I’m in the minority of baseball fans who thinks the Marlins’ absurd home-run art installation is going to be awesome, and I believe this post from Grant Brisbee supports my case. He’s got a bunch of pictures of the home-run thing under construction, and it is tremendous. Look at how it dwarfs that palm tree:
Via Toby Hyde.
A Rockville Centre attorney is under arrest after allegedly holding a suspected teenage prankster at gunpoint until officers arrived at her home Sunday night, Nassau County police said.
Bernadette Greenwald, 47, apparently lost her cool after someone repeatedly rang her doorbell and ran from the home around 11:15 p.m. Sunday.
The “ding, dong, ditch” prank was apparently carried out three times and after the last incident, police said Greenwald, a former Bronx Assistant District Attorney, grabbed her .9 mm pistol and fired one round into the air in front of her house.
Police said Greenwald later saw a 17-year-old boy walking in front of her N. Forest Avenue home. She allegedly approached the teen and pointed the gun at him. Greenwald’s retired Air Force pilot husband apparently returned home to discover the youth inside his home.
Regular readers of this site know that I am a native of Rockville Centre, New York and that I was, in my teenage years, the perpetrator of various teenage pranks and the one-time quasi-victim, so to speak, of a wild overreaction to one of those pranks.
But thankfully no one ever pulled a gun on me, forced me into their house and held me at gunpoint until the cops came. And while I can understand being a bit miffed or unnerved by teenagers doing stupid things in the middle of the night, just, well… c’mon, lady.
Anyway, this seems like as good an excuse as any to note my favorite boredom-driven suburban pranks. Ding-dong-ditch (we called it ring-and-run, actually) got old pretty quick and toilet papering required money and coordination, but lawn ornaments presented ample opportunities for creativity without much risk or planning.
One thing we liked to do was pick up people’s lawn ornaments and tastefully arrange them on the lawn of a different house on the same block. I always had this image in my head of some homeowner in his bathrobe stepping outside to fetch the paper in the morning, noticing his missing cherub, then spotting it across the street alongside his neighbor’s walkway and being all, “WTF?” And then maybe he steals it back or maybe he awkwardly confronts the neighbor about it. The whole thing cracked me up.
But my favorite prank centered around these white, wooden reindeer that came into fashion in the town just about the same time we started driving. I don’t know where they came from — my family never had them — but I guess their understated, Nordic simplicity spoke to the people of Rockville Centre or something, because there were at least a pair on every block. And some homes had whole, ostentatious fleets of them: up to nine reindeer lined up in sleigh-pulling formation or otherwise just grazing on their front yards.
Since the reindeer were lightweight and very simply constructed, they were incredibly easy to rearrange. And it so happened that the two standard shapes of these reindeer lent themselves particularly well to being arranged in all sorts of suggestive positions.
That’s how I spent most of my December nights in my junior and senior years of high school: Reindeering, we called it. And we were in high school, so everyone involved was a hormone-fueled encyclopedia of vile, debased and downright bizarre concepts for how reindeer might seek pleasure. Those neighbors that made the mistake of hosting nine of the things regularly woke up to depraved Caligula orgies enacted on their front lawns with their simple, tasteful white reindeer.
After a while, people started going to great lengths to stake the reindeer down and wire them to trees, but it was just never terribly hard to move them around. Ultimately, the reindeer either went out of style or the townspeople grew tired of the Sisyphean ordeal of repositioning their reindeer thrice a week before the kids woke up to avoid that awkward conversation; they were scarce by my junior year of college.
So there’s no real specific story or punchline here. We were never caught or held at gunpoint, and I have yet to receive my appropriate comeuppance. I regret nothing.
Taco Bell, the fast-food chain that caters to late-night snacking, is making a play for the breakfast crowd.
The Mexican-style restaurant chain introduced a breakfast menu Thursday at almost 800 restaurants, mostly in nearly a dozen Western states. The rollout adds to the scramble among fast-food heavyweights competing for the morning allegiance of on-the-go consumers….
The chain’s breakfast staples include burritos stuffed with eggs and either sausage, bacon or steak; sausage and egg wraps; hash browns; hot or iced coffee, and orange juice. Taco Bell is teaming with such recognizable brands as Johnsonville, Cinnabon, Tropicana and Seattle’s Best. Menu items range from 99 cents to $2.79….
The rollout is taking place in Alaska, Washington, Oregon, California, Arizona, Idaho, Montana, Utah, New Mexico, Nevada and Colorado, and there are a limited number of participating stores in Texas, Ohio and Oklahoma.
You guys!
So who has got a good excuse for me to visit Alaska, Washington, Oregon, California, Arizona, Idaho, Montana, Utah, New Mexico, Nevada, Colorado or certain parts of Texas, Ohio and Oklahoma?
This one is difficult and important. As of right now, 67 percent of TedQuarters readers believe a whole wheat everything bagel with cream cheese is not a sandwich, though a boiling debate persists in the comments section.
Our man Devon reminds me that I have in the past classified a bagel with cream cheese as a sandwich — probably by email since I can’t find it in the archives — but I reserve the right to change my mind now. That exchange must have happened in some loosey-goosey era, sometime before I was dedicated to determining exactly what constituted a sandwich.
The candidate: A whole wheat everything bagel with cream cheese from H&H Midtown Bagels East on 2nd avenue between 81st and 82nd streets in Manhattan. Seth informs me that this H&H is not actually affiliated with the city’s west-side H&H bagel stores and that it’s another Famous Original Ray’s Pizza thing. But then, really, who cares? They’re really good bagels. More on that in a bit.
The construction: A whole wheat everything bagel with cream cheese, served… well, we’ll say “sandwich-style.” For what it’s worth, I never, ever deconstruct a bagel I get prepared for me at a bagelry. But if I’m eating a bagel at home I always split the bagel in half, spread cream cheese or butter on both halves and eat them separately — open-faced, if you will.
Arguments for sandwich-hood: It’s a form of bread on either side of a form of cheese. Though there’s always a ton of cream cheese and they inevitably require napkins, bagels with cream cheese are inarguably portable.
Counter-arguments: Well… it’s a bagel. And there’s no meat in there. Cream cheese feels more like a spread than a cheese.
How it tastes: This is the most important thing: Amazing. My wife and I spend a lot of our time seeking out good bagels, and we’ve determined that H&H has the best in our new neighborhood. They do enough business that the bagels are always fresh and often hot, and they’re perfectly prepared: boiled then baked, hearty and chewy on the inside with just a little bit of crunch on the outside.
H&H Midtown East puts its toppings on both sides of the bagels, which is not absolutely necessary but a nice bonus. I always get everything bagels because I like the addition of a little bit of salt and garlic flavors, but would never want my bagel overwhelmed by either of those seasonings in isolation. I’m not sure when or why I started ordering whole wheat bagels, nor am I certain I like them better than regular ones. I think I may have convinced myself they’re healthier.
Cream cheese is cream cheese: Hearty for a spread but fluffy for a cheese, with a delicious, mild tang that seems to perfectly complement the sweetness of a bagel.
What it’s worth: $2.25: Basically the same as a slice of pizza. But better for carbo-loading! I should note also that H&H Bagels Midtown East is open 24 hours, which is amazing and makes me so happy I live in the city again. I purchased and ate the bagel photographed above in the 1 a.m. hour.
The verdict: This is a dilemma. On one hand, we have the grilled cheese: Cheese between two pieces of bread and inarguably a sandwich. On the other, we have the buttered roll, bearing many of the qualities of a sandwich but — I think we can agree — pretty obviously not one.
I reserve the right to change my mind about this, but I’m prepared to say that a bagel with cream cheese is not a sandwich. It’s an amazing, delicious breakfast staple that can be enjoyed anytime, but it is not a sandwich.
The distinction lies, I believe, not in the nomenclature so much as the focus. A grilled cheese sandwich is a cheese sandwich. You’re in it for the cheese. The buttery bread is but a delicious vehicle for its delivery. The draw of a bagel with cream cheese is — to me at least — the bagel. The cream cheese is also awesome, but I think it is with good reason that you’d refer to it as a bagel with cream cheese, not a cream-cheese sandwich on bagel.
Does that make any sense? There’s a distinction here, and it’s important but also hard to put into words. I don’t mean to say that the thing doing the sandwiching can’t be a fundamental part of the sandwich because I don’t want to undercut all the great rolls and buns and breads of this world. But if the thing doing the sandwiching — the bagel, in this case — represents the bulk and the focus of the food item, then I’m not sure it’s a sandwich. Ham and cheese on a croissant is a sandwich, for instance, but a chocolate croissant is not.
I think if you added bacon or salmon to the bagel with cream cheese, it’d be a sandwich. But on its own — or even with one of those cream cheese with stuff in it that never really appeal to me — it’s just a bread product with a spread.
No politics, just this:
Note to random commenters: This exchange had nothing to do with Ron Paul. Please don’t make this about Ron Paul.
Hat tip to Tom Boorstein for the heads up.
Continuing my quest to determine a unifying definition of “sandwich.”
Today’s candidate comes from the Upper East Side location of H&H Bagels, on 2nd Ave. between 80th and 81st streets:
That’s a whole wheat everything bagel with cream cheese. But is it a sandwich?
[poll id=”53″]
Nike unveiled a new line of gray uniforms for a bunch of college hoops teams yesterday. Look at these wannabes:
Me, I’m a sucker for this look:
That’s right, I’m arguing for Georgetown’s dominion over an entire color.
No one is predicting a 94-win season for the Mets. Last I checked, I am not a crazy person. That number was meant to represent the Mets’ best possible outcome, based on very lazy and inexact addition and guesswork. I actually thought it was pretty damning to say that the best the Mets could hope for if absolutely everything went right was a Wild Card — that they’d be limited to second place by their talent, even in the best-case scenario — but the post was nonetheless met with tons of LOLs and readers wondering what I was smoking.
Anyway, just for a point of reference I went through the same routine with all the other teams in the NL East, looking up and down the roster and trying to guess the best possible but still vaguely reasonable estimate for what each player might do in 2012.
As a Mets fan, I’m probably a bit harder on the Mets than I am on their competitors. Plus I’m less informed on the day to day machinations of the Braves and Phillies. But by my total, meaningless guesswork, the best-case scenario, ceiling win totals for the other teams in the NL East look like this:
Phillies: 116 wins
Braves: 106 wins
Marlins: 105 wins
Nationals: 98 wins
Now someone’s going to run to say I’ve just predicted three teams in the same division to win over 100 games, which is — if you’ve been reading — obviously not the case. Everything going right for the Phillies would mean many things going wrong for the Braves, Marlins, Nationals and Mets, so the Phillies winning 116 games would likely preclude the rest of the division from coming close to their here-speculated best-case win totals.
One thing that surprised me was the relative thin-ness of the Nationals, who seem to have become the Internet’s darling this offseason. I’m not sure how much of that excitement stemmed from their rumored pursuit of Prince Fielder, but I tried to be particularly generous with them and still couldn’t come up with a way they’re close to the Braves or Phillies on paper at the season’s outset. They’ve got a bunch of good young players and pitchers, yes, but they’ve also got some pretty big holes in their lineup and at the back of their rotation.
As for the hated Phillies: It’s exceptionally unlikely they’ll be anything like that good. The Phillies’ average hitter was over a year older than every other team’s in the National League last year. Ryan Howard will likely miss the start of the season after surgery on his Achilles tendon, which means 33-year-old Chase Utley, who has missed large parts of the last two years to injury himself, will be the Phillies’ youngest infielder on Opening Day. They’ve still got enough firepower and pitching to remain competitive in 2012, but — though a lot of Mets fans refuse to believe this — no one is immune to time. Their window will close.
And our Mets? Well, this is all a roundabout way of suggesting they have the least immediate upside of any team in their division, but it’s not to say they can’t do a better job capitalizing on their upside than their competitors or that they can’t enjoy a prolonged run of good luck. And since it’s boring to remind you that anything can happen, I’ll remind you this: If you’re absolutely certain in January that any Major League club can not win more than 60 or 70 or 80 games by September, you’re certainly a fool.
This much we know: Daniel Murphy does not look pretty playing the field. Hell, Murphy himself will tell you as much. He rarely appears comfortable at any position, even the ones where he seems to be decent. His instincts in the infield look strong on balls hit near him, but he is prone to errors of aggression and of inexperience. His movements are at best herky-jerky, even awkward – at least by the standards of professional athletes.
Yet last week, Terry Collins called Murphy the favorite to open the Mets’ 2012 season at second base, where he has played all of 43 games in his professional career and where he suffered season-ending knee injuries in both 2010 and 2011.
But that’s a good thing! Not the injuries or the inexperience, of course — those are bad things. Rather, the Mets’ willingness to try the relatively untested Murphy at second base appears to be, given their circumstances, the right move.
As we all know, the circumstances are woeful: They apparently can’t afford to compete for big-name free-agents anymore (though there weren’t any available for the keystone anyway), and for a variety of reasons (Murph’s latest injury among them) it didn’t seem to make much sense to trade Murphy or anyone else to try to bring back a more obviously viable middle infielder. They need good, inexpensive hitters in their lineup, and with Ike Davis at first, David Wright at third and Jason Bay’s contract in left, there’s no better way to get Murph regular at-bats than by trotting him back out to second and hoping no overeager or ill-intentioned baserunner comes at him too hard too early in the season.
So they’ll go with it. And I think Daniel Murphy the second baseman — in January, at least — stands as perhaps the best metaphor we’ve got for the Mets’ 2012 season.
In penciling Murphy in for second, the front office seems to be making the smartest possible move for a team with such limited resources. But it presents a great risk with the potential for a good reward.
If it goes well and Murphy proves an adequate defensive second baseman, he’ll likely rank among the better players in the league at the position. But since he’ll probably never be as good as Dustin Pedroia was in 2011 on either side of the ball, the best possible outcome for Murphy — like the Mets — appears to be “very good.”
Mets fans have come to celebrate Murphy’s offense and seem to assume, given the offensive standards at second base, he’d be among the very best at that position if he could hack it there. But his strong 124 wRC+ from 2011 would rank him sixth among Major League second basemen in both 2010 and 2011 — not quite elite — and certainly less-than-stellar defense would mitigate his value. Plus, though Murphy will turn 27 in April and might still improve a bit at the plate, his success last year was largely batting-average driven.
That is to say: We strongly suspect Murphy can hit a bit and we really have no idea if he can field. If he proves he can do both and stay healthy, he’ll be good, but he’s unlikely to be good enough at either to be great. And all of that, to me, sounds a hell of a lot like the 2012 Mets.
The very believable downside to playing Murphy at second is the chance that it’s an unmitigated disaster. He could get hurt again, or he could prove so unspeakably bad at fielding the position as to make Mike Pelfrey gnaw his whole damn hand off and R.A. Dickey eschew Shakespeare for Sartre. And no matter what the ultimate outcome, we must recognize now that every one of Murph’s hiccups along the way will be berated and GIFed and plastered all over back pages and blogs.
LOLMets, you know?
It’s important to note that I’m not saying the Mets’ 2012 season hinges on Murph. Not at all. He could be awesome and the team could suck, or — though it’s inherently less likely — vice versa.
What I’m saying, and the conclusion to all that best–case scenario stuff, is not really all that groundbreaking: At second base and elsewhere, the Mets’ front office seems to be doing the best it can with its limited resources. But because the resources are limited, they have been and will continue to be forced to take risks with limited rewards.
The good news is that they’ve still got enough talent that the rewards, if they all pay off, are high enough to allow the team to contend. And it’s good that many of the players, like Murphy, are homegrown, likable and appear to be dedicated, and are under team control for long enough to be part of the club when next it is they do start fielding more inherently competitive teams.
The bad news is that risks are risky, and spreading first basemen all over the field, going with untested players at multiple positions, relying on several guys to return healthy from long injury absences, counting on a very shallow pitching staff, and hoping that an adjustment to the walls will fix the franchise’s best player add up to a hell of a lot of risk. And the contingency plans are basically Justin Turner, Ronny Cedeno and Miguel Bautista.
Thanks to a Scottish sandwich shop there’s now a panini named after the Hollywood hunk. The Metro Sandwich Company devised a tribute to Pitt after the 47-year-old arrived in Glasgow this week to work on filming the post-apocalyptic zombie war movie, World War Z. When Pitt caught wind of the “Brad Pitt Special” from his film crew, the man himself sent his assistant to get the chorizo, salsa and cheddar sandwich, and quite literally ate himself.
So pleased with the nosh, he signed the outdoor poster promoting the mouthful of Pitt, writing “with extra onion and jalapeno…a delight for the senses. Many thx [sic] BP.”
Before you fly off to Scotland in search of this sandwich, I should warn you about my experience with Scottish cuisine. My dad’s mother, the occasional White Castle craver, was born in Port Glasgow, Scotland and came to the U.S. at five or eight or 12, depending on how old she was claiming to be when telling the story. She was a smart, strong and hilarious woman, but an absolutely woeful cook. And every once in a while she’d get a hankering for the old-world cuisine, and on rare occasion she’d subject us to it.
Brutal. I can’t even figure out why Scottish meat pies would be gross, since they’re just pastries stuffed with meat and I’m on the record as loving that stuff. But somehow they’re remarkably dry, and the meat inside is gray and flavorless. Hell, just look at the names of some traditional Scottish cuisines: “Cullen Skink,” “Cock-a-leekie soup,” “Arbroath smokies,” “Collops,” “Clapshot.”
Excuse me for working blue, but is it me or do all of those things sound more like sexually transmitted diseases than foods? (I guess, for that matter, a similar case could be made for the “Brad Pitt Special.”)
And maybe all those things are actually delicious and I’m just biased because of my beautiful, awesome grandmother’s “cooking.” But until I’m convinced otherwise, I’m going to side with the Mike Myers line in So I Married an Axe Murderer? that says, “I believe most Scottish cuisine is based on a dare.”
All that said, a chorizo, salsa and cheddar sandwich sounds like it could be pretty delicious, assuming the chorizo is good.
Oh, one other thing about my grandmother and food: Every year around the second weekend of December, my dad and I went to go set up her Christmas decorations — a remarkably laborious process because she had a huge nativity set made of cement. And every year when we finished, she invited us in for tea and these really dry shortbread cookies she had, the type that come in a plaid tin.
One year I suggested to my dad that I thought she might be putting out the very same cookies every year, so I scratched the date on the back of one that I didn’t eat — 1995. Two years later that same cookie showed up on the plate, looking no worse for the wear. She must have kept them in the freezer, next to the meat pies.
Tedquarters 