I noticed this entertaining slideshow of "Euro-babe" politicians at Times Online. No pictures of Angela Merkel attending the opera, though.

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I took the F train to work for a change of space today and Morgan Spurlock was sitting on the bench across from me talking to a woman. The highlights:

• He's watching Battlestar Galactica and loooooves it.
• His secret to success is partnering with people more successful than him. Like on 30 Days he partnered with some Big Swinging Dick I've never heard of -- who, he says, is, like, "the king of formats." I don't know what that means.
• All the networks can see what people are DVRing. This has some ramification for porn, but I didn't hear the rest of it.
• No gum for him. "I'm an Altoid freak."

Celebrities: You are not safe from my prying ears.

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Sunday's KC Star had a story about an opera about John Brown's life.

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I just got around to reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar WAo. It was really good, but after all the hype it was a bit of a let down. It was the first thing I'd read by Junot Diaz, or so I thought. About a third of the way through the book, I hit a spot where I was like, "whoa...I've read this before, but where?"

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When I'm sitting at my desk, I have never missed when tossing my chewed piece of gum into the wastebasket even though it's sitting by the door to my office that's, conservatively, about five and a half feet away. Seriously, I'm on fire.

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Monster is much kinder than what I've been calling Hillary Clinton when I turn on my radio in the morning and hear her annoying voice spewing some new bullshit.

Speaking of spew, The Spew has come out with a box set.

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On Tuesday I started rehearsals for The Man of La Mancha at the Gallery Players. I've never been a big fan of Lysistrata, but now I'm even less of a fan. The bitches in the Gallery Players' production broke my stool, the stool that I sat in for over a hundred shows at the theater. From Side Show to Once on this Island to Urinetown (winner of an NYIT award) to Victor/Victoria to Yank! to The Wild Party, that stool had been my home. My new one isn't as comfy.

Anyway here are my thoughts on Man of La Mancha:

• While this is a pretty traditional production, I think a good setting for a contemporary version would be an INS office. Lots of waiting, plus you can't spell "inquisition" without INS.

• The director of the play is Tom Wojtunik, whom I've worked with before, and he always brings a top notch creative team with him. Tom also did Urinetown, one of the most impressive productions that I've seen at the GP.

• I'm a really good spot op. Part of it is due to the fact that I know the theater so well and part of it is due to the fact that most spot ops really want to be doing something else: set design, lighting design, or other more important creative stuff. Spot op is the only thing I want to do. That's my light on Queenie in The WIld Party.

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This blog post led me to this phrase, which I love.

I tried to read "A Brief History of Time" in high school and got to, like, page 17. The turtles must've been further back.

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An area man who made it through the day bears a strong resemblance to Mr. Guapo.

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On saturday and sunday afternoons, I either listen to baseball games on the radio or WNYC. His show, the American Songbook, is amazing and eclectic. I hear so much cool stuff on it and Schwartz is not afraid to play the same song twice and even sometimes three or four times back to back so the listener can hear how different artists interpret the same work. Like I said, the music is amazing.

The show comes with a downside, though: Schwartz's blather. Today, during a five minute digression about the movie "Lost in America," I ended up covering my ears and shouting, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" right around the time he started reciting a scene in its entirety. Unfortunately, I uncovered my ears to soon and heard him talk about running into Garry Marshall on the street years later and talking about how much he (Schwartz) loved Marshall in "Lost in America." According to Schwartz, Marshall was very touched.

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From the speech:

"You just gotta kind of let it — " then brushes invisible dirt off his shoulders. "That's what you gotta do."

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Photos and text from Happy:

The storm clouds gather to the North...

... and to the South.

This was as close to Coach Self as some people could get.

Some people got a little closer...

One lucky little fan and one damn good big man.

Russell had some extra security and some beautiful hardware.

Mr. Guapo notes:

Need more proof Happy was there? Look to the left, above the white-haired woman, with sunglasses and a steely expression. Photo courtesy somebody on Phog.net.

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So I had the most bittersweet experience last Monday night. This has been churning in my head and bared sharing here. Hopefully letting this out and getting some therapeutic feedback from some of those of the old Lyle persuasion will help me sleep again at night.

I watched the game at MacGyver's place in Topeka with MacGyver and Bartels. Erin was home with stomach flu. The three of us were on Mass St. within an hour of the game's end. Mass Street was crazy- it was just about everything I could have dreamed, except that I wasn't a 19 year old student with all my friends, and I was really jealous of the KU students. Other than that, Mass St. was unforgettably awesome. Here are some pictures-apologies for quality--I forgot my camera so had to resort to snapping a few on the cell phone.

- Lyle Men on Mass Street

- Mass Street Humanity 1

- Mass Street Humanity 2

- Mass Street Humanity 3

On with the story: I had the most surreal experience after Mass St. died down, roughly 2 am. You know in Back to the Future Part II when Biff obtains the sports almanac and then when Marty goes back to the 1985, everything changed and the whole town is now an armpit run by Biff? That is EXACTLY how we felt about 15 minutes after leaving Mass Street.

We went to Stephenson.

As you all know, back in 1996, MacGyver, Jeff, and I were the lone seniors the year after the big construction project, and we all three got kicked out before Halloween. In those 2 short months, we corrupted 3 dozen new men, and it worked- I'd kept in touch for several years, and they really made me proud. Unfortunately I lost contact over the last couple of years- too many generations removed now. I should have let my memories stay the way they were, knowing (as we all learned in "Coming to America") that "times do, and always will change, my friend."

Anyway, looking to continue the Lawrence post-Mass Street party, we went over to check up on the Lyle men. It only seemed natural to us--we had a couple coolers full of beer, and we figured that's that where party would be.

Over spring break, I'd heard a rumor about a shift of hall dominance, from a patient of mine who is a freshman at Battenfeld, but I dismissed it. Apparently, a year or two ago, housing cleaned house in Stephenson (again) and kicked out thirty-some fun-loving traditional Lyle men. I guess that at the time, the UDK ran an editorial by a journalism Lyle Man. Yup- I just found it. It would appear that our traditions were uprooted about two and a half years ago.

As it turns out, my patient was right. There's been a HUGE shift of power, in every possible category, to Battenfeld. It looks as if there are only one or two traditional anti-housing guys left at Stephenson, and they're on some kind of double-secret probation and have wussed out because "they can't afford to live off campus." I heard them whine about "Housing won't let us fountain people anymore" and this kind of drivel.

But it gets oh-so-much worse.

Meanwhile, Battenfeld is raising hell and winning the hill at every intramural sport and pranking with the pros. Get this -- when we drove down Alumni Place (I needn't remind you we just won the NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP) , there were only 3 lights on in Steve, and none on the first floor. It was dark and silent in Stephenson's living room, the sanctified place where so many dog pile standing orders were made, so many missions planned, and where so many beer-gut-conversations were had. And centered above the fireplace I saw this:

Signs lay all over the floor, (you can see a couple in that picture) that they recently made to advertise the upcoming Neanderthal Ball. At first I was excited to see this. Then I read them. The Ball is now an in-hall 3-hour (8-11 pm) housing-sanctioned no-alcohol event in April (not stop day). We dutifully took their paint and changed all the signs, writing things like "GET LAID" "DRINK TIL SHES CUTE" "FREE BEER" etc. all over them.

Stephenson has basically turned into GP. After talking with the 5 or 6 of them coming in from the Mass Street party, I saw a slight glimmer of hope in a couple of the residents' eyes. A couple of them knew how it used to be. But I fear their spirits are broken. Why have I lost hope? Because the championship night of epic partying in Lawrence that I've dreamed about for two decades ended like this:

As we took a self-guided tour of Steve Hell, we went into the rec room, and they had this sweet huge HDTV (that didn't require a fork to operate). It was roughly 2:30 AM on the first National Championship night in 20 years, and there were 6 or 7 guys in there slouched down watching a movie. WATCHING A MOVIE! THEY WERE WATCHING A FUC%ING MOVIE!!!!!!!! I opened the door, and one of them paused the DVD as I sarcastically said "Did you guys know that KU just won the National Championship?" and this douchebag says "Yeah...who the fuc% are you?" I didn't say anything. If I thought that I could have helped their lost and misguided souls by saying anything at all, I would have made a cheesy plea for them to not waste these years. Following that motivational creaminess, I would have said: "There are horny coeds all over this campus. People are literally roaming Jayhawk Blvd carrying 12 packs and coolers and giving away beer, and you're WATCHING A MOVIE!!!"

I...didn't...cry...

Anyway, it was like I stepped directly into an episode of the Twilight Zone. I still have nightmares. I don't know what, if anything can be done. Should I let go? Should I forget all that WE worked for? Seriously. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think. It's as if I was stabbed in the back by Jesus. Do I scream from a mountain top, or curl up in the fetal position under my bar? I am begging you guys to get in on this and help me out. I need the kind of therapy that only the readers of this blog can provide. Well, they and the Incredible Hulk.

Rock Chalk JayFriggin'hawk.

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While the pleasures of living far away from most Mizzou fans cannot be overstated, those of us far from the heartland do miss the little joys of rubbing their noses in our national championship. Yesterday, however, was my chance.

I was riding my bicycle across the Brooklyn Bridge towards Brooklyn when I noticed a gentleman wearing a fantastically ugly black and gold leather coat with Mizzou's logo across the back. As I passed him, I yelled "Muck Fizzou! Jayhawks National Champs! Wooo!" as I raised my right hand and made the #1 sign. It was beautiful.

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While, the NYT wasn't particularly fond of Candide at the New York City Opera, I was wuite taken with it. Of course, the NYT's critique was that it's too "musicalish" (my word, not the NYT's), which means it was right up my alley.

Of course, it was nothing like the Paris production that made want to see the opera/musical so badly. The version I saw was the same production that was featured in this Tony broadcast, but with Richard Kind in the role of Voltaire/Dr. Pangloss/Governor of Cartegena. I was pleasantly surprised by his signing ability, but the amplification mentioned in the NYT article made it hard for me to find him on stage sometimes.

By far the most pleasant part of the evening, and in this I agree with the NYT review, is hearing a full orchestra perform a beautiful score. Since I tend to see smaller scale productions like "The Adding Machine" when I'm not at even smaller productions at the Gallery Players, it's like going from one of those massage chairs set up in a grocery store to a masseuse in a four star spa.

Oh, and in the row in front of me? Edward Albee. I could have sworn he was dead. Here's Leonard Bernstein doing the overture from Candide. I know he's dead.

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Everytime I think about "The Shot", I'll also think about "The Hush," as one phogger referred to it. It's the moment after Mario's shot when Kansas fans, no matter where they were, stopped cheering while Memphis hail mary heave was in the air only to redouble their cheering when the shot bounced off the backyard.

On every video of the shot with crowd noise, you can hear it (or is it not hear it?). The most explicit example of the hush is in this video:

If I hadn't been watching the game with Mr. Guapo and Dr. No, I would have liekd to have been here.

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Naturally, I picked up a copy of the NYT on Tuesday. Well, this morning as I was getting ready for work, I finally glanced at something other than the stories about KU winning the NC. It was this photo of French cops on roller blades:

I imagine physics makes firing a pistol on roller blades kind of tricky. Somebody needs to ask Max if the Secret Service has a roller blade detail.

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I left the 35th street entrance of the Herald Square subway station today because there's a fruit vendor on the northeast corner of 6th avenue and 35th street and I needed to buy some apples. After procuring my produce, I was walking down west 35th street towards my building when I saw the Playwright Restaurant.

My mind went back to that dreary Tuesday evening that Dr. No, Mr. G, Jebus, TSI! and myself spent there after KU had lost to St. Joseph in MSG. Who would have thought, sitting there, that that team that struggled so mightily executing the most basic plays and couldn't play defense would turn into a National Champion?

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I noticed these photos in the TCJ's NCAA picture galleries:

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Where Dr. No, Mr. G and I watched it was a lot less wild, but still when Superintendent Chalmers hit his shot everybody in it (even those people with no rooting interests) let out a yell.

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My Sports Illustrated subscription ran out in January of 1991. My plan was to wait to renew until either KU, the Royals or the Chiefs won a championship so I could get the Special Edition issue commemorating the triumph of my team. The problem is that now I don't have cable, so I won't get to see the commercial 20 times a day.

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Dr. No and I are letting our nuts hang too.

I want to bottle up want I'm feeling right now and sniff it when I'm feeling down for the rest of my life.

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The Kansan gives us the quote of the tournament:

Darnell Jackson doesn’t expect that attitude to change tonight even though they’re going to face their toughest challenge of the season. To keep that mind-set, the team has been huddling up before the last few games and spreading the same message.

“We just say ‘let your nuts hang,’” Jackson said. “Just let them hang. Just have fun because this is it for most of the guys, and we’re just having fun with it.”

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Five years ago, we played for a national championship and I cursed it. Not this year. Too nervous I am, for one. And content -- if we go home tonight with a loss we still got to the Final Four and still gave Roy the Rock Chalk Chant. And yeah, it was as sweet as TSI! predicted.

Let's hear the Rock Chalk Chant to get the morning off right.

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...a brown, rust and powder blue flannel shirt. Think Roy's tie, but with less green, and cheaper.

Brown and black jeans.

A bright red Jayhawk ballcap.

Do I know how to dress for work, or what?

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I had promised to get over the bitterness and let bygones be bygones with Roy if we beat UNC. But after seeing that ugly tie Roy wore, I couldn't help laughing my arse off. Here's a slideshow of the game through a Charlotte Observer lens.

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If you have any doubt about the assertion by his teammates in the KC Star that Connor Teahan is the Jayhawk with the "best game with the ladies," then just watch (and listen) for his appearance in in the video of the Jayhawks' departure from Forbes field earlier in the week.

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I saw Kansas lose in the national championship game.

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You may need to click into the comments to see the whole cartoon.

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