Maybe I'm Gravy

Selig and the Steroid Era

A while back I started writing for National Sports Review. It seemed to make sense, me liking sports, sports liking me. One thing turned into another, and now I get the pleasure of unleashing my thoughts on anything sports-related I deem worthy of discussing. Cutler leaving a cushy situation in Denver for the lousy offense of Chicago. Joba Chamberlain's poor attempt to befriend a Nebraska state trooper while being arrested. The Red Sox decision to visually pollute Earth Day with their ugly green alternate uniforms.

Here's one of my favorites, a column I posted back in February.   

Yes, Selig, the Steroid Era is 100% Your Fault*

(Warning: This article uses CAPS very liberally. Think of it as words on steroids.)

Selig, thanks for the Steroid Era. You came out this week and said it wasn’t your fault. Guess what. It was, and it is. You were in charge. Why you’re still in charge, I have no idea. You’re the one responsible for the blackest eye in the history of professional baseball. You pretending it’s not your fault is like the CEO of GM saying it’s not his fault American automakers are begging for bailouts. Of course it’s his fault! He was The Man. The one with the power to make changes. In Baseball, you’re The Man, and you made no changes. None. You let a generation of players cheat their steroid-filled asses off. And you took a generation of fans along for the performance-enhanced ride.

Selig, this happened right before your very eyes. Players got HUGE. Not just big. But ENORMOUS. And UNNATURAL. As fans, we didn’t suspect anything. You know why? Because we ASSUMED there was a strategy in place to prevent dudes from getting juiced till they popped. Apparently, we were wrong. And, in the process, we were wronged. By you.

Selig, the fact is, not just a few players were caught doing steroids. It wasn’t a few bad apples ruining it for everyone else. So many players were getting juiced it has become a capitalized Era. In 2003, 103 players got tested and caught, more than 5%. We all know that. And those are just the ones who were stupid enough to get caught. There wasn’t blood tests back then, and there wasn’t tests for  a lot of the stuff out there. We’ll never know how many players were actually juicing because you waited so long to test, and you waited so long to make it AGAINST THE RULES. Because until 2004, it wasn’t.

Selig, it wasn’t just MVPs, Cy Young winners and household names. It was middle relievers and utility infielders. Everyone was getting juiced. David Segui. Randy Valerde. Little Chucky Knobloch. Seriously. Chuck Friggin Knobloch. Dude was like  5’5”. Everyone was juicing. Maybe you were too, Selig. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised. You knew enough suppliers.

Selig, your era IS the Steroid Era. That’s what you, me and everyone else has been has been living in for the past 2 decades. The Home Run record? A sham. 11 of the past 22 MVPs? Needle injectors. A generation of childhood heroes? Cream rubbers. All those baseball cards I loved collecting as a kid? Nothing but mug shots.

Selig, lest you forget, steroids are ILLEGAL. Not just in baseball. In America. And you let players so obviously get away with juicing until the U.S. FEDERAL GOVERNMENT stepped in and ACTUALLY DID SOMETHING. That’s why we have testing now. That’s why we have suspensions. Not because of you. Because Congress stepped in. Friggin’ Congress, man! Sure, they had better things to do. But if you had done your goddamn job, they wouldn’t have had to do it for you. If there was another industry single-handedly supporting an international coke or pot cartel, they would have done the same thing. This type of activity has a name. It’s called a felony.

Selig, you didn’t really think it was the ball, did you? (That’s a quote. Ignorant bastard thought all the fallen records and deluge of homers were the ball’s fault. Somehow, in an undetected manner, in 1998 it got easier to hit after 100+ years.) Stand next to Barry Bonds and tell me he’s a naturally-formed human being. Do it with a straight face. It cannot be done. Man’s head is a watermelon.

Selig! Stop standing around doing nothing, saying everything is alright and feeling bad for yourself. When you wake up, here’s some things you can do to actually HELP the game.

Selig, ban all players who have been CAUGHT doing steroids from being eligible for the Hall of Fame. Ban their acned asses. HoF voters should not even be able to THINK about voting for juicers like McGwire. Same goes for Clemens, Bonds, Sosa and A-Rod when their time comes. Do the same for all the players in the Mitchell Report, the 103 yet-to-be-named players caught in 2003, and everyone else who’s been caught or admitted to using. They had their careers, they made their money, they cheated by having a friend inject cow hormone in their buttocks. The Hall of Fame is not for people like them. They’ll be remembered for what they are. Cheaters with huge numbers and shrunken balls. If I cheat on a test, I don’t expect to walk away with an A+. That’s a zero. These players cheated and they knew they cheated. That’s that. No plaque.

And Selig, you know what? The cheaters don’t care. Because all those ass-loads of steroids made them millions and millions of dollars. Believe me, they don’t care, and they’ll be fine. If they cared, they never would have injected in the first place. They’ll retire to one of their private islands and live the rest of their filthy-rich lives sipping coconut juice from a belly dancer’s cleavage. A long weekend in Cooperstown will be the farthest thing from their over-sized heads.

Selig, why are you letting Hall of Fame voters decide if users get in? The Hall is for the best of the best. It’s not for cheaters. WHY IS IT UP TO THE VOTERS?? You need to put your scrawny little foot down and say “F*CK THAT! Mark McGwire CANNOT be voted for.” Go ahead, say it. It’ll feel good.

Selig, listen to Big Papi: Test everyone. Urine, Blood, Hair, whatever. Why not? You know the only people who have a problem with getting tested? PEOPLE ON STEROIDS, THAT’S WHO. Playing baseball is a privilege, not a right, and if you can’t prove you’re not on steroids, you should not be allowed to play the game. It’s that simple. Players caught doping can’t win the Tour de France. They’re kicked out of the Olympics. They get year-long bans in boxing. But baseball? They win MVP! They sign $100 million contracts! They become role models! Helen Keller could have seen the Steroid Era coming better than you did, Selig, and she’s long dead.

Selig, remove records. A-rod said he did steroids from ‘01 to ‘03? Screw the asterisk and break out the eraser. What baseball needs right now are martyrs. Let the sinners die, and let the players who play fair reap all the benefits of playing our national pastime. The only way to move on is by wiping clean the blood of the cheaters. Drastic? Of course! Drastic times, Selig, drastic times….you know the rest don’t you? Drastic times call for…they call for…  drastic measures, Selig. Bet you’ve never heard that one before.

Selig, NO ONE CARES that baseball has made leaps and bounds in the your tenure. More popular? More revenue? It doesn’t matter! It’s tainted like lead paint. Right now, NO ONE mentions MLB without bringing up PEDs. There’s too much talk about who used. It’s in the news every single day. Take the Bonds trial. He’s so vain he thinks he can get away with lying to Congress. Clemens, Tejeda, now A-Rod. It’s not going away unless YOU make it. And right now, you’re not. You’re not doing anything but whining.

Selig, more names are going to be revealed. What are you going to do then? There are 103 players the public doesn’t know about. Some All-Stars. A few more Cy Young winners and MVPs. Some players who signed monster contracts because of performance-enhancing drugs. You going to turn a blind eye when their names come out too? I hope not. Of course, I hope you’re outta the league by then.

Selig, look what happened to football. Players got cocky. They were out of control. They were making it rain, whipping out gats, running over police officers. And what happened to the NFL?

Roger Goodell happened. He paved the path to a cleaner league. He didn’t care what other poeple thought or said. Football players were getting out of hand and he reeled them back in. Tossing players out, handing out suspensions. Selig, what did all the other football players do? The ones who didn’t get caught or suspended or fined? They stopped being such huge douchebags. Because they didn’t want to get in trouble. I’m no architect, but that’s the perfect blueprint for baseball right now. You don’t even have to come up with a shiny brand new game plan. Just take the NFLs. Case closed.

Selig, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re not up for the job. I’m talking about your job, the one you currently have, and the things you need to do in the next year. A new baseball commissioner needs to come in and act with the same type of iron fist as Roger “Don’t-Take-No-Crap” Goodell. The Player’s Association, the most powerful in sports, should have NO leverage here – it was THEIR players doing steroids, after all. Selig, now is the time to rip the shrunken balls off the Player’s Association and their generation of drug users. You could keep being a pussy, or you could set some hard-ass rules and clean up the game. But please, please stop saying it’s not your fault. Of course it is.

YOU WERE THE ONE IN CHARGE. YOU RAN THIS CIRCUS.

Selig, you need to step down and pass the torch to someone who can clean the game up. There’s no grey area here. Like being caught using steroids, it’s a black and white situation. And you are as guilty as the users themselves.

1. * YES THE STEROID ERA IS YOUR FAULT.

Sonny Says Shoot Me

Sonny Thadani needed some potraits for his new real estate website. Something his clients would look at and mindlessly mumble "Hey, you're alright, Sonny...where do I sign?" as they uncap their sterling-silver pens.

I was more than happy to drag Sonny into a studio and capture his broker's essence, building up my portfolio at the same time. His site's new imagery make it hard to visit Sonny Says without walking away the proud owner of a new penthouse or David Bowie's old place, which Sonny currently has listed. Even if you're looking for something below the $6 million range, Sonny's the man to talk to. A special thanks go out to Cara and Theo at Brooklynphoto for letting Sonny and me invade their Williamsburg studio. 

Here are some of my favorites from the shoot. If anyone else needs a portrait done, I'll be happy to shoot you, too.

 

I Shop Therefore I Am

Culture Now (a social magazine about art, design & media) has selected a piece I wrote as the winner of their Zeitgeist essay contest "I Shop Therefore I Am." The beauty of writing is that it allows me to put myself in anyone's shoes, in this case, someone who knows a lot about shopping. 

Here's my award-winning submission as it appears on culturenow.com:

I shop therefore I am. My apartment is a living, breathing museum dedicated to myself, overflowing with the relics that make up my existence. Curated tours leave my head every second of every day, touching on the finer details of my warped sofa, Dutch coffee table, professionally-framed wall art, disorganized shoe nook, and especially the revolving memorabilia of my closet. New work is regularly added to the collection. A muted wooden spatula gets tossed for one that’s sleek brushed metal, one that’s much more present-day me.

I shop therefore I speak. Every conversation becomes littered with factoids from my latest purchases, the new indie album I downloaded and don’t really like, the polo shirt that cost too much but I bought anyway, the lamp that compliments my rug but not my common sense. The more I buy, the more I grow intellectually, able to discuss the latest, the greatest, the new and improved. All for the suggested retail price and not a penny more.

I shop to feel what other people feel like. Every barcoded item in every store will soon become part of someone else’s DNA. I amble down the aisles, fingering fabrics, judging patterns, mentally coordinating a hierarchy of brand names. Temporarily fitting myself into the shoes of the club rat, the diva, the preppy, the pierced, the tattooed, the lonely, the needy. Sure, I may think this belt is hideous, but somewhere out there, thigh-slapping, someone just wrapped it around their waist and fell in love.

I shop to mold myself into something I want other people to see. Every purchase sends Old Me to the incinerator and gives New Me a chance to shine. Old Me would never wear these toe-suffocating boots, this body-hugging shirt, these nose-pinching sunglasses. New Me is all about vintage Onitsuka Tigers, 7 For All Mankind jeans. The stuff celebrities wear in People and Us Weekly. Anything that defies logic but creates personality, as long as it creates talking points amongst the fashionable and makes early adopters crane their wire-framed noggins to take note.

I shop because I believe in America. When people stop shopping, the cogs of our country stop spinning. We can’t let industry huff, puff and die. My patriotism can be measured by the fullness of my shopping cart. There’s something beautiful about walking into Bed Bath and Beyond and finding something I’ve never heard of before that I can’t live without.

I shop because I’m scared of being left behind. Of becoming one of those old farts who can’t tell Gucci from Prada from Fendi. One of those people who decide they're happy with 80s hair, 80s music, 80s fashion, and press pause, incapable or unwilling to identify with anything post-1989. I won't let my knowledge of the latest restaurants, electronics, and fashions become outdated. I’m too afraid to run out of today’s predominant currency, pop culture.

I don’t shop therefore I’m not. I don’t wear the latest or trendiest jeans. I don’t fit in at the hottest clubs, the ones so scorching they don’t need names. I don’t know the flavors or sizes at Starbucks. I couldn’t tell you last week’s Top 40 Countdown. I don’t know why that new store opening on Broadway is getting so much attention. Is it British? Indian? Japanese? Are there lots of them or is this the first one? I draw blanks when the sushi category comes up on Jeopardy. But don’t worry. I’ll go out for sushi tonight and I'll work on it, I promise.

Square Meals New Square Logo

My friend Alison Mountford recently asked me to help design a logo for Square Meals: Custom Cuisine, her burgeoning personal chef service. I hadn't designed logos professionally since I was graphic designer in Chicago, but I still know my way around Illustrator and Photoshop. Whipping up a butcher knife, some tomatoes and a chef's hat wasn't a problem.

  

We both really liked knives, but she was against the idea of using scare tactics to attract new clients. Here are two designs that didn't make the final cut.

Click here for the story of how Ali came to be a personal chef in the first place. She's always looking for more mouths to feed, so spread the word to any friends out in san fran.

Today’s April Fool’s Joke. Tomorrow’s Reality.

Never one to miss out on a special occasion, Google generally celebrates the accomplishments of MLK, St. Patrick, or anyone worthy of holiday status by changing their logo:

For this year’s April Fool’s Joke, they’ve upped the anti. Upping the anti is a very Google thing to do, after all. Instead of just mussing their logo on April 1st, Gmail's sign-in page featured the release of a new Google product. A new product promising to make life easier. (Another very Google thing to do.)

The new toy: Autopilot. An email response system that writes emails for you. Like all good jokes, this one is based on a truth. That emails have become a time-consuming problem. Sorting them, writing them, reading them. It's practically a full-time job. What go-getter wouldn't want some personal A.I. to take over the monotonous task of email management? Any piece of technology that allows me to turn my brain off more than it already is is a step in the right direction. Sign me up. On second thought, I’ll use Autopilot to sign me up for me.

Autopilot’s claim? Using data from previous emails, it matches style, calibrates tone and differentiates between boss and significant other (a more important difference for some than others). Throw in a few personalized settings, like Capitalization, Typos, Brevity and Emotican Use, and it learns how I write, meaning I can forget how to write. Now that’s technology at its finest.

It’s hard to argue with a point like “Lots of people have complained about how hard it is to read and respond to every message. This is because they actually read and respond to all their messages.” Google is right. Reading is hard. Responding is hard. And put the two together? Borderline impossible. Email shouldn’t feel like a job. It should feel like nothing at all. In an Effort vs. No Effort battle, No Effort wins. Hands down. Google knows this. They have a whole R&D campus dedicated to it.

That's what makes Autopilot so genius. It's just like me, but automated. It’s me without the effort of being me. I’m sold. For too long, I’ve worked on being me. And where has it got me? To me. Chances are, an automated version of me would end up at the same place. And if not, the real me could easily adapt.

Of course, it would be silly to sign up for something as life-changing as automated email without seeing a few examples. The ever-transparent Google is happy to oblige. So while the real me never quite knows how to respond to Nigerian royalty, Autopilot makes it sound easy. I’d feel richer, not only on the inside, but on the inside of my bank account.

And as a faulty human, my tendency is to be friends with anyone who’s friendly. A flaw that needs fixing, no doubt. Using advanced incomprehensible algorithms, Autopilot chooses my friends for me. Something I should have done long ago.

 

And why should I be the one to worry about courtesy and professionalism when a computer can do it for me? Dammit, I wish Autopilot was writing this blog entry right now. I'm sitting here doing all the work while my Autopilot-less computer contributes nothing, nada, zilch.

Despite limited resources, Google went ahead and created the creepy Panda-mascoted CADIE (Cognitive Autoheuristic Distributed-Intelligence Entity), the company behind Autopilot technology. CADIE even has a blog and a Youtube page. The blog was shut down when April Fool’s Day ended, but the echoey-voiced Youtube videos remain. The messages are strongly pro-singularity and defend the ever-growing use of AI, touting it as a symbol of the “upward surge of mankind.” And by upward surge, they mean the downward surge into our couches, as the latest techno-toys do all the work we used to do. Just make sure that you sign up before your next nap.

The more I learn about Autopilot, the less Email A.I. sounds like an April Fool’s Joke and more like the lazy near-future humans are destined for. We get it Google. Your April Fool's "Joke" isn't a joke. You're taking over the world. Yada, yada, yada.

The modern Koala has already trumped humans and reduced the size of its brain due to a diet low in energy. Can fat asses around the world be far behind? Who needs humans anyway. Just gimme something human-like and the remote.