PMSimon.com

A woman- not, it turns out, Jewish- gets assaulted on a French train, her hair chopped off and swastikas magic-markered on her stomach as other train riders watch and do nothing.

The government is making plans to be able to delay election day in an emergency, which it, alone, has the ability to determine.

Another bus attack in Israel. One dead, many injured.

Three G.I.s killed in Iraq. Ambushed.

Clear Channel, apparently unaware that for several years they've aired, and promoted, and syndicated a show that uses racial humor in a satirical context, makes the hosts go to "sensitivity training" to drain the last bits of creativity and edginess from their act.

I'd have a lot more to say about each of these if I wasn't so tired of it all. Every day, there's a new outrage. Every day, I have my own things with which to deal. Every day, I have no time to even pause and catch my breath. It's my job. Hey, I'm the "wisecracking cyber-radio guru and pundit." I HAVE to have an opinion on everything.

So a) it's the result of French cultivation of anti-Semitism for decades and its embrace of radical militant Muslim ideas, b) they'd better not try hijacking the election- I'm talking about both the terrorists AND the Bush administration, c) it will never end, d) it will never end, and e) that's a great way to tell your talent that when push comes to shove, you'll do the shoving.

There. Wisecracks from the cyber-radio guru. Time to catch my breath.

 Share

I went to the Home Run Derby a few years ago in Atlanta, and it was fun. Sosa was cranking 'em out, we were in the left field stands right where the blasts were heading, and it was like a party.

I guess you have to be there. I tried watching the derby tonight, and it had its moments- Lance Berkman and Miguel Tejada going on extended monster-shot jags- but I got bored fast. I think the thing's run its course, like the slam dunk contest ran its course and the three-point shooting contest ran its course and... do they even do anything like that at the Pro Bowl? (And who would notice? Have you ever actually watched that thing? Neither have I) Yeah, we know, they can hit 60 mph letter-high beach balls over the fence, over the back wall, over the moon. Fine. They do it in BP every day.

Let 'em do it in a game.

Perhaps this is part of my long-standing Epic Bad Mood of 2004, but I couldn't care much about this one. It was nice to see the Hall of Famers trot out there (say hey, Willie, how about shaking the hands of the players you pass instead of walking by as if they don't exist?), and that's... just... about... it. And tomorrow's the All Star Game itself, with the reminder painted right on the field that THIS ONE COUNTS, as if the representatives of the Expos or Rockies or Mariners could care less whether the representatives of their league get home field advantage for a World Series in which they won't play. Hey, Ichiro, howsabout busting your ass so the Yankees can get home field? Yeah, this one counts. (And it really counted for the A.L. last year, huh?)

Next year, let everyone have a three day vacation instead of an All Star Game. That way, there's no embarrassing we-had-to-pay-Barry-to-do-the-Derby incidents, no phantom injuries letting guys off the hook, no complaints that the Yankees and Indians (!) are hogging the rosters, no how-could-you-leave-this-guy-off-the-roster situations. Just... end it now. The whole thing's run its course.

(And you know I'll probably watch it anyway. Can't help myself.)

 Share

That French woman who claimed she'd been attacked and swastikas drawn on her belly? Made it up.

Doesn't mean France doesn't have an severe anti-Semitism problem. Does mean that she took lessons from the Morton Downey Jr. Memorial School of Getting Attention. Tip: Don't use a mirror when drawing stuff on yourself- you'll get it all backwards.

 Share

Okay, now, how the hell does one get rid of a flock of fruit flies in one's kitchen?

We don't generally have problems with insects. True, we live on what is essentially one large anthill, but we have Terminix for that and it's not a problem. But about a week ago, the flies showed up- I think it must be because we bought a load of fresh produce, and they probably hitched a ride from Albertson's on a head of lettuce- and now they're hovering around the garbage can (even when it's empty and Lysoled out), Ella's food, the sink, all over the place.

In a vain attempt to self-medicate, we went to the Home Depot to consult the insecticide aisle, and we found... nothing. Nothing we'd use, anyway. They had foggers- no way in hell we use those in a kitchen (gas pilot plus fogger equals blammo), or anywhere else (cat, us). They had sprays- no way we're inhaling that crap, and most of it has to be sprayed on the insects (harder than Whack-a-Mole). You can't use No-Pest Strips (they still make those? I thought they were banned) in a kitchen. The only other option: fly strips. Sticky fly strips dangling from the ceiling.

And that's what we'll try next. Our kitchen will thus resemble the garage at the house in which I was raised, sans the '63 Rambler or the '66 Corvair or the tools hanging from pegs on the wall. I'm guessing the flies will take one look and laugh their little fly laugh, marveling at the stupidity of those big pink things that hung the strips there- do they think we flies are STUPID?- and neatly skirting the goo to land squarely on the Fancy Feast Sardines-in-Aspic. But it's worth a shot. We'll see how well we spent our two bucks.

 Share

And today, we know that the NBA has formally anointed the New Jersey Nets as the Clippers East.

Oh, sure, that's what they used to be called, but the Kidd-Martin-Jefferson days and two finals appearances had wiped that out. No, this is league-approved, in the person of Bruce Ratner. And the similarity has less to do with the one-sided sign-and-trade that essentially gave Kenyon Martin to the Nuggets for three undoubtedly non-lottery picks and more to do with economics.

Let's go back to the beginning, in 1981, when Donald Sterling bought the San Diego Clippers and immediately began to lobby a reluctant NBA to allow him to move the team to Los Angeles. The league didn't want him to do that, considering that there already WAS a team in Los Angeles, but he insisted and eventually won the right- after the NBA sued him- to move the team to L.A. Now, why would he do that when there were so many other cities without basketball franchises at the time where he could have the market to himself? Why L.A.?

Simple. He bought into the league at San Diego- medium market- prices and, by moving the team north, changed the valuation to Los Angeles levels. It didn't matter that the Clippers wouldn't ever be the top dog in the market, didn't matter that he'd have to play at the deteriorating, depressing Sports Arena on Figueroa, didn't matter that for most of the time he'd draw tiny crowds that made the ones in San Diego look respectable. Didn't matter. He now owned an L.A. franchise. As a real estate guy, he knew that the real money wasn't in the day-to-day operations, it was in the appreciation of valuation. This was like buying a shack in a rundown area just before gentrification made values shoot up. It's like hitting the Lotto. Winning? Why? Why bother? He had his L.A. team bought at San Diego prices- THAT'S winning.

So now the Nets are in the hands of another real estate guy who saw the same thing in the team that Sterling saw in the Clips. He saw the chance to buy a New York team at New Jersey prices, and, better yet, with its lease ending and the league in no mood to stop him, he would be able to turn the New Jersey Nets back into the New York Nets without any resistance, and could even get the city and state of New York to help pay to clear out part of Brooklyn for a new arena and mixed-use development- of COURSE they would, it's bringing major league sports back to Brooklyn!

It was all a master stroke, except for one thing- unlike the Clippers, there was no vacant arena waiting for the Nets to occupy on a temporary basis in New York. The Garden's booked, Nassau Coliseum is definitely not New York City- might as well stay in Jersey, it's closer- and, well, there is no other indoor arena option there. So here's what Ratner had now: a winning team with three expensive stars, stuck in a lame-duck situation at the Meadowlands where what fans were left are not inclined to support a team they know is moving, and a Brooklyn situation that's proving more difficult to complete than previously assumed, because those pesky local activists won't go away no matter HOW much money's thrown at them. What to do?

Cut costs, that's what. So it'll kill them on the court. So what. Remember, they DON'T HAVE TO WIN ANYMORE. They're a REAL ESTATE investment, not a basketball team. And by the time the place in Brooklyn's ready, IF IT EVER IS, even Richard Jefferson will be closer to the end than the beginning of his career. Winning? Won't make Ratner money, so that's no longer important.

'Bye, K-Mart. Hello, three first rounders from a likely playoff team. Hello, lottery. Hello, trading down so you don't have to pay lottery salaries to your rookies.

Hello, Clipperdom.

If I were a Nets fan, I wouldn't be anymore, and I'm not even that big of a K-Mart guy. On the other hand, there are still Clipper fans, meaning that there are people who'll pay to see, basically, an investment. It's cheaper to take a seat at the bank and watch people make deposits. Same thing.

 Share

So I forgot to tell you about what happened with the flies. Can't let stories hang like that, so...

The fly strips didn't work. No flies. I think they're smarter than that- they take a look, think "this isn't feces and this isn't rotting food, so I'm not interested" and they go searching for turds or decomposing comestibles. And there seemed to be more flies, and I was just about out of ideas when I noticed something I hadn't noticed before- an ooze. There was a brown ooze coming from the compartment under the microwave cart, a compartment I never open. And there seemed to be flies hovering around the door. So I opened it and YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCHHHHHHHHHH- a zillion flies, a horrific smell, a white plastic Ralphs bag and OH LORD I'M GOING TO PUKE.

"Oh," said my lovely wife. "Those must have been the potatoes."

WHAT POTATOES?

"There were potatoes there."

WHY?

"I... there was no place else to put them."

WHEN did you put them there?

"Uh, I don't... a long time ago, I guess."

I'd sacked up, gotten a trash bag, held my breath, reached in amidst the flies, and bagged the offending brew. I was on my hands and knees cleaning up the disaster- thank you, inventor of disinfectant wipes and sprays.

"So," she asked while I scrubbed the area down, "were those the potatoes?"

HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW? WAS I SUPPOSED TO OPEN THAT BAG TO LOOK? DID I REALLY NEEED TO KNOW WHAT WAS IN THERE? THERE WAS DECOMPOSED FOOD. THERE WERE MAGGOTS, I ASSUME. THERE WERE FLIES. I'M GOING TO PUKE.

But I didn't. And it's clean, the flies are gone, the area's sparkling, and Ella the World's Most Famous Cat has started eating her food again instead of looking at me as if to say "are you insane? I'm not eating over there! There are maggot-infested potatoes in that corner, you dolt."

Sorry, Ella.

 Share

I wasn't going to write much today- still won't- but then I got on the 10-items-or-less line at the Albertson's in Redondo and a woman in front of me had about 40 items- a full cart. My Lord! It's the Bad Standup Comic's World of Horrors!

"'Scuse me, ma'am," I said, as a line swiftly grew behind us, "this is the express line. 10 items." I'd made that mistake before, so I was polite and smiling. She looked up at me, then continued to place items on the belt. I thought she'd failed to understand me, so I repeated "Express line. 10 items or less." She didn't look up at me, but she just stopped putting stuff on the belt and moved forward. The guy in front of her was finished, and the checker picked up one of the offender's items.

"Er, she has a lot more than 10 items," I said, feeling like an a-hole- I wouldn't have done it if she had, say, 15 items, even a little more than that. But she was obviously trying to fake the checker out, waiting until the 10 items went through before adding the rest. The checker looked at the woman, then the cart, and told her she had to go to another line.

"But I shouldn't have to move," she said. The line by now included about 10 more people. I'd had enough. "I told her it was an express line and she ignored me," I said, "and there's a long line of people who shouldn't have to wait." The checker agreed, and handed the woman her items.

"Big mouth," the woman snarled at me. "I told you," I said, "and you tried to pull one over on everyone. Keep moving." "F--king big mouth," she snarled as she went away with a full cart. The people behind me tapped me on the shoulder. "Thanks," one said. "Someone had to say it," said another. A hero at last.

It's one thing to misread the signs- everyone does that. But to hold everyone else- ME- up because you just can't be bothered to wait in the right line, well, screw you, lady. It takes a truly ugly-on-the-inside person to deliberately inconvenience a long line of people just because you can.

Hey, this may be ultra-minor to you. I don't win too many victories these days. I have to take what I can get.

 Share

Stranglehold R. Dixielands.

 Share