While I continue to glow unabashedly after Senator Barack Obama’s chill-inducing Presidential nomination acceptance speech - I’m not kidding, I imagine telling my kids about his speeches - here are a few links to get you through your Friday.

ODD THANK YOU GIFTS: Jon alerted me to this story about Jason Kidd committing to give his gold medal away to a casino hotel owner. Why? Well, because she was such an outstanding host, that’s why.

“Last summer, we stayed at the Wynn (resort) for a lifetime, close to three weeks,” Kidd said. “We met at a banquet, we got to talking, and she really understands the game. I told her I’d make a deal with her, that if we won the gold medal, I’d give it to her. She thought I was kidding. But I told her I had one already, and the way they treated us at the Wynn, it was the least I could do.”

What a fantastic display of humility and judgment.

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FREE MUSIC, IT’S FREE I SAY, FREE: Go, right now, to Jonk Music and download Ray LaMontagne’s “You Are the Best Thing,” set to appear on his upcoming album “Gossip in the Grain.” So, so good.

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UNMISSABLE WEEKLY WRITE-UPS: I hate to bury this tip three links down, because it surely deserves more, but whatever: anyone watching the insanely good Mad Man needs to read Vulture’s episode recaps. They’re almost as perfect as the show.

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HEAD-SCRATCHING DECISIONS: American Idol, a former juggernaut show that drew a pathetic 20 million viewers per show last season, had some changes to make to regain its foothold as the most popular television show in history. Faced with a stale format, incompetent judges, talented competitors routinely sent home in favor of Sanjaya Hung’s and the like, and horrifying product placement commercials, the Idol executives calmly and coolly addressed zero of those problems and instead decided to, aw what the hell, add a fourth judge. Nice fake try, but I’m still ignoring you, American Idol.

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THE DARK SIDE OF UNCLE JOEY: So, it’s confirmed: Alanis Morrissette’s mid-90s anthem to angst “You Oughta Know” was written about Dave Coulier, the one and only Uncle Joey on “Full House.” I was thinking about finding footage from the show and compiling clips of Uncle Joey with the song in the background, but then I got distracted and it probably wouldn’t have been funny anyway. And besides, no news about this song will ever make me think of anything except Kevin performing it in “The Office.”

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MORE FREE MUSIC, YES, THIS ONE IS FREE TOO: Reader “Randball’s Stu,” the screen name of my dear old friend Willie Fisterbottom, sent along a link to the Whigs’ “Right Hand on my Heart.” Thanks, Big Willie.

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PROUD YOUTH ATHLETE PARENTING: Most of you have already heard the story of young fireballer Jericho Scott, the nine-year-old pitcher who was so dominant in his league he was actually banned from pitching. Yes, this is a true story, and, if you’re the type to have your day ruined by hearing about the ridiculous behavior from your fellow Americans, you should probably steer clear. Because this story has one crazy amount of wrong.

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UPDATES ON THE LIFE OF BILL BAILEY: I bet you thought you didn’t care about the Guns N Roses anymore. Well, think again. I defy you to read this excerpt on the upcoming GNR biography and not want to read the book. Speaking as a kid who did Axl’s side sway dance for about six years straight, I was sold pretty easily.

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ANOTHER GREAT ESSAY FROM ‘THE MORNING NEWS’: “Second Place is First to Lose,” by Todd Levin, about his obsession with the new video game consoles. Choice excerpt, about his purchase of a PS3 on ebay:

What followed is still a mystery to me, but I do recall the release I experienced after “winning” my auction. It was a familiar sensation, eerily like one I’d experienced years earlier when, in full sprint, less than one hundred feet from my apartment, I finally succumbed in my struggle against a sudden, crippling, clammy intestinal illness and defecated in my khakis right in the middle of the sidewalk. A warm euphoric feeling, quickly cooled by a sad, fetid reality that seemed to linger forever, as it settled in my shoes. The main difference between that, and spending almost $1,000 on a video game console, was I didn’t have to tell my girlfriend I shat my pants.

Yeah. It’s a good piece.

Friend of B. and faux-hawk lover Mike R. sent along the following video, which proves either Norm Coleman’s camp thinks we’re idiots, or they are idiots themselves. Take a peek:

You know the part when the little girl says, “Al Franken… he’s like 100″ years old? Well, here’s the thing: Al Franken is 57, aaaaaaaand Norm Coleman is 59. Sure you approve this message, Senator?

It was two winters ago, late 2006, that I decided to join the Big Brother Big Sister program. I’d been toying with the idea for months, but kept telling myself I was too busy, too strapped for cash, had too many priorities…all the lame excuses you convince yourself to believe in when you don’t feel like taking any initiative. It wasn’t until a co-worker decided to sign up and returned from his orientation reporting that some kids were on the waiting list for over two years – two years – that I decided to take the plunge. There was an undeniable need, all the sudden eating at me, and my hollow excuses faded away. I signed up in the early spring of ’07 and waited to be matched with a Little.

Read the rest of this entry »

Embed Comedy Central video. Why, yes, you can feel free to pump your fist in your sad little cubicle; I know I did. Here is a little taste, from the Daily Show. Expect more. Lots more.

Presidential candidate and former dog-eater Barack Obama announced Delaware Senator Joe Biden as his VP running mate this past weekend, a move likely supported by most Democrats as the fella seems pretty popular within the party and is generally a hoot on The Daily Show. Because his name will likely come up at watercoolers after the more interesting conversations such as the weather and the unfortunate demise of the Audrina-Lo friendship subside, here are some details about J-Bizzle (courtesy of Wikipedia) that you can throw out in an attempt to sound at least slightly well-read.

>> Biden is a long-time member and current chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations. He generally supports troop surges and had previously argued for increased military action in Iraq. Drafted the “Biden-Brownback Resolution” in 2007 for planned troop deployment in Iraq.

>> He once said about Rudy Giuliani, “There’s only three things he mentions in a sentence: a noun, and a verb and 9/11.” Burn.

>> Voted for heavier punishments for hate crimes, and drafted the Violence Against Women Act.

>> Supports abstinence education, claims the No Child Left Behind Act is underfunding schools, has claimed his top priority is the energy crisis.

>> The NRA gave Biden an “F” rating.

>> 100% approval rating from unions, 32% approval rating from US Chamber of Commerce.

>> Supports Roe v. Wade, supports the Partial Birth Abortion Ban, opposes federal funding of abortions.

>> “Biden favors an American deployment of troops to Sudan. In support of this, Biden said senior U.S. military officials in Europe told him that 2,500 U.S. troops could “radically change the situation on the ground now.”” Sweet.

>> “Biden is opposed to American financing of abstinence only programs to combat HIV-AIDS in Africa. In 2007, he cosponsored the HIV Prevention Act which would end President Bush’s mandate that one third of all funds be earmarked to abstinence only programs.” Also sweet.

B’s take: though he’s prone to make gaffes of the politically incorrect quotes variety, he’s got a solid track record from most organizations and has shown the ability to cross party lines to get things done. Consider him the Democratic version of John McCain. I’m a fan.

A short-n-sweet list of ten reads that are worth your time:

Drew Magary’s list of journalist/athlete man crushes that have gone too far. He’s totally right: it’s just not that goddamned funny. Also: somehow, Bert Blyleven’s crush on Bert Blyleven misses the cut.

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OK, be honest, how many musicians on Paste Magazine’s list of 22 up-and-comers had you heard of before? I had three.

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You’ve probably already seen the new Timberwolves jerseys that were unveiled last week, but how about the mock-ups for the alternative greens or blacks? Both are pretty dope, admit it. I would so wear that green jersey over some jorts to my local tavern for bingo night.

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Trending dangerously close to “actual relevant news” here: a story about the pros/cons of windmill turbines (though the cons are laughably minimal) and a new potential source of energy: asphalt.

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Wow, apparently Ernest Borgnine and I have a lot in common. I choose life!

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New Wilco song. Sounds a bit like the Summerteeth of old, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

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Shocking news of the week: That Bigfoot sighting was all a hoax. No way. No. Get out of here. And, while I suppose it makes sense to publish the pranksters, I think we need to be more concerned with how to punish the citizens stupid enough to believe in the sighting in the first place. I say, if there is public proof that you believe in Bigfoot, you lose your right to vote. See, now this is why I should be President.

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Speaking of retarded policy decisions, get a load of President Bush’s proposed adjustment to birth control laws: “The administration’s proposal would also allow pharmacists to refuse to supply contraceptives and not refer the customer to another employee or a nearby pharmacy, as California law now requires.” So, really, if your pharmacist doesn’t think you should be having sex, they will now have the ability to refuse offering birth control (if the bill is passed). If I’m reading that wrong, and this isn’t yet another example of an unethical injection of personal viewpoints into public policy, please let me know. Because I truly hope I’m wrong. It’s exhausting hating this administration so much. (Hat tip to my grandma for alerting me to this story. Seriously.)

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Link of the week: April Winchell’s imagined celebrity correspondence. That April. Damned funny. And probably totally fine with your decision to use birth control.

I was originally planning on titling this post with the same “People I Love” phrase that I used for the Volkswagen Apologists write-up, with the intention of creating a of series of innocuous jabs at the various sub-cultures of our society.

Didn’t take. I couldn’t bring myself to use the word “love” even in jest, because there is no room for jokes or lightheartedness of any kind when discussing “busy road cyclists.” Because I detest them.

You know who these people are. The cyclists who decide they can ride their bike down the side of – even middle, if they’re that rare kind of asshole – of busy public streets, holding up traffic and inducing in drivers flights of both panic (“oh my god, if this guy falls I will run him over”) and rage (“I hope this motherfucker falls, because then I get to run him over”). I hate you people. I don’t care if there are rules stating you shouldn’t be riding on the sidewalks; that maybe the side of the road is your designated riding area. Get on the sidewalk anyway, you overly-fit pricks. You have no idea how much every non-cyclist hates you.

It’s universal, I promise. You may very well be a nice person (I’m speaking directly to my father here, because I know he’s into biking; Dad, you aren’t one of these culprits, are you?), but when you’re riding that closely to automobiles, on public streets, causing traffic jams, I promise you everyone on the planet hates your guts.

Though, I may have it worse than most. I’ll admit that. It’s an absolute day-ruiner for me, coming upon a busy road cyclist. I could be driving a Jaquar, listening to Motown, on my way to cash a million dollar check with my girlfriend riding shotgun and Adrienne Lima in the backseat (just for looks, honest!) with the sunroof open on the sunniest fucking day of the goddamn year, and if I have to do the slow-drive/swerve thing to protect against nailing this bastard cyclist, there goes the day. Ruined.

And don’t give me this “I have just as much a right to the road as cars” BS. I’m not talking about the law here. I’m talking about being a decent member of society. You don’t drive in the left lane going under the speed limit, you don’t cut in line, you don’t stiff the server, and you don’t ride your goddamn bicycle on the road when cars are actually trying to get somewhere. Get on the sidewalk, get to a park, or find a trail. Point is, keep away from the roads.

Unless you want me to run you over. Because one of these days, I swear, it’s going to happen. (Except for you dad. Maybe.)

A couple weeks back, loyal reader Keith posed a question (pasted below) that I promised to address in a separate post. I just realized I forgot to publish said response. So, here it is.

The original comment:

I am curious your thoughts on this line of thinking. In this purely statistical (quantitative) era of production analysis should we look at MVP’s only under that lens? For example, a few years ago Shannon Stewart was being floated as a potential MVP candidate for the difference he made for the Twins. Was that purely statistical or was their a qualitative assessment being made based on the fact that the teams performance improved after he came aboard.

Another example, you mention Grady, Milton, AROD, Kinsler, and I think we could also throw in Hamilton to that mix. Aside from the Yanks these guys are playing for piss poor teams. Should the team they play for matter? Is MVP really a MSSP (Most Statistically Significant Player) or is more like MVS&TP (Most Valuable Statistic and Team Player). How valuable is a player if they don’t get their team over the edge…and how do we quantify the edge (is it the edge of mediocrity, the edge to a Wild Card Berth, Best record?)
Just some thoughts…I would love to hear your analysis.

And my response:

It’s no secret that I’m a full-fledged stat-head. Proud of it, in fact. I’m of the thinking that nearly everything you want to know about a player or team’s success (or lack thereof) can be obtained by studying statistics. Every meaningful action in baseball – every pitch, every at-bat, every batted ball, every defensive play – is tracked, measured, recorded and analyzed, and thankfully they’re pretty easy for the common fan to comprehend.

The MLB is different from the NFL or NBA, where quality stats are much harder to create and analyze. In those sports, players are wholly dependent on their teammates for help. For making the extra pass, for throwing them the ball, for calling running plays, for making tough catches, etc.

Baseball’s a different beast. Milton Bradley could be the most gritty, hustley, gamery, hard-working, friendly clubhouse savior dude in the world, but it won’t stop Kevin Millwood from hanging his breaking ball. His extra BP the day before won’t help David Murphy from falling into a slump. It was great that he ran out that can-of-corn to the left fielder, but CJ Wilson blew the game anyway. (You get my point.) It’s a team sport, sure, but the statistics are a completely valid, all-encompassing view of a player’s worth.

So, yes: I believe that the best statistical player in the league is also the most valuable. Best statistics=best player. Best player=most valuable.

Answer: about 20 seconds after you click play and begin laughing. Remember when you thought Intervention might be losing its luster? Turns out they were just focusing on the wrong drugs. Enter: computer duster.

Obligatory disclaimer: hope she gets better, terrible addiction, what a shame blah blah blah welcome back, Intervention.

So my friends and I are hanging out at my pal Murph’s house Friday night. It’s our standard get-together: drinking beers, watching the Twins, debating everything under the sun until we’re blue in the face, the girls getting sick of us and heading to a bar, us completely ignoring their exit in favor of the chit-chat. Man, do we have fun.

Once we notice it’s well past 3 am, we decide to go to sleep. Before doing so, Murph and I take our preemptive hangover remedy (which works wonders, and this is coming from an owner of epic hangovers): a multivitamin, three Ibuprofens and a huge glass of water. I pop the pills, chug the water and hit the sack.

In the middle of the night, I wake up with a terrible taste in my mouth. It’s of the chalky, dissolved-pill variety, as if one of the pills half-melted in the back of my throat. I’m nauseous because of it. I stumble upstairs, slam some water, and find my way back to bed, where I lie in a combination of pain and disgust, praying to fall back asleep so I don’t have to deal with this taste anymore.

Next morning, I wake to find the taste lessened but still evident. I head to the bathroom, brush my teeth and proceed to take my morning pee. As I’m mid-stream, I do the (slightly gross) sniff-in, spit-out, “hock a loogie” maneuver because I’m a bit stuffed up. So I sniff in, open my mouth, and…

Out drops an Ibuprofen. From my nose, out my mouth, to the bottom of the toilet. Which means I’d somehow stored one of the pills up my nose for about seven hours. I nearly puked.

Soon after, though, I realized I had no hangover at all. So it looks like my future may involve the purposeful jamming of pills into my nasal cavity before bed. Like I said, my hangovers are epic.