Where have I been? Where have YOU been?

An entire month. Thanksgiving, the FancyPants signature holiday (gluttony, sloth, wrath, football, and stuffing), and not a single word. What kind of a dick blogger am I, anyway?

Anyhoo.

I'm a big fan of the Chinese custom of naming years. Year of the Monkey? Who didn't throw some feces, am I right? And how about that Year of the Grinning Dragon? If I had a nickel for every snotty British prep school kid I lit on fire that year...(why yes, that WAS a Harry Potter reference. Thanks for playing)

For the past few years I've been naming years in a typically FancyPants kinda way. 2008 - Year of the Baby. 2009 - Year of the Turducken.

Some classics, by the way:
2001 - Year of the Syphilitic Dodo (Bush gets sworn in, 9/11, war, C's in law school. What an awful, shitty year)
1993 - Year of the Colored Jeans
2004 - Year of the Unicorn-Copulating Griffin (in terms of improbable events, cf. Red Sox World Champions, and the FancyPants wedding)

So comes 2010. My Naming Committee sits, and ponders suggestions.

The Year We Make Contact: too Arthur Clarke-y.
Year of the Book: Given my ability to keep current on a measly blog, I doubt we're seeing this Year until sometime in the 2060's.
Year of the Baby II: too expensive. Do you know how much those things cost in upkeep? Screw that noise.

Finally, we've come to a decision:

2010: Year of the House.

More details to come.

Oh, and in case you hadn't heard, BRANDON JENNINGS.

A question, then 64 answers

What do you do if you find something that's so absurd, so ridiculously hilarious, you feel bad sharing it with others?

Wife was looking for a phone number. Forgetting it was in her phone, she went to the internets and looked up the individual in question. What she found was...epic. A glorious monument to the possibilities of chaos and the World Wide Web. It was in every way more fantastical than she or I or you could have imagined.

I don't mean to suggest that this individual had some sort of Flash-infused ultra-narrow bleeding-edge of the envelope home page. In fact the truth is just about the complete diametric opposite. What we found was this person's soul, writ carefully and purposefully on a web page.

This person - we'll call the individual T-Bone, because it's gender-neutral and silly - was specific in their interests, passions, and character traits and flaws. And this is no Blogger account, nor was there any sort of innovative or even substandard derivative design. If I had to compare it to anything, it would be Creed's blog, but without the serial killer vibe. Wait, scratch that - with all sorts of serial killer vibe emanating from the screen.

On T-Bone's proto-blog there are links to favorite quotes, which in itself is not unusual...but the three or four paragraphs on why T-Bone thinks archiving quotes as a concept are interesting, and why sharing them is helpful for the reader's edification is pretty out there, as a form of entertainment. Or how about the autobiography, which literally begins with a birthday, and a physical description. And goes on for about 5 or 6 pages?

This is how the Genesis conversation happened in my head:

T-Bone: what's a blog?
T-Bone's head: a blog is a place on the internet that's all yours. Do with it as you wish.
T-Bone: Well, like, what should I put on there?
T-Bone's head: Got me. Why not tell the universe a little about yourself, and talk about some of the things you like?
T-Bone: OK. I like my family, and I think the environment is important. Should I put that on there?
T-Bone's head: Sure. There are lots of people who feel the same way you do, they'll be interested to read what you have to say on these pressing and culturally relevant topics.
T-Bone: Great! I also enjoy role playing games and fantasy novels and writing fan fiction about Transformers, which I still collect. Are there other adults with spouses and children who collect Transformers, who might want to read my stories?
T-Bone's head: Well you know I love everything Transformers. Throw 'em on! You'll get zillions of hits in no time! Oh, and the more detail the better!

I wish I could share T-Bone's thoughts with you. I really do. But it would be mean. Meaner even than the previous paragraphs, where I shared just a few little bits with you. Sorry.

Also, you'll be interested to know that I shall share my NCAA tournament picks with you on Wednesday night. The simple act of reading them will fill you with wonder at my prophseying skill, and you shall marvel at my insight into futures untold.

"Oh my Lord, is that Davidson's music?" Proof positive that as of Monday night, I have no idea who's even in the Madness this year. How about Brandeis, are they a 12 or 13 seed? McGill? They a 7 seed?

Yes I am, and no, I have no idea

He was a great writer and all, but F. Scott Fitzgerald was a dick. Yeah, Zelda was mentally unbalanced when they met, but his behavior didn't help the situation. But give the man credit, he knew it. He said - and here I'm paraphrasing, if not wholly making it up - that in order to be great, a writer must be a bastard, selfish, and greedy. I don't know if that's the only way to do it, but of the many published writers I know (2? No, definitely at least 3) 14% are complete douchebags. So there's gotta be something to it, right?

Right now, in my e-possession, I have 40-odd stories in various stages of completion. I also have a large unwieldy, thing, codenamed "Olga," that at this point I am consciously avoiding. I also have a wife who is slowly going insane, as the weirdness of moving back in with her parents splits her brain in two. Then there is Child, who at 4 months doesn't need to demand my attention because he gets it anyway, being obviously the smartest, handsomest, and kindest soul ever to inhabit a onesie.

I need time for all that, plus keeping up with the politics thing, and the Jewness thing, and the experimenting with transvestism thing...there's a lot on my plate. So something has to go. And if you'll notice, there is one substantial portion of my focus, one particularly dear to at least two of my six (seven? Is it seven yet?) readers, that is missing. And that would be sports.

Starting today I am giving up my passionate devotion to all sports, except for football.

My first thought was equivocation: I could put this off a month, and wait to see how the Penguins do in their pursuit of the Stanley Cup, whether the Hornets can prove themselves to be a second generation Phoenix Suns, or whether the Celtics can give their fantastically non-clutch superstar Kevin Garnett the title he so achingly desires, or whether Lebron could really take a mediocre Cavs team, less impressive even than Jordan's Jordanaires, all the way to a championship. Then I thought of the Brewers, and all that young talent, and that it looked like maybe Ben Sheets would stick around for 200 innings, and they might give the Cardinals a run for their money, and that could take me all the way to August, when training camp starts for the NFL. Then I realized that this was the sort of thing I wanted to avoid if I was going to do this.

So. Since Friday I have not once logged on to ESPN.com, nor Kissing Suzy Kolber, nor Free Darko. I won't even link to those fantastic sources of information, for fear of getting sucked in once again. And I will continue not checking those websites - or any sports website - or watching games on TV, excepting, again, football, until one of two things occurs: either I publish a story in some obscure, online-only literary magazine with a readership of 12, who themselves were assigned to read it as a writing workshop experiment in awful internet writing, or I finish a draft of Olga.

To put the questions to the answers in the post's title: "Are you fucking serious?" and "Do you have any idea how long you think you can keep this up?"

I assume Brothers A and S will keep me updated somehow, and I am still getting ESPN the magazine, so it's not like I'm going to shack up in the cave next to Bin Laden. But no TrueHoop, no Deadspin, no WithLeather, no Sporting News. No NBA on TNT, no Versus, no ESPN. Don't think I'm not terrified. But it's either this or I get Wife another husband, and she's already had it with the one she's got, so she's not really inclined to get all Mormony.

As a last hurrah, though, here are some thoughts on the NBA playoffs and one or two on baseball, which, now that I don't live in Boston, I don't really have to care about.

- I hate his team, I hate his style, I hate his combover, but Greg Popovich is simply a great coach. He will do whatever it takes to win, even if it means taking the entire sport of basketball down into the Dungeon of Unwatchability, which is what we in the bizz like to call San Antonio. Tony Parker has gotten too good for a French guy married to Eva Longoria, and with all those titles there is no doubt that Tim Duncan is better than Kevin Garnett. This will bear out if they meet in the finals: Popovich will take Doc Rivers into the deep grasses and show him what it is to be a real coach of men.

- I don't know if you noticed, but Chris Paul? That guard on the Hornets (when did they leave Charlotte?) is pretty good. He can dribble, and he's got a bit of touch around the rim, and he can poke that ball away with those sticky fingers, and that 3-pointer looks near effortless, and he throws lobs like parabolic poetry, and his teeth are perfectly white and straight. I bet he's real good to his mama, too.

- Now that Barry Bonds is gone, and Julio Franco is retired, there's no reason to care about baseball. I can't even root for the Diamondbacks to keep up their hot streak because they're an expansion team, and have already won a championship, over the Yankees, no less. So baseball isn't such a loss.

- Oh, and Cedric Benson? Don't think there's not plenty of time between now and August for me to find you, and slice your Achilles tendons while you're not looking. The only compelling reason for me not to bother is that I don't have the time for Chicago to host a parade in my honor, and give me a key to the city.

Some links, you know, for the kids

Here is the Balloon Brother, amazing David Letterman and Biff like sugar-crazed toddlers:



Back in the day I had to wait breathlessly by the radio for the prefect songs to come up, then mix them with my meager tape collection to explain to any number of special ladies how I felt, being too lazy to come up with an original thought. Now, just go to Muxtape, and you can post your mixtapes for all to see, including the girl who sits behind you in French, and who odds are will not actually enjoy Conor Oberst's whining. My recommendation? ABC, "Aisha."

In yet another sad political twist, Obama and Liberal Blogs File for Divorce, all because he went on Fox News. All I want to know is who is going to buy my love with a Playstation 3 and universal healthcare.

Freedarko is being annoying, but it doesn't matter. If you don't love your basketball lightly salted with Kierkegaard and Ghostface Killah, then I don't know what to say to you.

Yeah, it's a short post, but it's really all in the name of getting Brother Balloon some extra hits. Check out his website, The Twisted Balloon Company, and be amazed.

Today is a glorious, glorious day

The first round of the Tournament begins this afternoon. This is how you know it's the most fantastic sporting event, by the way; it's the only one known as "THE Tournament." Can the World Series make that claim? Well, baseball can't say much, what with all those steroid needles poking out of its gigantic head, and it doesn't really get out much, what with the hip replacement (because it's old, get it? And really boring). The Super Bowl? It's only one game, and it's never as fun as ripping on the $846 million spent on commercials. 

So really this is the best sporting event of the year, and regularly renews my love of basketball and sports betting. Rocco and Luigi love it because they get to come to my house and threaten my family if I don't pay up, and I'm always polite enough to offer them some alone time with Wife in exchange for my fingers. 

Recently Brother S has taken it upon himself to run the family brackets, which we all appreciate, and takes a load off my mind because now I can concentrate on getting the whole brood hooked on Amway (it saves money, and we all make money! There's no reason whatsoever not to get involved! What's a pyramid scheme? Who's Ponzi?). And it means we can talk about George Mason and Kansas' perennially disappointing run at family events, and not get yelled at.

Finally, it's Child's first tournament, and he has his own bracket. And hopefully, like his dad, he'll think enough of the event to lie to his bosses, and tell them there's this new Jewish holiday that happens in the spring, and celebrates amateur athletics, beer, and brings the family closer together through the playing of 65 competitions. And I'm sure, brilliant Child that he is (this morning he discovered a Higgs boson  particle in his diaper), he'll be able to come up with some clever Hebrew name to seal the deal, and get the day off.

NBA thoughts, during this week of college ball wonderness

Brother A and I spoke about the Rockets' winning streak, and he asked me how many games they'd have to win in a row before I'd take them seriously. He said 34, thereby compiling the longest streak in NBA history. 

But I've got to say, even that won't impress me. Tracy McGrady, albeit a buttery, slippery serpent on the court, really can't be considered a superstar until he wins a playoff series. In a sport where one superlative individual talent can win 4 of 7 on his own, he has yet to do so, even with a decent supporting cast. 

If he does so this year, though, it will be even more impressive; then he can get on the Kobe-Lebron-CP shortlist. The West is too deep, too talented, for a Rocket playoff win to be taken lightly. If they were in the East, he'd have to measure up in the same way Lebron does, where nothing short of a Finals appearance is noteworthy. But in the West, where real players play, all he has to do is win a series. Then, maybe, he gets my respect beyond his beautiful, oily game.

Still one on five

Brothers A and S are all up in a tizzy about the Bulls giving the Cavs the keys to the NBA title. S bemoans his Bulls' sacrifice, and their swallowing of Larry Hughes in the process. A is literally vibrating with pleasure as adrenaline levels top out at his eyeballs. "Thhhhiiissss issssss thhhhhhe mmmmmmmooooooovvvvvvvve!" he says, trying to keep his glasses from dropping off his face.

And I hear the logic. Delonte West is a beast, a junkyard dog who happens to hit some 3s. Wally Szerbiak is still a decent shooter, spotting up from anywhere. And then there's Big Ben, whose 'fro is still intimidating to those who want to venture into the paint. All solid contributors to a deep playoff team.

But the Cavs were already a deep playoff team. Sure, both the Celtics and PIstons are better this year, with KG and Ray Allen, and the development of their young bench, respectively. But the Cavs had just as much of a shot before the trade of coming out of the East as they did last year. So hooray for a defensive upgrade, and some more shooters, but I still don't see it.

Can Wallace still slow down Duncan? Fine, he d's Shaq, but who gets Barbosa and Stoudemire? Who guards Odom? And when James is being triple teamed, does West have the skills to run the offense? I haven't seen any sign of it.

So S, take it down a notch. A, maybe some horse tranquilizers for you. Because the Cavs are still a threat to beat the Celtics, but they're not winning the title this year, if only because Mike Brown is still their coach.

NBA All-Stars - where the Jason Kidd trade happens?

Random thoughts on the NBA All-Star game...

- Interesting which players shine in this game. Obviously there's Kidd and Nash, who drop dimes with loops and curlicues and drops off the backboard. Roy and Paul are just following in their footsteps. James and Howard, who add power to the flair of the 1s. But the Pistons? Wade? Their form serves function and function alone - if there is no real consequence, they're reduced to dutiful layups and 3's.

- Whenever Anthony and James are in the game, they go right at each other. The rivalry is a sight. What are the odds we ever get to see it in the Finals?

- Nowitzki should be on the team, but shouldn't be allowed to play. There is nothing pretty about his game. Even his jumpshot is all Prussion functionality.

- It's fun, and sad, watching guys who've never played with a real point guard flub passes. Roy dropping that bullet inside from Paul? Stoudemire would've held on.

- Chauncey Billups is a matchup nightmare, and a beast on the blocks. It is for these reasons and more that he should join the German Giant on the bench.

- What does Howard have against Yao? Is he playing defense against anyone else?

- Of course James would be well on his way to a triple double by halftime. The only thing I'm more excited to see is whether Paul can get to 20 assists. Lord he's good.

- Allen*, Sheed and Pierce are adding nothing. Wasn't there some sort of jumpshot showcase last night, something about 3-pointers? Sunday night is for slashing and driving, unless you're eight feet behind the line.
* - 4th quarter update: OK, fine, the 3 is compelling. Sometimes.

- Antawn Jamison? Really?

- Is the All-Star Game the essence of freedarko.com-style liberated fandom? Or a glorified playground game? And is there a difference?

- The problem with Kobe playing his 2 minutes is he killed in its infancy my dream lineup in the West - Nash, Paul, Deron Williams, Iverson, and Roy. What can I say? I'm a dribble and pass kind of guy.

- Would it be more interesting if the league suspended its rules about kicking for the game, just to see what Nash could do?

- Would the game be more fun if they cut out the 3-point line?

- Boozer and Nowitzki, two sides of the same uninspiring coin. Maybe Boozer should take a cue from Karl Malone, his predecessor in the post, and buy an 18-wheeler, maybe develop a cute free-throw shooting ritual.

- Is it too obvious to say that Kevin Garnett is the most vocal dad on his kid's pee-wee football sideline? Is he just as passionate when watching golf?

- Is it too much to ask for the 4th quarter to erupt into a monster Stoudemire - Howard throwdown showdown? I want to see them go one on one every time downcourt, just so I can keep seeing physics upended.

- Has anyone yet established which of the three is the better dribbler, Paul, Nash or Iverson?

- It's fitting to watch Billups school Nowitzki in the 4th quarter.

- Steve Nash has a lazy eye? And I hope to G-d he actually blew his nose in Craig Sager's hankie.

- Shaq's job in Phoenix is to convince Stoudemire that everyone he plays is Dwight Howard.

- Is Paul deliberately not passing to Nowitzki? And can anyone blame him?

- Oh, that's right. Wade = guts. Forgot about that.

- Are they really going to make the All-Star game end with free throws? That's it, 8.2 seconds to go, and I'm going to bed.