Somewhat Manly Nerd

I haven’t posted on here in forever and in an attempt to get me started again, I’m going to let someone else do the writing for me. I read a review — more like an essay, really — in the magazine Film Quarterly about Fast Five, Contagion, and The Rise of the Planet of the Apes. In addition to being another source of praise for the last movie, it provided the most ridiculous critique of the final chase scene of the first. I took pictures of the paragraphs, but I’ll write them out here just to feel like I’m writing even though I’m only transcribing.

But what if we have been thinking of this all wrong, and the entire movie is just a pretext for something else altogether? It may be narrative idiocy of the first water — but it is, we must admit, the single best cinematic representation of the global financial crisis yet contrived, immeasurably better than Inside Job or Capitalism: A Love Story.

A weaponized concentration of capital seems to be dragged about by supermen; it is in fact dragging them around, laying waste to the world before it, destroying houses and urban centers and bodies as it races for safety — before recognizing that there is no safety and it should just turn violently on its pursuers in a festival of destruction.

In the textbook definition, capital is generally self-valorizing value; in a crisis it is inverted, and becomes self-annihilating value. The supermoney that seemed to run the world is revealed as “fictitious capital,” unrealized and finally unrealizable, but still in its auto-destruction capable of laying low the world around it. Which explains what would otherwise be the most intolerable plot device. In the end, it turns out that Dom and Brian have been hauling the fake vault through the city, while the actual box is spirited away, loot enclosed. As a scheme, it’s ludricous. As a reading of crisis in the world system, it’s immaculate — as if Hollywood had come to an intimate knowledge of volume 3 of Capital without reading, simply by bathing in the current of world money — and should complete the contemporary genre. I am seriously considering renaming this column “The Marx and the Furious.”

Sure it’s a bit of a stretch and an empty academic exercise, but you have to appreciate such an insane breakdown of the most absurd action sequence of 2011.

Warning: This turns into what could definitely pass for a Livejournal post. Just rambling nonsense.

Remember last week? That was pretty cool, huh? I haven’t even been paying all that much attention to the playoffs due to a combination of busyness and the knowledge that nothing will top last Wednesday night. The simultaneous collapses of the Red Sox and Braves, along with the all-but-impossible comeback by the Rays, have been discussed endlessly already, and I feel like most people (other than Red Sox and Braves fans) have moved on. So while the framework of this post will be the events of the end of the regular season, it’s really just about how freaking awesome baseball fans are. I guess “people with the same interests as me are the coolest” could also work.

Baseball lends itself to absolute obsession. Something like football — or even soccer over in Europe, from what I know about the schedule — is more compatible with, you know, having a life. Football allows you to set one day of the week away (and ok, Monday night, too) to turn into a worthless slob on the couch and watch either your local games or the Red Zone channel if you an ADD-addled fantasy player. Baseball is there almost every night you come home from work and on the weekends, too.

Please direct your eyes to the chart on the right. Look at that time commitment. So try to imagine what it’s like if a person is a baseball fan in the sense of attempting to follow all 30 teams — usually for fantasy knowledge purposes. I know that I became a better and more intelligent fan once I delved into fantasy baseball head-first a few years back. The result is being able to talk to any other baseball fan for practically an infinite amount of time. Not that I wasn’t able to do that already, but now I can do it with fans of any team almost as well as with Mets fans. I would joke about the Astros possibly being an exception, but past Tuesday night is evidence against this.

After a Sunday where I had a great time hanging out with fellow Mets fans during a Fangraphs (and River Avenue Blues and Amazin’ Avenue) meetup that turned into a middle school dance where girls and boys were replaced with Yankees and Mets fans, my hunger for real life baseball discussion had been whetted. While our Mets fan contingent did talk a bit about the depressing topic of our chosen team, there was also plenty of discussion about the on-going football games and good television shows. If I truly wanted to immerse myself in baseball, I would have to watch teams that still actually mattered, so Tuesday night on my home after a late class, I decided I should go to Foley’s NY to check out the four games that would help decide whether the Red Sox and Braves would provide schadenfreude for the rest of the country.

I had already been there before and knew that it is baseball fan heaven, with every television showing a baseball game, signed balls lining the walls, and a Don Zimmer fathead in the bathroom watching you piss into the urinals. I sat down at the bar and saw that the four televisions situated along its length were showing the four relevant games. There was probably no place on earth I would have rather been. Oh, I’m sure the MLB FanCave had all the games on, but fuck that place.

The night didn’t get really good until an older Astros fan sat down next to me and started berating the Cardinals fans sitting a few stools down on the other side of me. I just laughed and told him that I was with those “pussy Cardinals fans” for tonight, considering I wanted the Braves to miss the playoffs. From then on, we talked about 1986 (even though I was born during that season), Roger Clemens being an asshole, Nolan Ryan being a steroid user, Carlos Beltran being a clutch player, “Harvard turds” ruining baseball with stats, and how much the Cardinals suck. All right, it was mostly him talking, but it was immensely entertaining. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to turn away at some point to talk more to the attractive girl with an Irish accent who had sat down next to me, but the Texan would not stop talking. He had now moved on to other things, like his brother who had written for SNL and had made some YouTube videos. By the time the siege on my attention had been lifted, it was too late to stick around any longer, unless I wanted to get home on the LIRR as the sun was coming up. I wasn’t upset though, as I was able to have a conversation with a fan of the terrible organization that is the Astros for the sole reason that we shared love for baseball. Sure, his opinions might have been all over the place, but sometimes you have to hear from people outside of the saber-twitter-blogsphere, right?

Sometime during the night, I overheard a girl ask about a Cardinals fan meetup at Foley’s. It explained the Cardinals fans strewn around the bar, and also made me think of God Save The Fan, which I had recently read (and I’ve been meaning to write a review of along with the book I bought it with on Amazon, The Postmortal). In it, Will Leitch talks about finding a bar in Manhattan to watch the 2006 NLCS with other Cardinals fans (this is where I stopped reading the book). I told myself I’d ask him on Twitter whether he was talking about Foley’s. But not before I was at Foley’s again the very next night to watch the same eight teams play four games on the last night of the regular season.

The bar was a bit more packed on Wednesday night, though. When I managed to find a seat at the bar after a little while, it was pretty much in the same spot as before. This time, I was situated next to a Cards fan. This might have had to do with pretty much everyone at the bar being a Cards fan. There were a few Red Sox fans, too. If you magically appeared in the bar, I’m pretty sure you couldn’t have guessed it was in NYC. This Cards fan was surprised that I was rooting for his team, considering 2006; I told him that the Braves were like a sadistic bully that beat on Mets fans for most of their childhood. Comparatively, I still remember thinking the 2006 NLCS would just be a bump in the road. Sigh.

We sat there talking about the state of the Mets, how much money Albert Pujols will get this offseason (and from which team), the young pitching staff of the Rays, the embarrassment that is Carl Crawford, among other things. Meanwhile, the Rays had spotted a huge lead to the Yankees, the Cards had crushed the Astros in the first inning, and the Phillies-Braves and Red Sox-Orioles matchups were tight games. I downed beer and beer, sharing a bucket of bottles with the Cards fan, while watching the drama unfold with hardcore baseball fans all around me. To be a Cards fan out to watch the game in a NYC midtown bar on a weeknight means you are most likely dedicated. And at one point, I turned around to see the very guy who I wanted to ask about his Cards fan NYC bar story.

As Leitch seemed involved with a conversation with a lady, I struck up a conversation with his buddy (who looked vaguely familiar and whose name I cannot remember now). But once I mentioned that I wanted to ask Leitch something, he introduced me as awkwardly as possible to embarrass me. I probably deserved it. The minute I mentioned God Save The Fan, Leitch apologized for it being out-of-date already. Even when I said the only reasons I bought his book were its bargain price and Amazon recommending it when I bought The Postmortal, Leitch was suitably self-deprecating. I guess that should probably be expected from a guy whose first book was titled Life as a Loser. Leitch was also surprised to hear I was rooting for the Cards, but I told him how I want Braves fans to feel my pain. I bet some Braves fans think they’ll be back in the playoffs next year and for years to come (like I felt about the Mets in 2006), but maybe Jason Heyward won’t become a Hall of Famer and maybe Tommy Hanson will have injury issues. Or maybe the Mets will become the best te. . . nevermind.

But once again, I was able to effortlessly strike up a baseball conversation with another person, albeit a much shorter one, before I returned to my seat and my original Cards fan companion for the night. Leitch really did seem like a nice guy (he even offered me a beer!), which makes sense considering the transformation Deadspin has made since he gave up his editing duties. Despite Buzz Bissinger ripping him on Costas Live years ago for lack of integrity, the site has only gotten progressively more grimy under A.J. Daulerio. But I know Leitch and other people support him, so whatever, I won’t make this about how Deadspin was better with Leitch was editor. I mean, it was, but let’s get back on topic. Is there a topic here?

Oh yeah, despite Evan Longoria going into beast mode, the Rays were still trailing the Yankees; the Phillies-Braves game had gone into extras; and the Red Sox were looking like they were going to win their game against the Orioles. Then the timeline of madness that I can’t remember nor be bothered to look up broke out, starting with the Phillies beating the Braves to knock the latter out of the playoffs, making the Cardinals fans go crazy. Then a little while later, Dan Johnson hit a 9th-inning, game-tying home run with two outs and two strikes. Then a beer later, the Red Sox choked away a 9th-inning lead for the first time all year. Then only a few sips later, Longoria hit another home run to send the Rays to the playoffs and Red Sox home. It was a blurry night of cheers and high-fives by then, as I guess everyone not from Boston was happy to see Red Sox fans suffer again. It’s like order was restored in the baseball universe, and I was in the NYC nexus of it.

As I watched Ryan Braun hit a 700-foot home run tonight to put the Brewers ahead in the 8th inning of a 1-1 potentially division-clinching game, I couldn’t help thinking of how he had cemented his claim to the MVP award and how he is the type of player the Mets no longer have. Fred Wilpon was right when he said David Wright is “a nice player, not a superstar.” And that depresses the living shit out of me.

This is not a “TRAID DAVID WRONGZ” post, but an honest take on what is a baffling decline that started at the age of 26. Besides, there’s no way the Mets could get enough value in a Wright trade, considering the one-year option they hold on him only applies to their team. Wright is not going anywhere, even if Jose Reyes might be a different story. You could argue that Reyes took the superstar title from Wright this season, but the total derailing of his season in the second half has only created more questions with regards to his durability. Much like Wright last year, he had a MVP first half only to put up middling numbers thereafter. If Reyes manages to still win the batting title, it will be the definition of an empty victory.

I think I mention the following any time I talk about Wright’s fall from the top of baseball, but the great Bill James himself named Wright the player he would choose to build a team around before the 2008 season (but he named Albert Pujols the best player). It’s like this 60 Minutes interview was the kiss of death for both Wright and the Mets. Since then, Mets fans have just become more frustrated and perplexed with the purported face of their franchise. Sure, Wright had one more great season in 2008, but he’s remembered for not coming through in a couple of big spots late in the season by all too many people. Since then, it has become nigh impossible for me to defend him against my father, poker buddies, or that random dude in the bar.

The issue now is not just his clutchness, but his overall level of performance. He’s gone from a hitter you could pencil in for .300/30/100 every year to one whose performance fluctuates immensely from year to year and week to week. One season his power disappears, another he regains his power stroke but consequently strikes out at an alarming rate, and now this year his batting line is the worst it has ever been — despite looking like he had finally gotten it back together after his stint on the DL. Throw in his fielding woes and you have a player that is a shell of his former self and objectively inferior to his contemporaries, Evan Longoria and Ryan Zimmerman (although the latter has struggled with his own throwing yips). There’s also Pablo Sandoval and the already scary-good Brett Lawrie in the young third basemen discussion.

Does all this mean the Mets can’t make the playoffs or (gasp) win a World Series with Wright manning the hot corner? Of course not. But it does mean that expectations might need to be tempered and that the Mets front office needs to embrace the reality of needing to build an actual team, not the real-life equivalent of the fantasy baseball stars-and-scrubs approach. And I’m sure Sandy Alderson and his self-assembled dream team realize this — it’s just going to take a little while to undo the damage wrought by Omar Minaya. By that time, the Mets will need to make a decision on Wright, just like they will have to do with Reyes this offseason.

No one can predict how the next year or two will play out. Perhaps the rumored changes to Citi Field will help Wright get back to his 2006-08 level of play and the Mets will pick up his option while giving him a contract extension (especially if they don’t sign Reyes). Or he can sink further into his personal defensive hell at third base and combine that with slightly above-average performance at the plate so that he’s barely worth the $16 million club option for 2013.

I just know it’s not fun watching teams intentionally walk Angel fucking Pagan to load the bases for David Wright, and then expecting the strikeout that inevitably comes. It’s crushing for any Met fan to bear witness to a player seemingly destined for the Hall of Fame turn into a hitter totally disregarded as a threat at the age of 28. It’s something that would never happen to Evan Longoria or Ryan Braun, and that absolutely destroys me inside. Wright was to be the cornerstone player who, in tandem with Jose Reyes, would lead a Mets dynasty for a decade or more. Now there’s a very real possibility that — without ever reaching a World Series — the latter will be gone, while the Mets are left with half of the former. It’s enough to make a man want to watch football.

According to the media, Mariano Rivera “officially” became the greatest closer ever a few days ago when he broke the all-time saves record. The assumption that Rivera needed to save one more game than Trevor Hoffman to be considered the greatest one-inning pitcher in history is laughable, but here we are. But the more heated discussion has been about whether Rivera or Derek Jeter has been more indispensible over the Yankees’ reign of dominance.

Rivera’s 602 saves (wait, the number is already up to 603) have all occurred during the regular season, which might as well be warm-up games for the modern New York Yankees. Since the 1994 strike, they have missed the playoffs just once. The 2008 season notwithstanding, has there really ever been any doubt of the Yankees making the postseason? Their payroll is consistently enormous, and if there’s a chance they might not make the playoffs, Brian Cashman makes sure to reload at the trade deadline. Making the playoffs is as routine for the Yankees as sub-.500 seasons are for the Pirates.*

*This reminds me of when I lashed out against a Yankee fan who said “preseason football > regular season baseball” on Twitter. This is because he prefers football and also because regular season baseball translates to preseason baseball in Yankeeland.

I don’t think it’s disingenuous, then, to focus on postseason performance. But I want to be clear here: there’s a difference between claiming a player has been a brilliant playoff performer and claiming he has been innately clutch (or, in contrast, a choke artist). Does Mariano Rivera’s superhuman performance in the postseason mean he’s going to continue having an ERA under 1? Almost definitely not, but his entire body of work as a closer does make him better suited for the role than anyone else. On the other side of the spectrum, Alex Rodriguez did kinda suck in a few postseasons with the Yankees, but that didn’t make him a “choker,” and he didn’t magically become “clutch” in 2009. This is the distinction between the actual value of past performance and the predictive value of said performance.

Mariano Rivera’s career postseason stats are absolutely disgusting: A 0.77 ERA and 0.766 WHIP, with 42 saves and 5 blown saves.* The number of blown saves might be shocking, but it shouldn’t be surprising that two of them occurred during the most famous collapse in baseball postseason history – the 2004 ALCS.** In fact, the only time the Yankees won a series where Rivera blew only one save was the preceding series against the Twins. The Yankees ended up winning that game anyway, though, because the Twins are fucking worthless against the Yankees in the playoffs. In October, as Rivera goes, so go the Yankees.

*I wish Fangraphs’ postseason shutdown and meltdown stats went back further than 2002. Since then, Rivera has had 19 shutdowns and 2 meltdowns. By comparison: Brad Lidge, 18-4; Jonathan Papelbon, 11-1 (wow); Joe Nathan, 2-5 (lol); Brian Wilson, 6-1.

**One of the blown saves was extremely unfair, as Rivera entered with runners at 1st and 3rd with no out and managed to allow only one run; he actually increased the Yankees’ chance of winning in that outing.

I’m a big proponent of FIP and xFIP, especially when it comes to closers, but the disparity between Rivera’s 0.77 ERA and 2.24 FIP and 3.21 xFIP over 139.2 IP definitely tests my faith in the metrics. Such a large disparity cannot be seen with some of the best individual seasons by other closers, who pitched in only half as many innings. For example, Dennis Eckersley’s 0.61 ERA in 1990 was backed up by a 1.34 FIP. I’m sure you could probably find seasons that disprove my general notion (Eric O’Flaherty this year is a candidate), but I think Rivera’s postseason tERA of 1.86 is probably closer to telling the true story of broken bat grounders, since it incorporates batted-ball data. He has managed to keep his career BABIP at .262, after all. The .216 mark in the postseason is definitely indicative of some luck, but it’s impossible to say how much. I think any way you slice it, it’s tough to envision a closer doing better over 16 seasons of postseason play.
In contrast to Rivera, Jeter’s postseason performance has been unremarkable when compared to his career. His postseason batting line of .309/.377/.472 is nearly identical to his regular season line of .313/.383/.449. It should be noted that these stats are still pretty great for a shortstop. And we’ve all seen the crazy plays he’s made in the field, and his clutch November home runs. He’s basically a great player in every situation. Yet Win Probability Added (WPA) tells me the craziest thing: Derek Jeter has hurt the Yankees overall chances when he’s been at the plate in the postseason (-0.58 WPA). Go ahead, look it up. Look at that clutch rating (-1.14)! Derek Jeter is a “choke artist”! But if you want to take leverage out of the equation with WPA/LI, Jeter manages to get into positive territory (0.56). I guess he’s ok.

I think you know where I’m going with this. Mariano Rivera’s postseason WPA is a whopping 4.86. Even if we strip out leverage (in the form of LI), which is going to heavily favor a closer, his WPA/LI is still 2.73. That’s over five times higher than Jeter’s. But there is an important point here, as WPA and WPA/LI do not factor in defense at all. Jeter playing shortstop is worth something — quite a bit actually. This is evident when you look at both players’ regular season Wins Above Replacement (WAR) total and see how far ahead Jeter is, despite Rivera being slightly ahead in WPA/LI. This is why for any other team I would emphatically say that Jeter is the more important and valuable player. But Rivera has been the perfect man for the perfect time and place in baseball history. He has arguably been better at his position than anyone other player, for the team that needed it most. Rivera has been used basically twice as much in the postseason as in meaningless April-September games.

I’m going to play fast and loose with some metrics here, but looking at the value of Rivera’s ~2.00 FIP seasons, he has probably been worth around 6 WAR in the postseason; Jeter, depending on defensive metrics, has been worth anywhere from 5-6 WAR. But WAR is context-neutral, and, as I’ve tried to show, Rivera has, in the aggregate, outperformed Jeter at the crucial moments. This is not to say that in an alternate universe, Jeter wouldn’t have performed better and Rivera would have seemed more human. Given a choice in 1995, knowing both of their true talent levels going forward and their career regular season performances, you would take Jeter. But looking back, Rivera has been more integral to the Yankees’ postseason success, and for them that’s literally all that matters.

Now watch Rivera blow up this October against the Red Sox.

I would be one to wait until the weekend is over to review a film. Have fun either seeing this during the week or forgetting about my thoughts by next weekend and seeing Killer Elite instead.

Drive is not the Fast and Furious-esque action car movie it is portrayed as in most of its marketing. I was even a bit fooled despite reading up a bit on the film; I should have taken heed when I read an interview with Ryan Gosling where he said he wanted to make a “violent Pretty in Pink”. There are a few car chases, and they are shot extremely well without the ubiquitous  shaky-cam, but they are definitely not the focus, nor all that impressive as set-pieces (the first 10 minutes or so are brilliant stuff, though). What’s here is an 80s love story with the requisite soundtrack that turns into a slasher flick with Cronenberg-styled violence. I’ve seen that last point mentioned numerous times, but my friend said it exiting the theater; I’m taking that connection from him, not fellow amateur internet film critics.

This film is not for people who cannot stand silence. There are long pauses that I thought were a bit too much at times, where Gosling’s character (this is all I can refer to him as, since his name is never uttered) comes off too stilted. But I guess he’s so damn handsome that his neighbor Irene (Carey Mulligan) can’t help but fall in love with him. It doesn’t hurt that he’s good with her kid and helps with the groceries, I guess. Oh, and that he’s a badass stunt driver and wears a sweet bomber jacket. What girl with a husband in prison wouldn’t die for a man like that? But obviously, once that husband is released from prison, all hell breaks loose.

The drawn-out silences and patient, long shots make the sudden and brutal violence in the film all that more shocking. There is a great scene where the violent nature under the shy and almost mute veneer of Gosling’s character is hinted at, and once he’s thrown into a situation where he needs to protect his cute neighbor and kid, it’s no-holds-barred retribution. The only previous Nicholas Winding Refn film I had seen was Bronson and that was pretty brutal, but I wasn’t expecting such explicit bursts of blood spatter in every way imaginable. That such violence occurs in what is otherwise an extremely slick and cool film could make it seem indulgent, but it works in the framework of the film. Once the switch in Driver (ok, I’ll just call him that now) is flicked, he turns into some Travis Bickle-type character; now this is the reading that I’ve stolen from other internet film nerds. And it’s not like the film doesn’t acknowledge how crazy the violence is — there’s one amazing scene in particular that cements Driver as a psychopath.

While the film is really all about Driver, the small supporting roles from Albert Brooks and Bryan Cranston are both fantastic, and Carey Mulligan is perfect as the prototypical cute neighbor. I would have probably liked to see a bit more of the first two, but Drive is streamlined to a barebones plot where no scene is superfluous. So while some scenes might seem like they drag, there is nothing pointless in the 100-minute running time. There’s no backstory to Driver, the romance between Driver and Irene is set up through a few quiet scenes and a montage scored with a song straight of out the 80s (that’s a bit too cheesy for my taste), and the criminal associations in the film are relayed through brief conversations where there’s almost always something else going on.

Neither is a shot wasted (outside of one bizarre slow-motion, inside-the-car shot — you’ll know what I’m talking about). I’m glad I got to see the film in one of the big theaters in my local multiplex, because Refn, as @MilesTrahan put it, “can shoot the fuck out of a film.” The cinematography alone makes the film worth a watch, but when it’s combined with a character as memorable as Gosling’s despite his paucity of lines, a bunch of great supporting performances, unflinchingly awesome violence, and an atmospheric synthetic soundtrack, you’ve got one of the better films of the year — despite it going against mainstream expectations. Take a date if she can stomach seeing the life get stomped out of a guy’s face.

This post is entitled “Thoughts on Twitter” instead of “Twitter Thoughts” because wouldn’t the latter just consist of tweets? God, I’m such a faggot sometimes — in the Louis C.K. “people from Phoenix are Phoenicians” stand-up sort of way.

- Since I didn’t make a 9/11 post here a week ago, I’ll just mention how I do not give a shit where people were when the planes hit or the towers fell. We were all in class or at work or sleeping, I get it. If you’re going to write something like Rany Jazayerli did, that’s cool, but 140 characters is just garbage in this case.

- It’s pretty amazing how people — on my feed, at least — show up when a sporting event gets really interesting. I like to think Twitter has allowed people to see many more no-hitters, 5-set Grand Slam tennis matches, and overtime Stanley Cup playoff games.

- I don’t understand people who follow a few select people who exclusively tweet about one topic. I follow people I find interesting or amusing, regardless of content. It just so happens I follow a very large percentage of baseball (and Mets) fans because they are the people I come across most. I’m sure this has nothing to do with my own tweeting habits.

- My follower count really wishes I were an attractive girl, or at least played one on the internet.

- Every person I’ve talked to about Keith Law (@keithlaw) thinks he comes across as arrogant (and even Michael Lewis jumped in this week). But he’s still the only ESPN employee (outside of Grantland writers) I follow, due to him being, you know, intelligent.

- I’ve said this before, but I should have quit Twitter after this tweet.

- Does everyone remember when you could see all the tweets from someone who you followed, even the replies to people you didn’t also follow? I definitely remember the uproar when that changed. Can you imagine how much of a disaster your feed would be if that magically changed back?

- Drive has to be garnering the most polarizing movie tweet reviews I’ve ever seen. It’s either “fuck awesome” or “one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen.”

- Outside of the previously linked Ayn Rand fatality tweet, I really don’t understand why I come up with my best Twitter material when everyone is asleep. I guess it’s probably because once my head hits my pillow I have to choose between thinking about my life or coming up with humorous tweets; the latter is much less stressful.

You’ve seen the signs at your local mall or shopping center, or you’ve gotten emails in your inbox since you were a Borders Rewards member — either way, you know that Borders is liquidating its supply of books by slowly raising their discounts. Sometime last week, when the entire store hit the 50% to 70% off range, it finally made sense to buy books there rather than Amazon. I bought a few books, but waited as long as possible to pay for a few more, realizing there might not be anything of worth left by the time the discounts got really tasty.

Due to Hurricane Irene, though, my local Borders store lost power this weekend (I don’t know why they lost it 5 days after the hurricane), perhaps saving some quality books from being picked up. It certainly seems that way, judging by the haul I pulled today. The following picture is actually of all the books I’ve bought since the liquidation began, but the eight I bought today are on the top this pile (Free Darko’s Undisputed Guide to Pro Basketball up).

Let’s run these down, shall we? I figure I should document this moment, as it might represent my last big physical book haul. By the time I finish my backlog — which includes at least a half-dozen books not pictured — a new Kindle could easily be priced under $99. But I guess I could always rip through a used bookstore at some later point.

Wonder Boys – I read The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay a year ago or so and absolutely loved it. Borders actually a few copies of The Yiddish Policeman’s Union, but I settled on Wonder Boys due to it being an earlier work. I rather move chronologically, since I know I will read YPU eventually. Perhaps I should have bought both?

The Gun Seller – I recall @SpeedinUptoStop saying it was pretty good. And it’s written by Hugh Laurie! I couldn’t help myself.

An Arsonist’s Guide to Writers’ Homes in New England – This is a random one, but it’s due to having a random conversation with a girl in a dive bar about books. She recommended a few, but she particularly loved this book and I told her I’d read it. Even though I didn’t even ask her for her number and will most likely never see her again, I remain obligated to keep my word. It better not suck.

The Broom of the System – I’ve only read non-fiction from David Foster Wallace. His debut novel is probably a good place to start reading his fiction, right? Infinite Jest scares me.

A Confederacy of Dunces – A classic that someone recently reminded me to read.

The Four Fingers of Death – I remember @BenjaminBirdie going apeshit over its release, and while he’s prone to hyperbole, he usually has good taste (Die Hard > Die Hard with a Vengeance, though). Combine that with a cool cover and a science-fiction classification and I’m there.

Special Topics In Calamity Physics – Go ahead, make fun of me for buying a book somewhat based on its cover. I bought this book because I picked it up thinking it was a non-fiction book related to physics. Then I realized it was a novel and it was a Top Ten New York Times book selection and it was written by a woman (and she looked attractive on the back cover!). Considering I haven’t read many books by female authors, I figured this was a chance to stop being passively sexist. Wait, am I still being sexist by pointing out she’s attractive? Damn it.

The Undisputed Guide to Pro Basketball – I’ve read the first Free Darko book, which I felt focused too much on style over substance, but the guys can write, and this book appears to have much more actual content.

The Best American Science and Nature Writing 2004 – This was a bargain book, so with the 50% off on top of that it was cheaper than a Classic Single at Wendy’s. If there were any other years, I would have bought them. I’ve already ripped through this collection and it was wonderful.

Collapse – I’ve read Guns, Germs, and Steel, which I thought was extremely interesting and enlightening. I thought he drilled his point home over and over, though. Maybe I’m just too quick to accept things I read (I enjoyed The Tipping Point), but the hypotheses he laid out quickly made intuitive sense. Also, the title “Collapse” is timely. Because, you know, the economy.

Soccernomics - I’m not a soccer fan, but maybe this will help me get into it because it’s a scientific look the game across the globe.

The Best of The Best American Science Writing – I’m sure it’s just more of the awesomeness that is 2004 version. Not exactly the same series, but there is sometimes overlap. This series is probably more up my alley, anyway. The one that was science and nature had an article about birds. Fuck that noise.

The Only Game in Town – A collection of the best sportswriting from The New Yorker. Undoubtedly wonderful.

It took me longer to write this post than it took Roger Federer to win his fourth round U.S. Open match. I need to learn how to focus.

I originally started writing a relatively long post imploring gamers to look at Battlefield 3 over Modern Warfare 3 for their contemporary military shooter fix, especially if they’ve bought the previous three Call of Dutys set in the present-day. Then I saw that the console player limit is 24. Sure, that’s the same deal as MW3, but BF3 is meant to be played on a grand scale. I can’t imagine the console versions coming close to the massive 64-player battles that will take place on the PC. That’s without throwing in the graphical advantage any halfway decent PC will have over the half-dozen year old tech of the 360 and PS3.

So while the above video is absolutely ridiculous looking, it’s the PC version featuring a 64-player battle. I don’t know if the graphics on the consoles will approach that level, but I’d put my life savings on them not coming close to a computer that satisfies the recommended specs. The little research I did on the matter unearthed a quote from an EA employee working on the game saying they limited consoles to 24 players and shrunk some maps in order to keep the graphics and other features intact. Either way, it’s obvious that the PC version will be superior, but PC gamers are already the ones who want BF3 much more than MW3. The consoles are where the battleground for market— and mind-share will take place.

And is there truly anything that I can say to change anyone’s mind on their decision? I haven’t played either game and I’m already an outlier with regards to the usual console COD player due to not owning Black Ops. Everyone owns Black Ops. Overhearing a conversation about the game is a somewhat regular occurrence. My 13-year-old cousin complains about his baseball teammates talking about Black Ops even during a close game. Battlefield doesn’t have anywhere near that popularity, so it’s going to need to blow people away upon release.

People know about Battlefield 1942 and the Bad Company games much like people knew about the Call of Duty games before Call of Duty 4 released. But COD4 created a phenomenon and an absolute monster of a franchise. It was a beautiful, responsive, 60-frames-per-second breath of fresh air among console shooters. I never felt completely comfortable playing a FPS with a controller until that COD4 beta. BF3 will need to be the COD4 of its series, and I’m going to take that thought to its logical conclusion and say that EA is smart in having a multiplatform beta. I think that’s the type of action needed to create hype of a critical mass. I look forward to getting a code somehow at the last minute so I can enjoy stunted 24-player vehicular action on my 360 or slightly prettier 64-player action on my newly acquired (hopefully), but gaming-mediocre laptop. Maybe then I’ll actually be able to write something of substance about BF3.

*And technically New Jersey, too. But the former is more important, as a theme running through this post will be that everything south of Buffalo and west of Philadelphia might as well be considered the South.

- Apparently, two-and-a-half acres of land is the minimum required to be seen as a true homeowner in central PA. The way properties were split up with tree lines reminded me of some of the scenes in Band of Brothers. After a few too many beers, I started visualizing tanks rolling through the backyard.

- Since houses are spread out in what would qualify in my estimation as countryside (despite the locals vehemently classifying it as suburban), there are not many cab services around and none at all after 10 PM. So maybe friendly tanks and jeeps would have been appreciated. Also, there are students of the Wharton School who drive cabs — well, at least one.

- I had heard of Wawa and how it’s a souped-up 7-Eleven gas station, but I wasn’t prepared for touch screens to order sandwiches at three in the morning. I was impressed, considering I’m accustomed to just grabbing a buttered roll at that hour. I had also never seen so many coffee machines lined up next to each other.

- The reason I was in PA in the first place was for some memorial golf tournament held by some family that I’m connected to through about four people. But hey, I had two friends who invited me who said it was a good time last year, so how could I resist showing off my mediocre golf abilities in a best-ball (after researching, it turns out we played scramble) tourney? Oh, the thing I learned was that I can hit my driver relatively straight and far consistently now. So I have a step up on Tiger at the moment. BURN.

- That learning experience recap was just a segue to the picnic after the golf tourney at the host family’s two-and-a-half-acre abode. Remember when I said how everywhere outside of the northeast metropolitan corridor can be considered the South? Well, there was one cute girl at the party with a slight country accent — which I guess makes sense since she lives in Lancaster County adjacent to the Amish? — and after a few beers and filling my stomach with too much food, she was the only thing I was concerned with. But after consuming too many beers for her tiny frame during Flip Cup, the cute girl ended up disappearing and passing out upstairs in the house. As about ten people were seated around a couple of tables — younger family members, my friends and I, and some random dude — the cousin of the sleeping girl, in an attempt to keep us at the house overnight, said loud enough for everyone to hear, “Hey, you should sleep with [my cousin], she’s pretty!” I guess in Pennsylvania it’s cool to pimp out your catatonic cousin to a relative stranger when you want to fuck one of his friends, too. Maybe she meant literally sleep, but I feel like on some level that’s even creepier. Perhaps, at this point, I should be elated at the opportunity to just lie in the same bed as an attractive girl, but instead we all got the hell out of there because it was obviously getting strange. But not before one of the girl’s brothers got upset with a friend for hugging her a bit too hard, and said, “I don’t even get hugs like that,” to which my friend responded, “Yeah, because that’d be fucking weird.” With that, my friend summed up Pennsylvania west of Philly.

- Some driving listening thoughts after the proposed rape: I didn’t know I could like Ken Davidoff any more than I already did, but he was great on the Jonah Keri podcast episode he was the guest on. Anyone who answers a question with, “Because I’m not an idiot” is awesome in my book. Also, Louis C.K. stand-up passes the time extremely quickly. Especially this interview with Conan, which is for all intents and purposes stand-up (skip to 9:28 for best results, since I can’t embed and put the timestamp in).

It’s been about two and a half months since I updated this blog — so I stopped around the same time the Mets’ 2011 season was over (don’t try to pretend like they had a shot until this recent collapse). I also stopped creating link dumps over at Roto Hardball at the same time, so I can’t blame that commitment for the laziness. Perhaps I was just burned out from scouring my Google Reader every day for the best two dozen baseball stories to link. On the other hand, I can’t complain about that when my “boss” on Roto Hardhall writes for seemingly every decent fantasy baseball site out there, in addition to Amazin’ Avenue and Fangraphs occasionally. But it’s different when it’s your job and you truly aspire to make a living out of it.

It seems like it’d be cool to write about baseball for a living, but you’d also be a baseball writer for a living. In all likelihood, you’d make garbage money, and you’d be writing about overgrown millionaire children idolized for being able to hit baseballs really far or throw them really hard. Sometimes I wonder how I can even religiously follow and support such a farce until something awesome happens like Jose Reyes hitting multiple triples, or Tim Lincecum throwing a 14-K complete game shutout to win a 1-0 postseason game, or Shane Victorino getting beer poured on his head. I just enjoy watching athletes perform at the absolute highest level, whether it be baseball, football, or tennis. I don’t think there’s any shame in that, but sometimes you need to take a step back and realize this shit doesn’t fucking matter, even if their feats are impressive. Since gladiatorial battles and war aren’t held in the same regard as they were hundreds and thousands of years ago, perhaps seeing Justin Verlander throw 100 mph after 120 pitches while tossing a no-hitter is the closest we can come to seeing a chariot race to the death in our civilized society. Sure, there are still heroic soldiers, but the ongoing counter-insurgency and anti-terrorism efforts in Iraq and Afghanistan are not exactly spectator sport — even if the U.S. reaction to the death of Osama bin Laden was one on par with winning the World Cup.

On that note, wouldn’t it have made sense to post my first blog update in months on 9/11/11? That should be a fun day to look back and see how the terrorists won (I can be this much of a dick in this post because it’s not 9/11 yet). Instead I’ll be posting about the usual bullshit until then. I just wrote condenscendingly about sportswriting as a career and I’m going to resume blogging about sports, movies, books, and games. I’m obviously jealous of people that get paid for it, right?

I really don’t know how much longer I’ll be updating this particular blog, though, and with what frequency. I’m still bitter about all the [bot] traffic I lost when I moved away from my previous WordPress.com URL and I’m also bored with this name and site design. For a little while, I thought Google+ could serve as a sort of blog, but that service looks DOA, much to my chagrin. Twitter is not enough to get my thoughts across, even though I’m on there way too much. There’s always Tumblr, I guess. Or focusing on writing pieces for Baseball Nation.

I can’t help myself.