger issue raised by the fight and the resulting cancellation of 50's Nigerian tour is whether American hip hop acts--with all of their emphasis on "bling bling" and "gangsta" attitude--are welcome among more modest local talent. I know that 50 and other American rappers are extremely popular in western Africa--the question is whether African rap artists feel slighted when the posturing of American stars begins to trivialize their own efforts and, indeed, the plight of their native countries.

While 50 Cent is well known to have lived the life he portrays on his records, his success in pure dollar terms will never be matched by a regional star like Abdulkareem. Nonetheless, a certain irony emerges if a trip to Africa was jeopardized by that success and the envy it may have caused. Suffice it to say that "live by the gun, die by the gun" has a very different--and much less trivial--meaning to Nigerian youth than it does in the U.S. One would hope that this fact would compel both African-American and native African rap artists to keep their schoolyard bragadoccio under control while touring with one another, lest other countries begin to witness the escalation of such petty nonsense to dangerous levels, as happened here during the 1990s east coast-west coast farce.

Your Wish Is Granted, Long Live Giambi

Unprecedented, folks. A third straight day of news to report. Just as I was going to bed in the wee hours of the morning, the SF Chronicle broke a story that virtually shakes the Peterson trial into oblivion: Yanks slugger Jason Giambi and his younger brother each admitted to using various banned substances. It was all over the sports radio airwaves even as NY newspapers were already going to print.

This story, in all truth, is turning out to be especially troubling. The elder Giambi suffered both an intestinal parasite and a tumor (allegedly located on his pituitory gland) over the past year, and as a Yankee has fallen well off of the impressive numbers he had put up for the A's. It has been suggested for years that his earlier offensive production and subsequent slump could have been explained by steroid use.

The other wrinkle is the man who supplied Giambi with illicit juices and creams. Greg Anderson is also Barry Bonds' personal trainer. The nature of his relationship with Giambi, who says he first approached Anderson after a barnstorming tour of Japan with Bonds and other players after the 2002 season, calls further into doubt the validity of Bonds' claim that he has never used banned substances. That such drugs were provided in forms said to be "undetectable" all but proves that Barry's 73-homerun season in 2001 was the result of steroid and growth hormone use.

The New York sports media, of course, is in a frenzy. Provided that he did not lie, Giambi was given immunity from any repercussions of his testimony, which some have suggested was leaked by prosecutors to pressure a follow-up. It seems unlikely that either he, his brother Jeremy, or Bonds will ever face punishment from Major League Baseball. I hate to invoke the whole "think of the children" argument, but it sends a pretty bad example to young athletes when it is assumed that a large number of athletes in a given sport are known to cheat, or to have cheated.

Too few will understand that athletes do not become heroes by admitting a past misdeed in order to assure freedom from future blame, or banishment. This case, and especially these new details, calls all of Major League Baseball into question. We will never know how many players have been using steroids and other banned substances; most will never want to know. The number certainly goes well beyond the two Giambis and Bonds, and might be as high as 50% according to some players.

The problem here is not that sports is entertainment and therefore subject to special rules of engagement. Hollywood actors and musicians are dragged through the mud regularly by a scorned press eager for revenge, while athletes can always use the "on field/off field" defense. Performance enhancement is, after all, about performance, not image. It is nonetheless disappointing when a transgression that undermines the very principles of athletic competition does nothing to tarnish an athlete's image, and is instead used to promote a dubious crusade against what amount to black-market purveyors.

War on drugs, war on terror. Symptoms, nouns, and above all, problems. However it shakes out, don't expect athletes to be held responsible or even asked to change the status quo.

How Sweet It Is: Knicks over Grizzlies by 8 at Garden

Well, shit. I had written a whole post on this game and deleted it accidentally by hitting the refresh button. Long story short: I came into some Knicks tickets today, through (of all places) the Catholic church.

(Before anyone suspects some vast charity scandal involving the "Starbury Stars" program and members of the clergy, I should note that the tickets were given to a local pastor who also teaches my mother's Greek class. Someone had given him the tickets, and apparently he's not much of a Knicks fan.)

My original post went far too deep in statistical analysis, and offered little that an interested party couldn't easily glean at espn.com. I will only reiterate my appreciation of Mike Sweetney, our pal Halfzie's favorite Knick. Somewhere in the beltway, a bottle of rye just ran out of luck. Sweetney's line: 21 minutes, 11 points, 9 rebounds (5 offensive), 1 impressive blocked shot.

Jerome Williams (picured with Sweetney above) stood out more for his halftime antics (jawing and dancing in front of the officiating crew) and periodic spasms (of either glee or dismay) than for his play (17 minutes, 9 points). Marbury was 5-5 from 3-point range in the second quarter, but the real show tonight was Stromile Swift's halftime dunk barrage.

The other point I will reconstruct before it gets too late: the Knicks are indeed more fun to watch than they were during the Rick Brunson/Clarence Weatherspoon years, but it would be a mistake to buy in to the Dolan hype just yet. The Knicks are a team that was managed into the ground over the last few years and if they begin to show promise now we should be somewhat relieved--not utterly jublilant

Anyway, there it is: abridged, but more to the point. But one last thing before I go: seeing Jason Williams tonight reminded me of a nickname our friend the Jaff once coined (for a lady friend, not Jason, but appropriate to both)--"Lil' Mousie Two-Bits." At last word the Jaff was going to be headed to Puerto Rico (and early retirement, at age 22) about this time. We wish him all the best.