Move Over, Bacon

welcome one and all to the first installment of what will undoubtedly be a very popular featured series here at The Metz:

"Pointless Debate About A Subject of Such Abject Inconsequence That You Have To Question Whether Or Not It's Even Worth Reading (and Certainly Whether Or Not It Was Worth Writing)"

today's red-hot topic:

"does ordering a bacon, lettuce, avocado and tomato sandwich by specifically asking for a 'balt' make you a tool?'

as always, today's debate will be handled by blog regulars moe berg and simon metz.

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"no, it does NOT make you a tool!" by simon metz



i would like to begin today by stating without the slightest hesitation that ordering a "balt" by name is not only nothing of which to be ashamed, it is, in fact, a way for a restaurant patron or other lunch-buyer/eater to demonstrate to the world that they possess the grand confidence and worldliness towards which we all strive. ordering a "balt" says to your fellow man "i know a thing or two about sandwiches. and also acronyms". more importantly, ordering a "balt" delivers a crystal clear signal to your waiter or waitress that you are a member of a new generation of forward thinking sandwich eaters, unbound by the antiquated tradition of ordering your lunch by listing its ingredients one by one. no, my friends, despite what my colleague may tell you below, ordering a "balt" does not make you a tool. it makes you a renegade on par with paradigm changers like issac newton, enrico fermi and pol pot.

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"sorry asshole, but it DOES make you a tool!" by moe berg


ok, first thing's first. ordering a bacon, lettuce, avocado and tomato by asking for a "balt" is so truly fucked up, i don't even know where to begin. i mean, you may think you're big time when you do it, but what's to stop the waitress from just flipping it on you by being all "you mean a 'blat'?" or like "sorry, sir, but around here we that a 'talb'." how would you feel then? pretty bad, i'd wager. and as for saving time, are you fucking kidding me? what do you have to do that's so important that those 2 seconds are going to make a difference in your life? i've seen where you live, metz, and i know what you do with that lotion and that giant stuffed panda, and more free time is the last thing you need you sick fuck. oh, and bottom line, if you need to feel like mr big dick by changing the sandwich rules, just order a turkey club, hold the turkey and add avocado and you'll get the same thing and you won't look like such a dick when you do it.

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wow wee! talk about a donnybrook! absolutely amazing!

now it's up to you, dear reader. the time has come take it to the comments and settle things once and for all! believe me, you will never know just how much is riding on your turnout, your decision, and your insightful opinion.

(as always, the views expressed by messrs berg and metz do not necessarily represent those of the management.)

Sweep The Leg (Part VI)

orange, yellow, green, blue and brown can all suck it.


presenting

the 10 things jb and ab had to do in order to earn their red striped belt at little dragons karate:

1. demonstrate successful full-body rope suspension
2. provide acceptable definition of 'discipline'
3. complete 7 minutes of uninterrupted aerobic exercise
4. complete 7 minutes of uninterrupted big booty ass-shakin'
5. eat ortolan in plain sight of God
   
6. translate entire script of "schindler's list" into zoom 'ubbi dubbi' language
7. prepare for the singularity
8. kill on leno
   
9. "it"
10. "it" with a cinnamon raisin bagel

for the record, that's a look of admiration, not horror.

My Joy Can Be Yours As Well...For The Meager Sum of 45 Dollars Per Inning of Baseball To Be Enjoyed

this year, los angeles dodgers' third baseman wilson betemit will make $405,000.


i will not.

this past saturday, however, i did manage to subsidize a nice chunk of mr betemit's weekly paycheck with a surprisingly large percentage of mine - thanks to my slightly regretable decision to take jb and ab to dodger stadium for their very first baseball game.


first thing's first.

the decision to take these two out to the ball game was not made lightly. over the years i've seen more than enough dumb fathers with kids who are way too young to appreciate any of what's going on but were still schlepped out to a stadium in full mini-gear to prove that daddy is a big time fan - so big time that he is willing to subject a poor, clueless kid and everyone in the stands around them to what happens when you take a two year old to something other than "sesame street live". that wasn't ever going to be me. it was only after i was completely and totally convinced that my boys a) were old enough to appreciate a real ballpark experience and b) had at least a rudimentary grasp on the game that i decided to go for it.

and they were psyched.

it was all they talked about for the week before gametime.

at least until we got there and things got rolling.

i mean, sure, i got that wide-eyed 'wow, we're really here with our dad' reaction that i hoped i would get when we saw the stadium and walked to our seats, (you know, the one billy crystal has reminisced about in every single interview he's ever given) and that was nice.

almost nice enough to make me forget the endless orgy of impulsive-demanding-of-snacks and kvetching that soon followed.

with apologies to vin scully, here's the play by play.

bottom of the 1st inning:

boys demand lunch. jb insists on hot dogs. ab has been dreaming of stadium chicken fingers for days. we leave our seats, go stand in line, drop around $35 for a full on, drinks-and-all spread and miss back-to-back cubs home runs in the process.

top of the 2nd:

jb disgusted by grill marks on his dodger dog, refuses to eat more than a few bites.


ab polishes off the fries, turns up nose at the chicken.


bottom of the 2nd:

bionic-eared and hank-kingsley-moustachioed ice cream vendor overhears ab casually mention to me that he would like a snack, immediately stops to put the hard-sell on a 5 year old. 5 year old convinces me to drop $6 on a half-gallon of cookies 'n' cream.

one spoonful in, ab decides he doesn't like the ice cream. thankfully, jb picks up some of the slack.


top of the 3rd:

jb takes it upon himself to stop the cotton candy vendor.


at $3 a serving, this will be the smallest financial outlay of the day - but with jb's interest in actually eating the fluffy pink product petering out after 3 bites, it will also ultimately have the highest cost to consumption ratio of anything else bought at the stadium that day.

bottom of the 3rd:

ab begins to bitch about being "sweaty" immediately after noticing the $5 frozen lemonade vendor lurking in the section adjacent to ours.

top of the 4th:

ab's bitching becomes annoying enough for me to offer to buy a frozen lemonade to go along with his jumbo ice water whenever the vendor reappears closer to where we are sitting.

bottom of the 4th:

vendor never reappears, ab's annoying bitching has become a full-on whiny kvetch. we leave our seats, stand in line, buy frozen lemonade.

bottom of the 5th:

return to our seats, lemonade is opened and tasted.



judgement: "too sour".

ab continues to talk about how sweaty he is. jb begins to pick up the talking points. i make a comedic and theatrical attempt to show them that they are, in fact, not the ones who are sweaty...i am. they are not convinced. ab remarks that he wants to leave.

i have had enough.

i calmly but firmly remind my sons about how excited they were to come to the game and explain that, since i have generously bought them every single thing for which they have asked, i would like them to stay with me and enjoy the game until the seventh inning stretch. they begrudgingly agree.

bottom of the 6th:


the boys' first-ever participation in a "wave" makes everything all better for a moment.


middle of the 7th:

boys are confused when everyone in the stadium rises to sing. it immediately dawns on me that while my sons can sing along with any number of classic songs in all possible genres, i have never taught them the words to 'take me out to the ball game'.

i feel like a complete piece of shit.

bottom of the 7th:

the shame and guilt forces me to take my poor, deprived children to the souvenir stand on the way out of the stadium - where they are treated to $56 worth of hats and foam fingers.


a cool breeze blows across the parking lot as we walk to our car. all is finally right in chavez ravine.

ride home:

i provide myself with 45 minutes of well-deserved peace and quiet by tossing an ether soaked rag into the back of my car.


thank you, abner doubleday. thank you for a day i will never forget.

SHS Rocks The House

go crazy, folks! go crazy!

"why," you ask?

because last night, your boy got to enjoy a rare midweek, high-style night out at the premiere of 'knocked up'.



now, as we have seen in the past, The Metz is not above leaning on a little star effing/gawking once in a blue moon - and today's post will eventually feature plenty of big names. however, this time around the big headline is not who i happened to sit across the aisle from or spy loading up on the sweet potato fries at the after party, it's the incredible Hollywood Representin' that was done by my blessed alma mater, the 135th most prestigious public high school according to newsweek magazine, syosset high school.

SHS factor #1:
since mrs b decided to jump ship at the last minute (much to her chagrin today) , i invited my buddy scott - who i have known since i was about my sons' age - to come along and enjoy the spectacle.

SHS factor #2:
we bumped into our old friend jon - who began his showbiz career by singing in Babar, the group i hastily assembled for my junior year battle of the bands, and who is now a big time movie exec.

SHS factor #3:
the writer and director of 'knocked up' is Judd Apatow...


...who in the past year has officially wrested the title of Most Powerful Syosset Alumni from both natalie portman and secretary of labor elaine chao.


yes, the sy hi pride was in full effect - despite the fact that, being a few years older, judd wouldn't know me from our mutual high school radio station staff advisor jack demasi or edna farber, the english teacher who gave us both great encouragement to be creative. (he used that encouragement to become a very successful film-maker, i used it to write this sparsely attended weblog.)

as the product of a modern hebrew school education, i also took great pride in watching the scene that unfolded in the lobby after the film.

(here comes the star fucking part!)

to my silent delight, i came within a foot or so of The Heavy Hitting Jews Of Comedy - adam sandler, jack black, sasha baron cohen, ben stiller, garry shandling and apatow, along with token dramatic goy tobey maguire - as they all kibbitzed (undoubtedly about banking, the media, the best gentile blood to use in matzoh and other popular semitic topics) with smiles on their faces. their bubbies would all have been proud.

count me among the hundreds of other folks who found themselves blatantly rubbernecking as we made our way out of the theater and towards the party - where i spied a personal hero of mine, phil rosenthal, standing and enjoying a solo nosh, but was too chickenshit to approach him and strike up an awkward conversation.

as for the movie? it's terrific. that's really the only word i can think of to use if i want to sum it all up. hilarious, sensitive, crude, thoughtful...but most of all terrific. and if you've had a kid recently, good luck keeping your eyes dry in the last 5 minutes and credits.

especially if you have to be up before dawn, you're crosstown and it's already almost 10 pm.

i'm emotional like that.

This Begins With News And Ends With Me Making A Schmuck Out Of My Son.

first up, mrs b had her surgery yesterday.

the good doc put her down, poked two holes in her side, flossed in the scope, lit her up like a chinese lantern, took a look around, and immediately changed his plans. the giant hernia that he and the radiologist thought was there thanks to the MRI she had 2 weeks ago? yeah. not there.

so, good news...no hernia surgery, no 8 week recovery, in and out of the hospital in 18 hours. bad news...to correct what really is wrong will require another surgery. bleh.

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and while i'm reporting from the front, and recording things for posterity, i should mention that yesterday's medical rollercoaster was actually the second we had around here in three days, thanks to jb's Mother's Day Back Seat Shazam.

the plan was to roll to The Grove with the crew, including Mother B, who has been in town ready to help with all the shit we thought we weren't going to be able to do because of the surgery that was supposed to happen. the itinerary included walking around, drinking in the sun, getting a nosh at the farmer's market, letting the boys ride the trolley...that sort of thing.

anyhow, before we hit the 101, we stop to gas up the m'van - and just as i finish filling 'er up, jb frantically unbuckles his seat, jumps up, starts screaming and crying and clutching his chest and yelling 'my heart's beating so fast! this hurts! take me to the doctor!'


yeah.

this from a kid who likes going to the doctor about as much as i like going to ruby's.

tears are flowing, he's screaming, he's crying, we're trying to keep cool and not freak him out more than he already is. long story short, 2 minutes later as we're racing to the local urgent care, his pain vanishes and he's singing along to 'born to run' like it never happened. 2 hours and a thorough urgent care exam later, we are free to enjoy what's left of our Mother's Day with a best case diagnosis of nothing. worst case scenario, my baby had his first Big Boy Gas Cramp.

crisis averted, we rethought our plans to hump it all the way to The Grove and decided on a little Let's Forget This Whole Thing Happened Ice Cream Party at the local Cold Stone Creamery. and when that was done, we hit barnes & noble - where i let jb pick out any book he wanted for being so good at the doctor's office.

to my dismay, he insisted on getting george tenet's new book.

in the end, though, after a frank discussion, we both agreed we really shouldn't put any money in that son of a bitch's pocket and he happily settled on his second choice.


normally, i wouldn't have gone for it, but he enjoyed the 2006 edition so much, i kind of had to get him the 2007 edition.

Taste Of Foot

i've been thinking for a while of a way i could make The Metz more interactive. perhaps inspire my readers to roll up their sleeves and participate a little, instead of just soaking up my Genius Word Gravy like so much internet bread.


("genius word gravy" is a registered trademark of SiMoeCo Industries, LLC)

today is step one in the grand hands-on experiment.

presenting the game sure to sweep the technorati charts in no time:


"how well do you know moe berg?"

the rules are simple. i provide three real-life situations in which i was required to drop a little Genius Word Gravy. you try to deduce, through the wonder of multiple choice, what it is i actually said when prompted to speak.

we'll start easy and get harder. and if you want to prevent yourself from falling behind, feel free to consult the archives for a hint on solving question one.

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question one:


moe berg is interviewing french film legend catherine deneuve about her new film, "les voleurs", in which she shares a sensual same-sex love scene in a bathtub, with an actress young enough to be her daughter. in an attempt to butter ms. deneuve up for a question about said scene, moe berg remarks:

a) "forgive me for saying so, but i actually think you look more beautiful in this film than you've ever looked on screen before."
b) "i can't remember the last time i saw a love scene as sensual and erotic as the one in this film."
c) "i'm sitting there watching this thing and...you can almost see pubic hair!"

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question two:


moe berg is having a few cocktails with friends in a bar on the upper west side of manhattan a few years after graduating college. a not-unattractive girl who used to live across the street from him off campus, and who he hasn't seen since graduating, walks up and says hello. the two twenty-somethings fall into a pleasant conversation, during which this young woman remarks that she has recently begun culinary school. moe berg smiles broadly and says:

a) "wow. i really admire you for following your dream. that's something not enough people do."
b) "knowing the type of person you are, i'm sure you're going to be a big hit in whatever kitchen is lucky enough to have you cooking in it."
c) "pop quiz, hotshot. how do you make a beef wellington? HOW DO YOU MAKE A BEEF WELLINGTON?!"

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question three:


moe berg is in the operating room where his twin sons have just been born 10 weeks premature. their health is still uncertain. the mood is guardedly optimistic, as the boys have been born alive, but decidedly grim, because they are so small and arrived so early. as soon as they have each been whisked off to the neonatal intensive care unit, moe's wife's obgyn begins the task of closing the cesarean incision. after what seems like a silent eternity, the doctor comes around from behind the operating curtain with slow, deliberate steps to talk to moe and his wife about the uncertain status of their newborn children. his scrubs are covered from chin to waist with the dark stains of quickly drying blood. moe is silent for a moment before he opens his mouth and says:

a) "doctor, before you say a word, i want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing all you've done here tonight."
b) "doctor, if the nurses in that NICU right now work as hard as i know you've worked tonight, i have no fear for my children's health."
c) "doc, please tell me that's barbeque sauce you've got all over your clothes."

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i'd put the answers in the comments, but i have a feeling you've all done pretty well on this one.

And Great Grandpa Gus' Pink Toothless Gums

we're dealing with a double dose of disturbing news around here tonight. thank god we're not talking anything supermajor or life changing, but it is disturbing nonetheless.

first up, we found out last night that mrs b is going to have to have surgery pretty soon to re-repair the hernia that was supposed to have been completely repaired at the same time they excavated bb three months ago. to paraphrase the surgeon, 'you know that swelling that never went down and sensitivity that never went away? yeah, well i just got a peek at the mri you insisted on having even after your obgyn dismissed your concerns, and it turns out you were right. something's up.'

hopefully, she's going to have the surgery taken care of in about a week and a half, followed by a 6 week recovery period - during which she will be unable to lift anything heavier than 10 pounds. as in her newborn son. this is probably also going to prevent her from fixing my usual dinner of two and a half dozen baked potatoes.


as for the second bit of unsettling news... we can now confirm that bb looks exactly, exactly like my mother did when she was an infant. i don't have a scanner, so i can't put up a perfect side by side comparison, but i can do this.


the picture may not do it justice, but trust me...we're talking clonish spitting image here, folks.

moms b happens to be in town right now (who do you think brought the picture?), and i can confirm that she is over the moon about this discovery. as for me, i'm somewhere between amused and very amused. while it will be interesting to have a mini-mom-man living with me for the next 18 years, mrs b and i will both have to keep a close eye to make sure he doesn't develop grandma's tremendous boobs to go along with her contagious smile.

Maybe I'm Just Bitter Because My Pledge Name Was "Wickett"

george lucas just made my shit list.


first thing's first.

aside from about 25 minutes of a phantom menace hbo broadcast that i saw one night a few years ago before i dozed off, i've never seen any of the "new" star wars movies. i just never had any desire at all - despite my emotional attachment to natalie portman. i'm content with my nice, happy location-specific childhood memories of the first three star wars - seeing the original with my old man at an ornate old theater in bayside when i was probably about 5, getting the goosebumps when the lights went down and the music started for the empire strikes back three years later at a multiplex in levittown, and imagining, for some reason, i could change the traffic lights with my own jedi mind power three years after that, as my father and i drove back from a showing of return of the jedi in great neck.

at the end of the day, on the spectrum of star wars fans - 1 being someone who was molested by someone in a stormtrooper mask and 10 being a minutiae-debating, convention-going jar jar apologist - i probably fall somewhere safely in the middle.

anyhow...

for the last 3 weeks or so, the only dvd the boys have wanted to watch is 'school of rock', which i originally had no problem with. in fact, i think it's a perfect movie. (maybe i'll explain why another time.) but, after a while, like anything around here, familiarity has bred contempt, and after a few dozen screenings, jack black and his little crew have gotten old.

and then out of the blue, ab was digging through the discs and asked if he could watch return of the jedi.


and watch return of the jedi is what he and his brother did. and i joined them. and i enjoyed it one more time after all these years.


about 3/4 of the way through, 5 year olds being 5 year olds, their interest began to wane a little bit. in an attempt to keep them tuned in, i mentioned that if they watched all the way to the end, those little ewoks that they had instantly fallen for were going to sing a very silly song called "yub nub".

that's all i needed to say.

and so we watched.

all the way to the end.

and when we finally got to the end, to my utter dismay, and to the great disappointment of my trusting children, after all the selling i had done, there was no "yub nub". even after i tracked back on the dvd and double checked all the audio channels.

no "yub nub".

suddenly, it dawned on me.

in his legendary zeal to "improve" his original cut, george lucas had all traces of "yub nub" scrubbed from the dvd.

george lucas made me a liar.

strike one.

and so, having been tarnished in the eyes of my children for the very first time, i did what any wronged father would do. i hit the internet to find a copy of "yub nub" to play for them so i could prove that i'm not a total asshole.



strike two.

the boys went totally fucking apeshit the instant they heard the song. after two plays, it was all they wanted to listen to. every 5 minutes for the rest of the day and slightly less since... "dad, play 'yub nub'!"

and now, a few days later, it's not enough that they're still humming it to themselves without realizing it, but they have begun referring to their baby brother as "yub nub".

call me "yub nub"

strike three, yo. strike three.