Damned Liberal Media Making Us Liberals Look Bad

from the new york times:

"Long-Awaited Medical Study Questions the Power of Prayer

Prayers offered by strangers had no effect on the recovery of people who were undergoing heart surgery, a large and long-awaited study has found.

And patients who knew they were being prayed for had a higher rate of post-operative complications like abnormal heart rhythms, perhaps because of the expectations the prayers created, the researchers suggested.

Because it is the most scientifically rigorous investigation of whether prayer can heal illness, the study, begun almost a decade ago and involving more than 1,800 patients, has for years been the subject of speculation.

The question has been a contentious one among researchers. Proponents have argued that prayer is perhaps the most deeply human response to disease, and that it may relieve suffering by some mechanism that is not yet understood. Skeptics have contended that studying prayer is a waste of money and that it presupposes supernatural intervention, putting it by definition beyond the reach of science.

At least 10 studies of the effects of prayer have been carried out in the last six years, with mixed results. The new study was intended to overcome flaws in the earlier investigations. The report was scheduled to appear in The American Heart Journal next week, but the journal's publisher released it online yesterday.

In a hurriedly convened news conference, the study's authors, led by Dr. Herbert Benson, a cardiologist and director of the Mind/Body Medical Institute near Boston, said that the findings were not the last word on the effects of so-called intercessory prayer. But the results, they said, raised questions about how and whether patients should be told that prayers were being offered for them."

in other news, researchers have also discovered that the use and application of rabbits' feet not only has positive effects for recovery from orthopedic surgery but is beneficial when it comes to sports gambling. studies involving four leaf clovers demonstrated that patients are almost twice as likely to have a quicker than normal recovery from gastric and dermatological surgeries after squeezing a clover, but will not receive any advantages when it comes to casino games and other games of chance - unless the clover has been blessed by a real leprechaun.


(but seriously folks...who wins when this kind of shit is published? the prayin' people who complain that the eggheads are out to piss on religion look like deluded sour grapes eaters and the scientists dumb enough to actually quantify something as subjective as the comfort that prayer provides look like instigating nanny-nanny-foo-foo artists. personally, i think the chapels they have in hospitals are less about the patients than about the visitors.)

and thus concludes the driest, most out of character piece of claptrap you're ever going to see on here.

First My Rack, Then The Mash

if you've noticed, things over the last week have been a little slow 'round these parts. chalk it up to a new and serious desire to melt my tits.


since october, i've used what scant evening free time i have between the book reading/general entertaining/elaborate-kiss-and-hug-ritual that encompasses the boys' bedtime and my own pathetically early schluffy appointment to sit down here and cyber blah blah blah until i'm blue in the knuckles. since last week, i've tried to divide that time among my need to write and my desperate need to exercise. is it wrong to be disappointed that the exercise seems to be winning? it's kind of perplexing me.

is it possible to get my sweat on and my blog on at the same time?

maybe the lull is because the ferocious (and probably hilarious looking) elliptical-ing serves the same purpose that writing here originally did...therapy. thirty to forty minutes of mb time in which i can just focus and concentrate on one task instead of scattershotting my shit everywhere.


well, whatever it is...i've wasted too much time thinking about it and writing about it tonight.

----

in the meantime, i cannot satisfy my love of mash-ups. i've been really interested in mixing musical styles up ever since i was breathlessly pitching a show to vh1 about 8 years ago where two very different musical acts would cover each other's songs and then join together for a finale of a cover song by a third band. they passed...i'm still jonesing.

here's one mash-up that i found this week and one that i found three years ago. both make me happy.

kanye west vs. ac/dc

eminem vs. u2

God Bless Flickr

i find it more than a little disturbing that the original simon metz has nicer teeth than i do.

looks like circus work comes with a good dental plan.

The Sins Of The Bopa

for years, it was a point of family pride crazy glued to a dark family shame.

in one calendar year, my father consumed 1000 hot dogs - or as he still calls them, "frankfurters".


that skinny japanese kid may spend his fourth of july powering down a few dozen dogs, but, as we all know, life is a marathon, not a sprint - and for 52 glorious weeks in the early 1960s, the Old Man was positively kenyan.

my father will point out to you, if you should ask for further detail on his stomach turning feat, that the place where he put down all that tube-steak - deli masters @ 8402 horace harding expressway, flushing ny; directly next to the bus stop at which he was dropped off every single day after yeshiva - was closed mondays and saturdays, which significantly ups the DPD ratio (dogs per day).

as children, my brother and i had heard the stories and laughed along with the rest of the family as he joked about the greasy brass plaque mounted on the deli masters' wall as a tribute, but we never really believed the whole thing was anything more than a legend. i mean, we'd seen what the guy could to a half gallon of ice cream or a rack of ribs, but, to this day, the Old Man has never been a fat guy - definitely not the kind of guy you'd picture eating 1000 hot dogs in a year. in fact, he's held up quite well for his age. i think silently, the more we heard the tales, the more my brother and i agreed there was no way this actually occurred.

and then one grey autumn afternoon, my father took us to deli masters for a visit.



i don't remember exactly why we were in the neighborhood - whether it was to visit my grandparents, who still lived in the area, or my aunt and her family, who lived a couple of blocks away - but i can still picture as clear as day what happened when the glass doors shut behind us and we stepped into history.

the lights were out. only the weak 4pm sunlight lit the place, and it wasn't lighting it very well. there were basically no customers. the booths and the walls looked like they hadn't seen fantastik in decades. as for the staff...there were a couple of over-dressed and elderly looking deli waiters sitting around waiting for someone to come in, there was an older woman sitting silently at the register smoking, and there was an older man working the grill behind the take out counter, tending to the dozen or so hebrew nationals and knishes that were sizzling there in the open queens air.

and then the Old Man stepped up and did his thing.

"give me two well done with everything, please."

the griddle guy prepped the dogs with the brown mustard and steaming sauerkraut like he had probably done hundreds of thousands of times over the past four decades, and then turned to hand them to my father - and as he did, and as he recognized who was going to eat those dogs, a smile tore across his face.

"kenny? kenny!"

and then a smile tore across my Old Man's face as his children's jaws dropped to the floor.

he really had done it.

the griddleguy called out to the rest of the crew. "hey everybody! kenny's here! kenny's here!" and the whole dusty gang gathered around to drink in the return of the legend and meet his sons. to a person, each one of them had something incredible to say about my dad and his ability to pack away the wieners - and as i watched him eat those two dogs, and as i enjoyed one of my own, i looked at my father with a new sense of awe and pride.


why am i telling you this story today?

well, mostly because we're not even in april yet and i'm pretty sure my son jb is going to break his grandpa's record this year - and the only thing i feel watching him work his way towards history by polishing off two or three applegate farms organic hot dogs nightly, is my blood pressure rising as i beg him to try something different for dinner.

aka Bryant Kobelstein

you can keep him

Let Daddy Brag

back to real life for a moment.

today, mrs b and i met with the boys' teachers to discuss when we should break up the Dream Team and put them each in separate classes - something that conventional wisdom says you do with twins at a certain age. mrs b and i were chewing over whether it's best to pull off the bandaid as soon as possible - which would be this coming august when they start pre k - or to wait until they start elementary school, and we wanted a little insight from the people who see them together in this type of social environment the most.

what advice we got and what we decided isn't important. what is important is that during our chat, despite the teachers offering about 30 solid minutes of well-reasoned educational wisdom and eyewitness accounts of how the boys behave and perform at school, all i heard were the compliments. and what these two women had to say about my children had me struggling not to tear up in front of them there in the office.

i know how amazing they are. their family knows how amazing they are. but to hear the first real honest-to-goodness non-family member/friend superlative hallelujah-from-the-heavens type praise from people who have no real vested interest in how ab and jb are developing as children - other than how they are doing in school - will allow me to sleep soundly tonight.


and god knows i could use the sleep.

AN URGENT MESSAGE FOR THE PEOPLE OF MANHATTAN!

it's just a fucking supermarket. get ahold of yourselves for christ's sake!

honestly, i know how you must feel, but you have to understand that there's plenty of thai chili lime peanuts and turkey sausage stromboli to go around. if you don't get it the day the store opens, you're not going to miss out. i promise.

oh, and not to rub it in, because i will always be a new yorker at heart (in fact, i only bring it up because of the embarassing way you're behaving), but there are, like, four of those places within 15 minutes of my house out here in the suburban boonies of los angeles, and i can be in and out of there with a cart full of cranberry lemonade, bool kogi and guacamole within a half hour.

(but then again, you've got shake shack, which i hear is pretty fucking good)

A Modest Proposal 2006

on march 6, south dakota governor mike rounds signed into law a complete and total ban on abortion within the borders of his state. the uproar from the national pro-choice camp was immediate, as they began to warn everyone everywhere that this little bit of pro-life legislation was purposely designed, not only to end abortion in the mount rushmore state, but to also create a judicial log jam all the way up to the supreme court, where it could force the sitting justices to finally revisit roe vs. wade. (or something like that.) and if the sitting justices happen to revisit roe vs. wade in today's political climate, they warn, the abortion gravy train that we've all been riding since 1973 is over.

now, if you're one of the people out there in america, biting their nails and worrying that your legal right to choose or to pressure your girlfriend or wife into ending her pregnancy might actually be taken from you within the next few years, i am here to tell you tonight that you have absolutely nothing to worry about. in fact, not only will i personally guarantee your ability to have an abortion whenever you want, i guarantee that whoever accompanies you to your date with the doctor will a)drink free b)get one free pull on a superbonus slot machine and c)earn valuable comp points towards a luxurious midnight chocolate buffet.

ladies and gentlemen, i'm talking about The Abortion Boat.

operating under the same maritime laws that allow skippers of even the mangiest tugboat to perform legally binding weddings and also let party boats and booze cruises go casino crazy once they drift past an imaginary line in the ocean, The Abortion Boat will be the floating clinic of last resort.

each day at sunset, The Abortion Boat will set sail from any number of luxurious ports of call around our great land and, then, only minutes after we raise our anchors and shove off, we will cross that fabulous floating line in the ocean, which is when your wildest dreams will come true. high rolling casino match play; sumptuous gourmet cuisine; european spa treatments fit for a pasha; and the hottest entertainment imported from around the globe - all in the finest plush, opulent surroundings.


plus, you will be able to have abortion after abortion until you are blue in the face.

Mad Gavel Skillz

keeping with the theme of my last post, i have one more shout out to distribute on this lovely thursday afternoon...and it's aimed at the good people who work at the superior court of california, van nuys location, for providing The Kid with one of the most relaxing days i've had in a while.


you allowed me to sleep 2 hours later than i normally do. you provided a comfortable waiting room full of a few hundred of my fellow angelinos and enough downtime to enjoy chuck klosterman's 'killing yourself to live' from from to back and skim a few magazines as well. you gave me a leisurely 2 hour lunch break during which i was able to enjoy a peaceful and delicious meal at a sushi place i've wanted to try for a while now. you didn't place me on the criminal trial jury for which i was originally picked, which would have kept me from work for more than a week. and last, but certainly not least, you handed me my green sheet of walking paper and sent me home for at least a year in time to watch a little bit of the ncaa tournament.

now that's what i call fulfilling your civic responsibility.

----

i leave you with a question to ponder.

"urinal full of ice:


entertaining break from the norm or cheap trick by a lazy restauranteur who prefers not to have to clean his porcelain?"

discuss.

This Will Mean Nothing To Anyone Who Didn't Play Football On The Snowy Fields of Harry B. Thompson Junior High School, Followed By Some McDonald's

a promise is a promise.


as payback for the beautiful, personally-procured, hand-autographed head shot on which one of the heaviest hitters in the house of representatives leadership - whose politics happen to be the direct opposite of mine - misspelled my name, i have three personally requested shoutouts/a little google-padding to drop.

big up to my man joe dileo - the baddest pen salesman ever. thank you for not killing me to death in mrs wimbert's class when we sat next to each other and i made fun of your fricative s... me in my miami vice lab coat looking thingy over a black metal-tee, you in a too-tight tribute to thurman munson. love bites, joe. in the dead of night. love bites.


big up to my man joe scibelli - who drove me through jericho in his vintage mustang convertible on senior night despite the fact that i could have vomited at any second. the cool night air was like balm for my beer-induced vertigo and i will be eternally grateful. and if you're reading this and you think you know movie lines...you don't know shit because joe slade said so.

big up to my man kenny geduldig - who somehow turned an adolescence which featured more than one bowel movement into a public water fountain into a successful second act as an honest to goodness beltway insider. nothing in the history of mankind is as impressive as what you've done.

and finally, big up to my man clay aiken...


god, do i want to do you. call me.

Somewhere In America, Bob Saget Was Fast Asleep Dreaming Of A Laugh Track And Giving Me 10 Grand

calling all armchair psychologists, wannabe dream analysts, and amateur comedians out there. i need some help with what i saw in my head last night.

a lot of nut punching.

first i dreamt (and yes, i prefer the classic "t" to "ed" suffix when it comes to the word "dream") that i was at work - only i wasn't in my current office in la, i was in the lobby of a high rise office building, on my way out to meet my crew to go on a shoot. as i tried to exit the building, i had to go through security, where i was wanded by a big angry guy. i was certain that i had emptied my pockets and bag of anything that would set off the wand, but it kept going off as he waved it over my left jacket pocket. after a couple of times, i realized that i had a handful of change in there, so i took it out, apologized and told the guy that this was probably the problem. all of a sudden, he got really upset and angrily accused me of putting the change in there to set off the alarms. i got equally angry that he was accusing me, so i raised my voice to defend myself. as i did, he punched me as hard as he could in my testicles.

andrew "the nutcrusher" golota

i was doubled over in pain and decided to go upstairs to my office to tell them that i couldn't go out on the shoot and that i needed to see a doctor. as i got on the elevator and pushed the buttons, i noticed that there was a woman from the building's custodial crew on there, dressed in her light blue uniform. she asked what happened, and why i looked so upset. i told her that the security guard had hauled off and punched me in the balls...which is what she then immediately does to me.

i was relieved when i woke up but, honestly, a little upset that i couldn't file a lawuit against the building. i mean, for an pair of egrigious nut punchings, you ought to be able to cash in a little, no?

We're All Winners Today

usually it takes until about thursday or so before waking up at the crack of 5 am gets to me.

usually.

from the instant i slunk out of work early this afternoon, i was just completely out of gas. and then to top it off, ab decides, just before bedtime, that tonight is the night he will no longer wipe his own ass. please tell me how you reason with a four year old who suddenly wants nothing to do with toilet paper without creating a bigger problem than the one you already have. i mean, everyone knows that one wrong move when it comes to toilet training and you end up with a gay serial killer.


"daddy wouldn't wipe me" - jeffrey dahmer

the old me would simply post a picture of some animal species having sex and write this post off as a lazy loss. thankfully for all of us, the new me is addicted to you tube.

We Want Duke

let the celebration begin.




suny albany is going to the ncaa division I tournament for the very first time.

if you didn't go to albany - and you probably didn't - you don't realize just how huge this is.

(we're talking much bigger than the last point of pride to come from campus.)

after years as not only a division III team, but a shitty division III team, the great danes decimated america east rival vermont this morning and got to celebrate on national cable tv. this involved doing the types of things normally reserved for real schools...sleeping out for tickets, face painting, meatheads doing shirtless pushups on their buddies shoulders in the stands - that sort of thing.

prior to today, the only high living albany sports fans got to do was when i was a senior and we made it all the way to the elite 8 in the division III tournament, before having our asses handed to us by the nyu violets on our home court. it was at that game where i saw a member of my fraternity loudly call the violets coach - a rather unassuming if stout man - a "motherfucking piece of shit faggot fat motherfucker asshole shiteater" (or something very close to that). we were near enough to the visitor's bench for the guy to hear every vulgar syllable, and the look on his face was equal parts shock, bewilderment and pity.

later this week, the danes will most likely end up as chunks in duke or uconn's crap...but today there will be much rejoicing in the normally grey, dusty, grim and sports-apathetic capital district region - as well as all over the country where albany alumni sit stunned at the fact that a)the team that they wouldn't dream of ever buying a ticket to go and see actually made the tournament and b)espn2 put the danes on the air and didn't make fun of them.

i woke up early and watched the game at my buddy and fellow great-dane-in-exile larry's house. while it was going on, we got calls or text messages from the east coast every few minutes from other friends who were drinking it all in. two guys were actually watching the danes play on the big screen at a hooters in new jersey - something no one would have ever thought possible only a few years ago.

yes, for two hours on this rainy los angeles morning, i felt the type of pride normally reserved for people who go/went to real schools - and, for at least a moment, i forgot the absolutely nauseating campus, second class facilities and run-down slum in which all the off campus students live and smiled the smile of the big boys.

and it feels good.

Testudines

if i may impart you with one bit of wisdom before the weekend, it would be this...

"do not eat a big, late sushi dinner and go to sleep less than an hour later."

waking up for work at 5 am and suffering through a fit of fish-tasting burps that linger well past the tooth-brushing is not good.

---

epilogue

i went out of my sushi-restaurant comfort zone last night to a place i had never before tried.

i ordered the omakase - the chef's choice.

it involved a bowl of turtle soup.

and while i like to think of myself as a culinarily enlightened man, once i pierced the pastry and smelled the turtle-steam and saw the turtle-meat, i just couldn't make myself taste it.

i guess i just prefer my large, beshelled reptiles like this...

not like this.

Etymology

more than one person has asked me why i named this blog 'simon metz' if my name isn't simon metz. here is a video clip that kind of explains why.



what you have just seen - and most likely been both disturbed and aroused by - is a clip from the 1932 movie 'freaks', directed by tod browning. part love story, part revenge fable, part exploitation film featuring real live circus freaks playing themselves.

anyhow, see that guy in the hospital gown holding the midget's hand as he dances around the dude playing the harmonica? that smiling fellow is what the carnies used to call a 'pinhead' and what modern neurologists refer to as 'an exploited microcephalic'. known to his legions of devoted fans and concerned social workers as 'schlitzie', to his proud parents, mr and mrs metz, this strapping specimen was known best as simon.

there's just something about the joy you see in simon's eyes - whether it's in the film or in a photograph - juxtaposed with his disturbing backstory that inspired me to poach his name. he just seems like he would be so happy in spite of whatever was going on around him - which, i guess, is kind of admirable.

and just so you don't think i'm a creep, the good news is that simon 'schlitzie' metz was, by all accounts, well cared for and lived a long happy life.

and while i'm leaning on youtube as i avoid going in the other room to watch american idol with mrs b, here's a little blast from my past.




it's by manowar and it's called 'black wind fire and steel'...and yes, i used to listen to this shit without a shred of irony.

(and no, i am not ashamed.)

Go Forward

i didn't know dana reeve any better than anyone else who ever met her once or twice - but i can honestly say the few hours i spent with her and her husband had, in its own way, as big an impact on my life as just about any day i spent before or since.


back in - i think - 2003, i was lucky enough to produce an interview with christopher reeve at his home in bedford, new york. he was gracious, friendly, warm and candid and, unlike a lot of people i see at work, wasn't above shooting the shit with the crew - about hockey, movies, and his son - before and after the q & a.

while the cameras rolled, he told us about his recurring dream of being able to sail again and a joke explaining the difference between his life and that of oj simpson (punchline: "oj walked.") and how he didn't know what he would have done without the love of his wife, who at that very moment was just chilling in the kitchen, doing kitcheny things.

i also saw first hand how this man - who simply was not supposed to ever ever ever ever move anything on his body for the rest of his life - taught himself to move his finger on cue after months and months and months of rehab, training and sweat. sure, it was a tiny tiny wiggle more than anything but if you play the tape back, you can probably hear everyone in the room gasp as he does it. it really was one of the sickest things i have ever seen and, in that moment, demonstrated more to me about determination than anything i could ever imagine.


and after the interview, when chris rolled into the kitchen to hang out with his wife, and she stopped what she was doing to rub his head and kiss his forehead, it demonstrated more to me about love than just about anything i had ever seen before.

as we packed things up, we all chatted with dana about what they had coming up and how much work they had been doing and how much time she had spent with chris at rehab. her optimism and devotion was staggering.

to a man, we all left changed for the better. if not obviously in a look-how-different-i-am-and-you-should-stop-and-smell-the-roses way, then definitely in our hearts.

on the day christopher reeve died last year, i looked back on my afternoon in his home and tried to make a note not to act like a pussy if my poor wittle head hurt or i was tired from waking up too early or if i was waylaid by any sort of minor, ticky-tack bullshit. i mean, granted, we're all prone to moments of self-pity, and i'm still plenty guilty of indulging myself, but if i'm thinking clearly (which unfortunately is less often than not), i remember what this guy was able to do, and i kind of sober up quickly.

----

a few months later, when dana announced that she had lung cancer, it was like a kick in the stomach. when i heard the news this morning, all i could do was shake my head.


and as i go to bed tonight, i'm still shaking it.

Where Bob Guccione Comes From

i am almost recovered from the all-nighter i pulled sunday to monday thanks to the oscars. if i follow up my 3 pm - 5 pm nap with a 9 o'clock bedtime, i think i may actually be good as new. if by 'new' you mean 'slightly less punchy and bitter than the zombie i've been staggering around as since about 3 this morning'.


luckily, i didn't have to tux-up and stand around on the red carpet last night. instead, i spent most of the evening watching the show in a hotel room/production office/all you can eat buffet right next door to the kodak and then, once the cast of crash was finished dry humping in their seats, and it became apparent than no one would be making the trip to our interview room (for the record, we got everyone we needed to get after the show at the governor's ball), i got to go back to the office to write and cut a piece. when i was done, i sleep-drove back home a little after 3 am to enjoy about 3 hours of sleep in my own bed rather than an office sofa, before it was time to get back to work.

and now here i am, full of a tasty take out dinner and ready to drop a quick non-oscar story on you before i head back to sleep.

anyhow...

thursday afternoon, i shot a little pre-oscar piece with the two hosts of my show. the premise was that the female host was surprising the male host with a custom spray-on tan by the guy who gives eva longoria her all over caramelly goodness. this involved him stripping down as much as taste would allow, and then shooting him from the waist up as the process happened and the female host giggled with delight. when it was all over, i actually had some cute stuff with which to work. later that night, i cut the piece and was pretty satisfied with the way it came out.

friday evening, my little opus aired...and before the boys went to bed, since they are big fans of the male host of the show - with whom i am close friends and whose daughters jb and ab each lust over - i treated them to a private tivo screening so they could laugh at their pal standing with his shirt off smiling for the cameras. once they caught sight of what was going on, they had ear to ear smiles until the segment ended.

for the millions of you who didn't happen to see the piece, it concluded with the female host happily checking out the results and then, since it is kind of a running joke how much she loves getting a fake tan, pushing the male host out of the way, declaring it was now her turn and pulling a screen in front of the camera for privacy. fade to black, roll credits...the end.

i turned off the tv, turned to the boys and asked, 'so...what did you think?'

without batting an eyelash, jb looked up at me and loudly declared, with a hint of frustration in his voice...

'now i want to see her get naked!'


long story short...the restraining order will be lifted in 45 days.

The Red Hot Inside Scoop On How Massive Tinseltown Deals Get Done. Strictly On The Hush-Hush.

today it was announced that carol burnett will be making a guest appearance on 'desperate housewives' next month.

my buddy at work swears that he is the reason why.

here's his line of reasoning - and if you ask me, it seems pretty plausible.

at some event last year, this guy interviewed marc cherry, the very happy man who created 'desperate housewives'...


...and asked him who his dream guest star on the show would be. without hesitating, he replied 'carol burnett'.

a few weeks later, this same guy found himself working at the tvland awards, where he found himself interviewing - of all people - carol burnett.


when he told her what cherry had said, she told him that she was a fan of 'desperate housewives' and would love to help out if they would let her.

she leaves and a few minutes later, who should come up the press line for an interview but marc cherry? my friend told him what burnett had just said and, as you'd imagine, it made him pretty happy.

fast forward on the calendar a few months, and the next thing you know it's a done deal.

whether or not it would have happened without my friend's dogged effort...i don't know. but i gladly endulged his theory today when he told me - and not just because i thought flattery would get me some girl scout samoas from his stash.

Haw

remember my little screed about 'choose your own adventure' books from about 2 weeks ago?

well, this morning i discovered this collection of books we all may have missed.



i think they're just the bee's knees.

(big ups to my man at howling fantods and the fine folks at boing boing)