That's right, folks- from the people who brought you road rage and air rage, here's the latest in temper tantrum technology- spam rage!
I kid you not: a computer programmer in California has been arrested for, among other things, threatening to send anthrax spores to and castrate the employees of a penis-enlargement company that was drowning his computer in unwanted advertisements and bulk e-mails.
Though the castration threat does seem freakishly appropriate, in a Hammurabi's Code kind of way, the main target of the programmer's ire, a Mr. Douglas Mackay of Canada, wasn't nearly so amused. His words lead to my single favorite quote in the article-
He said his firm does not send spam but blamed a rival firm which he said routes much of their unsolicited bulk e-mail through Russia and eastern Europe. Mackay said such firms gave a bad name to the penis enhancement business.
Wait. Let me repeat that, just for my general amusement. Mackay said such firms gave bad name to the penis enlargement business.
Ha! In not entirely unrelated news, Congress is scrambling to pass an anti-spam bill before they adjourn next week. It's always nice to see people of all political persuasions uniting against a common enemy, isn't it. :)
Today I went to get a sandwich for dinner. This is a typical thing: walk up the hill, across the fields, get my jeans splattered with mud, and then wait in line. No problem. But once I arrived, I found, to my dismay, that the radio inside was playing Oh Holy Night. Alright, fine, I thought. I can deal with the fact that the radio is playing a little Christmas music before Thanksgiving.
But the next song was Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree. Followed by a rousing rendition of Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer. At this point, I caught myself scowling deeply and searching for a sharp object to poke out my eardrums. I couldn't take another minute of this cheesy schmaltz, no matter how happy it was. And then, all at once, I felt terrible. What am I, the campus Grinch?
I swear I don't hate Christmas. I really don't. But despite having lived in the U.S. for twelve of my eighteen years, I can't get used to it. The tinsel, the godawful music, the endless merchandizing and the sugary cheer spreading itself like a great layer of marshmellow goo on everything- I can't stand it. So when I had to stand and wait for ten minutes while the treacly tones of carols assaulted my ears, I wasn't getting pissed at hearing those tunes for the first time in months, I was getting pissed at what I know I'm going to be hearing for the next month: more carols. And more carols. And plenty of commercials for extra-special Christmas sales and television specials in between.
Oh, geez. This is what makes people into horrible, snarling misanthorpes, isn't it? I need to sleep.
Happy Holidays, everyone.
Ah, registration. Few things are more fun than looking through a course catalog the size of a Russian novel to decide what to take next semester. Seriously. Today, preparing my class list was the highlight of my day, because I found the course I absolutely must take...
History of the Modern Musical
I am such a hopeless geek. But it's musicals! With an emphasis on Rodgers and Hammerstein! And I'll actually get college credit for it. Muhahaha!
*Runs off cackling madly*
I'll worry about actual academic stuff some other time. Right now I want to listen to some Oklahoma! Or My Fair Lady. Or...
It was inevitable, wasn't it? Sure, baseball season is over, but I knew eventually I'd get back to writing about it. Now, I could write something smart, analytical, and meaningful about the state of defensive analysis, the Yankees' potential offseason moves, or why Tuffy Rhodes can't seem to get a roster spot on an MLB team, but instead I'm going to rant. Because, thanks to the wonders of Clutch Hits, I've found an article so inspired in its sheer egotistical, brain-dead idiocy I can't help but comment on it.
Here, my friends, is the masterpiece by Star-Tribune's Jim Souhan, entitled Baseball Insider: Steinbrenner ire affirms writer's vote.
Here's the background: Angel Berroa of the Kansas City Royals recently edged out the Yankees' Hideki Matsui for the American League Rookie of the Year award. That's fine by me- Berroa's hitting stats were comparable to Matsui's, and he played the far more difficult defensive position of shortstop. Berroa probably deserved to win.
What I really, really don't like is the fact that some writers decided of their own accord that Matsui's experience in the Japanese leagues disqualified him from rookie status. Believe it or not, BWAA does not make the voting rules for the postseason awards. MLB does. And MLB rules state that Matsui, whether he played in Japan or Cuba or Mars, was a rookie this past season. What does Souhan say to this?
The crux of the arguments I've seen against my decision is that Matsui is considered a rookie by Major League Baseball, so I was compelled to consider him one.
Yup. What I said.
I'm sorry. You can tell me Madonna is like a virgin, that the Metrodome is a baseball stadium, that computers are built by extremely intelligent people, but I'm entitled to employ common sense.
Uh huh. So in other words, your common sense makes better voting guidelines than the MLB ones you're supposed to follow. Gotcha. What is this brilliant common sense?
To consider the likes of Matsui, Ichiro Suzuki, Kaz Sasaki, Shigetoshi Hasegawa or Hideo Nomo a rookie would be to insult all of Japanese baseball.
Um...no. An MLB rookie, to use the simplest definition, is a player in his first year of MLB baseball. Japanese baseball is not a part of MLB. Therefore, a player from the Japanese leagues playing in MLB for the first time would be...a rookie. Furthermore, it's generally agreed that the level of competition in Japanese baseball is not as high as that in MLB. But really, I understand if you don't want to insult Japanese baseball. Wouldn't want to cause an international incident, after all. And I'm sure that all those fans back in Matsui's home country would have been just devastated if he'd won the ROY.
But is Souhan's love and respect for Japanese baseball the real reason he left Matsui off his ballot entirely? Let's look back at the headline- nothing about Japan, but definitely something about...oh yes...George Steinbrenner. Now this calls out for further investigation. What does Souhan think of the Yankees' owner?
Steinbrenner, the Yankees' imperialistic owner, criticized my decision to vote for Royals shortstop Angel Berroa, Indians outfielder Jody Gerut and Devil Rays outfielder Rocco Baldelli for AL rookie of the year, eschewing Matsui.
Now I am sure of what, before, I could only suspect: A conscience knows no greater comfort than Steinbrenner's opposition.
Hmm...I sense some George issues here. Let's delve into further detail.
Luckily, he's no more effective accosting baseball writers than beating semi-retired 72-year-old managers.
Now, that's just plain inaccurate. Pedro Martinez is the one who goes around rasslin' gerbils. Steinbrenner just verbally abuses them.
In any case, Steinbrenner on Tuesday rewarded me for my decision. His criticism qualified me for the pantheon -- the roster of all-time greats who have incurred the wrath of George.
The pantheon, you ask? What would this be? The pantheon, mentioned earlier in the article, is made up of "Steinbrenner whipping boys Joe Torre, Billy Martin, Yogi Berra, Reggie Jackson, Don Zimmer, Mel Stottlemyre and Dave Winfield." But as the very astute MNP pointed out in Primer, "No, jackass, those are all guys who did their job well and were criticized by Big George. You're a guy who willfully disregarded the rules and were criticized by Big George. Those are all guys who may or may not have deserved the abuse; you're a guy who deserves more abuse than even Steinbrenner will give out."
I couldn't possibly have put it any better. But you know what the funny part is? For all the hatred Souhan professes to hold towards the Big Stein, the highlight of that writer's offseason has been getting attention- any kind of attention- from the owner, and basking in a bit of the frigid spotlight his outrage at the voting provided. Souhan wasn't voting for Angel Berroa, he was voting against Steinbrenner's Yankees and their very expensive, not-so-young rookie. Who cares about the numbers, or who was actually the best rookie? What matters is that George Souhan, the most principled baseball writer in the world, got to stick it to George "Satan" Steinbrenner. In Souhan's little fantasy land, this makes him the next in a great line of men who have resisted George. In reality, it makes him a voter who should be stripped of his BWAA priviliges for life.
I'm a bit tired right now. Pulling an all-nighter will do that to you, especially if it involves a book pickup at 1 AM and a fire drill an hour later, all while one is writing about the evolution of the caliphate between the Umayyads and the Abassids. I think I'm going to take a nap now, before I start drooling on the keyboard.
Today my family came to visit from far-off New Jersey, and that could only mean one thing- food. Lots of yummy, wonderful, fresh food. I'm talking chicken, home-made cookies, and proper bagels, not those wimpy soft little things the dining hall calls "bagels." Pah! Those things barely qualify as baked goods...
*Ahem* Anyway, as you can imagine, I had a verrry nice dinner of my mom's home-made goodies today, and used my meal card to add to my yogurt hoard instead.
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The other lovely present I got from my parents was the world's teeniest little shoe rack. (Well, it had to be, to fit in my closet.) As soon as the family went back home, I sat myself down to assemble it. It was simple, really- just put the stick in the little side-thingy, add the funny doohickey, and voila! My very own shoe rack. Except it wasn't quite working, so after a few rounds of futility I actually looked at the directions for putting the thing together and discovered I needed...a hammer. In an isolated college. On a Saturday. Needless to say, I didn't know anyone in my hall who was into woodworking or construction. So I improvised. With a can of ravioli.
Today I spent ten minutes pounding parts of a cheap shoe rack together with a can of Chef Boyardee. Such is the life of a college student. :)