General Haberdashery II

My former weekend neighbor on the music news beat has two new posts over at his Lousy Reviews blog. Jeff Fernandez takes on Taco Bell's Beefy Crunch Burrito -- an experience that was apparently less positive than mine -- and Jack in the Box's new Chorizo Chili Cheesy Fries.

(I noticed the "Cheesy Fries" advertisement poster hanging in the window of my local Jack in the Box, but didn't realize there was a "...with chorizo chili..." option. See you soon, Jack.)

Jeff also spits in the eye of beer elitists everywhere with his review of Walgreens' Big Flats 1901 Lager. Walgreens!

My friends over at Fish and Spaghetti introduce the universe to high-end tortilla chips and a Ben & Jerry's flavor that might be delicious, but can't hold a candle to their Oatmeal Cookie Chunk.

Michael Melchor and I go way back to the 411mania.com days, so I couldn't be more pleased to see him still writing about music. This piece on the intersection of nerd culture and music is gloriously geek-tastic.

Daniels and the One New York Life blog have "...an unnatural hatred for Gwyneth Paltrow". I assume he also hates America.

85% Sports explores the idea of St. Louis Cardinals first baseman Albert Pujols pulling down $150 million...per season! It might've been a typo, but I'm pleased to report I caught before he did.

Finally, m'man Movie Joe Reid has the second part of his Spring Movie Preview up on the Low Resolution blog. Bashing Nic Cage? Yup. Kitschy love for an '80s soundtrack? Yup. Un-ironic use of "ridonk"? Oh, f*ck yup!

When Ugly is TOO Ugly...Even for Me

It's Saturday evening as I type this...what do you think I wore today?

Most of you probably know there's not a whole lot of variety in my weekend wardrobe. I pull on a pair of baggy shorts, lace up my worn-out two-year-old Jordans -- or "kicks", as they're colloquially known -- and toss a t-shirt over my emaciated torso.

There are some days when I embrace irony. I am, of course, as much Mexican as the 200-some Taco Bell reviews I've written.






But, I own a couple of "Mexico" t-shirts (one from the World Baseball Classic, one from soccer's World Cup) and wear them just as much for the ethnic paradox as I do for the shout out to my Hispanic friends and their glorious culture. Full disclosure: I wore this shirt a few times before realizing I couldn't pull it off.

I own more San Diego State University apparel now than when I actually attended SDSU in the mid-1990s.





This is due to the simple fact that SDSU merchandise is grotesquely overpriced for most starving college students. The best selection is only available on campus, online or at ONE retail outlet here in America's eighth largest city. And, yes, that IS a t-shirt celebrating my alma mater's appearance in a third-tier bowl game! It's still better than your rock concert t-shirt with the tour dates on the back or your pro sports team's "division championship" (or worse) t-shirt.

And, then there's this t-shirt -- the oldest and most loathed by my wife in my entire collection.





Ironically, Mrs. Bootleg bought it for me before we got married. Today, however, after more than eight years as my comfortable, 100% cotton conversation starter, she's ready for me to retire it. Yes, the color is faded and the collar's a tad frayed. But, I wore this t-shirt on my honeymoon to Cabo San Lucas where more than one local mistook it for a tribute to Cameroon. I've lost count of all the small children who've pointed to this t-shirt and excitedly exclaimed "That's my name!". When I wear it, fans want to talk Duke hoops with me or assume I'm an alumnus. And, it has my last name on it!

In hindsight, I should've worn the "Cameron Crazies" t-shirt on that 66-degree Saturday in early February 2004.





Instead, I wore this shirt on the day my son Jalen was unexpectedly delivered nine weeks early. Mrs. Bootleg hated this shirt when I first bought it. The color was once akin to pumpkin pie. Whenever I wore it, my wife would roll her eyes and sanctimoniously sniff, "I can't believe you're wearing that again." (Harsh judgment from someone who was regularly photographed in bike shorts, pirate blouses and shoulder pads from 1988-1992.)

Once the Jalen connection was established, she never said another word about this shirt.

The entire point of this post has to do with the recent announcement that my beloved Oakland Athletics will be debuting new "alternate" jerseys for the 2011 season. As an A's fan, the overwhelming majority of my t-shirts are green and/or gold -- the team's subtle colors -- and advertise the team.

For whatever reason, I get more compliments on this t-shirt than any other one I wear.





When I visited Cooperstown in 2009, I wore it on the day before the induction ceremony and someone offered me $50 for it. That's only my second favorite moment while wearing this t-shirt. Years earlier, someone walked up to me, looked at the design and asked, "Is that Dennis Eckersley?"

These new alternate jerseys? Awful. The thick green piping...the bland "A's" logo...even our ubiquitous elephant on the left sleeve seems out of place. In baseball, "old" is the new "new". The A's should've brought back the "Oakland" vests from their inaugural 1968 season if they were looking to move a few more $169 jerseys during home games this season.


And, before I hear it from a few of my friends...yes, I own the below item.





It's brightly colored with thick green stripes and the familiar A's logo. But, it's a long-sleeve shirt and NOT a jersey.

Big difference.

Is My Son Already One of the 10 Greatest African-American Red Sox of All Time?

Our district's Little League "Rookies" division draft was held this past weekend.

I always assumed that teams just somehow came together, starting at the top with the manager and his child. Add a sibling, some classmates, a few kids from the cul-de-sac and there's your team.

Instead, as it was explained to me, the managers in our district meet one week after tryouts. With hastily-scrawled, concealed scouting reports in hand; these grown men enter a shared war room and devote an entire afternoon to plotting, politics, bluffing and drafting.

Through the grapevine, I learned that my six-year-old son Jalen was selected in the second round by the Red Sox. Unfortunately, he didn't land with his 2010 fall season manager -- whom he practiced with all winter. I received a call from Jalen's erstwhile skipper on Sunday afternoon assuring me that he did everything he could to get my son on his team -- including an attempt to engineer a trade. In Little League!

Yeah, I've got to get in on one of these drafts someday -- if only for the "live blogging" possibilities.

Late last night, I posted the following quip to my Twitter feed:

My son will play for the Red Sox in Little League this year. Including MLB, he's already one of the top 10 African-American Red Sox ever.

Let's put my tweet to the test.

#10 -- Pumpsie Green: The first African-American player in Red Sox history. Made his debut in July 1959 and hit .244 with 12 home runs as a part-time infielder over four seasons in Boston.

#9 -- Jalen Cameron: Hit .407 during 2010 fall season, besting Red Sox legend and Hall of Famer Ted Williams' iconic .406 mark in 1941 by one point.

#8 -- Dave Henderson: His game-tying, ninth-inning home run in game five of the 1986 ALCS is more memorable, but his tenth-inning shot in game six of the 1986 World Series gave Boston the lead before Bill Buckner hobbled along in the bottom of the tenth.

#7 -- Troy O'Leary: Spent seven years with the Red Sox (1995-2001) including 28 home run season in 1999. Hit the first grand slam in the team's postseason history -- part of a seven RBI night.

#6 -- Oil Can Boyd: Won 60 games over eight seasons in Boston. Weighed 60 pounds.

#5 -- Lee Smith: Finished in the top ten in saves during two full seasons with the Red Sox. Boldly carried the jheri curl into the 1990 season, but was traded to St. Louis in May.

#4 -- Ellis Burks: One of the first hyped prospects of the burgeoning baseball card craze of the late 1980s. Hit .281/.342/.457 from 1987-1992. Surprisingly, his rookie card ain't worth sh*t.

#3 -- Reggie Smith: Considered the first black superstar in team history, he hit 149 home runs over eight seasons (1966-1973). So, do Red Sox fans acknowledge that "Superstar" Smith was better once he left Boston? No? OK, then.

#2 -- Mo Vaughn: Single-handedly kept the New England strip club scene afloat in the mid-1990s. Also, posted an ungodly .936 OPS during eight-year Red Sox career.

#1 -- Jim Rice: Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, Jim. Jalen's coming for you.

The Pun Conundrum

Over the weekend, while walking the aisles of my local BevMo, I stumbled upon the following beer.

I stared sideways at the label for a few seconds, took a quick picture with my cell phone and posed the following question on my Twitter feed:

I think I need a ruling from my Jewish friends. Offensive or all in good fun?

M'man Sam thought it was harmless, as he responded, "Good fun. Good beer."

Beer Snob Mike commissioned an in-house research committee. His findings: "According to my wife, mostly good fun. Mascot dude's a wee bit offensive."

And, Movie Joe got gloriously faux theological: "[I'm] not Jewish, but the dominion that beer-loving Hasidim is holding over the globe seems more than a little Zionist."

Let's all be glad no one asked this guy.

Ummm...the second guy.

2011 Playoff Pickery -- AFC/NFC Championship Games

The Spread Sez: Green Bay (-3.5) at Chicago

Joe: So, here's the thing: the two teams that are looking the strongest right now are the Packers and the Jets, and my first inclination was to go with them. But between the letdown factor (more for the Jets than the Pack but still) and the fact that beating the three best teams in your conference on the road in consecutive weeks is hard enough for one team to pull off, much less two, and suddenly picking counter to the trends feels like the smart call. I'm tempted to REALLY go counter and pick the Bears here, but they just seem outgunned in almost every respect, and the Packers look like a team coming together at the right time. Plus, the theme of this NFL season really does seem to be "Tearing Down the Brett Favre Myth", and nothing would put a capper on that better than Aaron Rodgers in the Super Bowl. Pick: Packers 27, Bears 17

Aaron: Last week, early in the first quarter of their Divisional Round game, the Seahawks opted to punt on 4th and short with the ball just past midfield. Seattle was on the road in a scoreless tie and chose a passive game of field position over any attempt at offensive aggression. Now, I'll concede that "offensive aggression" is a corny choice of words -- better suited for any Billy Blanks straight-to-VHS release in the 1990s -- if you'll admit the 2010 Packers wouldn't have punted in the same situation. Rodgers really can do no wrong at the moment. And, while I think there IS some superstitious ju-ju to be concerned about when everyone is picking the same team to win...it's possible that everyone is right. Pick: Packers 24, Bears 7


The Spread Sez: New York Jets at Pittsburgh (-3.5)

Joe: So...the Jets. My adopted playoff team this season, primarily as mercenaries against the Patriots, partly out of a protection instinct for Mark Sanchez (who, I should point out, once again exhibited the schizophrenic but increasingly more assured accuracy of a very young QB who's getting more experienced), and partly out of hometown loyalty even though I don't really know too many Jets fans and if forced to choose I'd be a Giants fan besides. Anyway! They beat the Patriots. Mission accomplished! The Steelers aren't an exciting team or an interesting team or a team that's all that fun to watch. They're tough to root for with Roethlisberger front and center like he is, but they're tough to get all that riled up to root against otherwise. The drop-off in intrigue from a Jets Super Bowl to a Steelers Super Bowl is precipitous. More bad news for Roger Goodell, then. Pick: Steelers 20, Jets 17

Aaron: Here's another reason to admire the hyper-reactionary sports media -- when the Jets were laid to waste by the Patriots late in the regular season; this was all the reason needed to think New York had no chance against New England in the playoffs. Yet, when the Jets went into Pittsburgh and beat the Steelers late in the regular season; the same mouth-breathing talking heads have been insisting this is a different Pittsburgh team now. The Steelers aren't likely to benefit from the same combination of shady officiating and 53 Baltimore Ravens simultaneously disappearing in the second half as they did last week. Ben Roethlisberger has survived in front of the unlocked bathroom stall that serves as his offensive line; but at some point there's going to be a defense that breaks through and forcibly bends Ben over. Pick: Jets 17, Steelers 14

TBG Eats: The NEW Beefy Crunch Burrito from Taco Bell

Current Weight: 170.8 lbs.

I've been forced to make several dietary concessions in recent years.

Most of the food-related memories from my morbidly obese grade-school years remain indelibly burned into my brain. But, few were more comforting than the big-ass bowl of cereal that accompanied my Saturday morning cartoons.* Up until about five years ago, I took portable bowls filled with Grape-Nuts into work every morning. With a 50-cent carton of milk from the cafeteria; my little bit of breakfast seemed to dull the AM edge from my office drudgery.

Today, dairy is my undoing. Not ALL dairy -- I'm fine with cheese, for instance -- but, straight-up milk or ice cream? Let's just move on.

* -- In the 1980s, Saturday morning cartoons fell into one of three categories: (1) iconic comic book superheroes; (2) arcade game adaptations and (3) animated caricatures of real-life prime time television programming. This was a big deal. I vividly remember each of the three major networks airing 30-minute "preview" shows -- in early September -- on the Friday night before their new Saturday morning cartoons debuted the next day. Afterwards, my brother and I would review our notes and then meticulously plan our viewing schedule. This was a BIG DEAL.

Three years ago, I was fitted with my first crown. I've never been able to completely confirm this; but I'm reasonably certain I cracked my tooth on a rock-hard, rogue Corn-Nut that had successfully dodged quality control. Now, I can only eat especially crunchy or chewy food in moderation. Toffee, peanut brittle or bagels will irritate my crowned bicuspid after more than a handful of chews. If I continue, the right side of my jaw will actually stiffen.**

** -- I remember being diagnosed with a mild-case of TMJ right after my permanent crown was inserted. My doctor referred me to a specialist who would've put me through some light oral therapy. For the life of me, I cannot remember why I blew this off. Sounds like it would've made for some quality blog fodder -- puerile "oral" jokes, incessant references to one of Skeletor's minions...yeah, I need to revisit this.

My gastronomic surrender to spicy foods is the greatest loss of all.

I took then-Girlfriend Bootleg to a popular and inexpensive chicken wing spot on our very first date. I asked for my order to be coated in the hottest sauce in the house and then immediately thought: "Wait...what if we kiss, afterwards? Will the residual sauce burn this little black woman's mouth?" This was what passed for "problems" in the 1990s, y'all.

A few years ago, I went back to Wings-N-Things and ordered ten wings with their "surface-of-the-sun" sauce. I've condensed the 12 hours that followed into a succinct 56-second clip.

Even though I've had to take the temperature down and keep the Tums close by at all times, there are still some spicy eats that I regularly enjoy. Your taste tolerance may vary, but the "Flamin' Hot" line of junk food from Frito-Lay really isn't that volcanic. While the chips DO have a kick, they don't require a bottle of water to get to the bottom of the bag.

Taco Bell has recently introduced the Beefy Crunch Burrito. The hook is the inclusion of "Flamin' Hot" Fritos to go along with TB's ubiquitous ground beef, rice, nacho cheese sauce and reduced-fat sour cream. Last year, Taco Bell began offering two-dollar meals with Doritos as the featured side item. Though commercially successful, the move was viewed -- by me -- as a gimmicky departure from the chain's otherwise impeccable menu of Mexican authenticity.

There have been worse crossovers in my lifetime, so I should be willing to keep an open mind.





The Beefy Crunch Burrito really does work. The Fritos are surprisingly effective, lending a different taste to the usual Taco Bell flavors. The spice gives a lift to both the ground beef and cheese sauce, while the crunch is much stronger in texture than TB's lighter in-house tortilla chips. As usual, though, I'm going to b*tch about the rice. It's nothing but transparent value-menu filler and lends nothing to the end product. A double-the-beef, no rice "Frito-rrito" would be...wait a tick.

Frito-rrito!

How do I reach TB's department of gimmicky departures?

Grade: 4 (out of 5) Calories: 510 Fat: 22g

The LL Chronicles #4: Jalen Tries Out...Again

Since the end of Little League Baseball's fall season, my six-year-old son Jalen has remained in close contact with the game. During both Thanksgiving and Christmas week, he attended baseball camp at a nearby batting cage not-at-all pretentious training center.*

* -- In truth, the Frozen Ropes facility is a pretty cool place. Jalen seemed to respect the staff -- comprised of mostly former college players and minor league washouts. Meanwhile, Mrs. Bootleg seemed to appreciate the trainers' still-chiseled builds -- their upper bodies accentuated with ill-fitting Under Armour apparel -- and how, in my wife's words: "[Some of the trainers] just come up and give me a hug when I drop off or pick up Jalen!"

In addition, for the past month and a half, we've been regularly meeting up with some of Jalen's former teammates to practice hitting and fielding drills. Now, don't tell anyone, but I probably enjoy these outings more than my son. Y'see, when the kids are hitting, the fathers are in the field. And, I'll be the first one to admit that SOME of us take too much pleasure in turning 6-4-3 double plays against children.**

** -- It happened during our first practice. I was playing second base and Jalen was the runner on first. The batter hit a slow roller to the shortstop who flipped the ball to me for the first out. Knowing that my overly-intense son would be (poorly) attempting some sort of takeout slide or -- more likely -- sliding into the bag spikes cleats high; I cleared the base and fired to first for the double play in almost one single motion. There were witnesses to this.

Tryouts for the spring season were held this past Saturday. After last year's tryout adventure, I assumed my son would be more comfortable with the chaotic Little League meat market scene. Jalen's greatest baseball trait is his enthusiasm and I was counting on that to get us out the door and over to the field where we'd wait...and wait...and wait for his turn to take three swings, field three grounders and shag three pop flies.

Enthusiasm!: Jalen's scheduled tryout time was from 10:00 AM to 10:30 AM. The kids were grouped alphabetically and by age while parents were given strict instructions to be there on time. I knew from last year's experience that these half-hour windows were the equivalent of an appointment at a black beauty salon -- bring an Ebony Magazine and expect everyone to be running 60-90 minutes behind. I had to fight with Jalen to get him out of the house. He seemed a little lethargic...hell, almost disinterested. Such preseason ambivalence hadn't been seen in at least 20 years.

We Are Family!: The local Little League community is extremely close-knit. This poses a problem for me since I am the worst person on earth at remembering names and faces. Mrs. Bootleg, on the other hand, can remember everyone's names, faces AND their respective back-stories after one casual conversation. Since she wasn't with us, I was reduced to the role of this guy.

I Remember You!: As Jalen and I navigated the multitude of mothers, fathers, prospective players and accompanying siblings; we were stopped several times by people whose faces seemed to light up at the sight of my son. He was remembered as the little boy who knocked over the catcher in a home plate collision during t-ball or the kid who "called his shot" before an at-bat last spring or the player who's uniform was consistently the dirtiest. Jalen was nonplussed by the pleasantries and couldn't be bothered to help out his old man.

Me: "Jalen, who was that?"

Jalen: "That was Joseph's dad."

Me: "OK, but do you happen to remember his name?"

Jalen: "I think it's 'Joseph's dad'."

Me: "..."

Power Mad: One of the least palatable aspect of my day job is dealing with the administrative assistants of upper, upper management. Many are dismissive, condescending and believe they wield as much authoritative sway as the VPs they support. But, they've got nothing on the leaders of American youth sports leagues. At tryouts, the director of our league's district -- armed with a shrill megaphone -- told kids where to stand, told parents where not to stand and offered shrieking reminders every two minutes or so. It was like I was back in high school.

I Got the Fever: When Jalen's group was finally called into the dugout, I took a seat high atop the metal bleachers behind home plate. Moments later, I was joined by the mother of another child in my son's group. At this point, I should mention that I've been carrying a really bad cold for almost two weeks. I made some hoarse, congested conversation with the woman next to me, but after a few minutes I felt flushed all over. It was a warm morning -- on the way to an 80 degree day -- my head was tilted backwards, my mouth was noticeably open and the faucet of "fever sweat" couldn't be capped. See for yourself. I picked a terrible day to wear a gray t-shirt.

"Now Batting...": I can already tell that Jalen is going to be one of those high-maintenance hitters. If even one inconsequential component of his at-bat regimen is out of sync, he'll need time to put his whole approach back together. Call him "Negro Garciaparra". As he walked to the plate and prepared to hit off the pitching machine, it happened. "Now batting...Jalen Cameron!" Jalen had never heard his name announced over the public address system before. He stopped three feet from the batter's box, instantly flashed a silly grin and anxiously looked around as if he wanted to hear it again.

Magellan Jalen: After his three swings, Jalen set up at short and fielded three groundballs. From there, he moved into short left field. My son is...not an outfielder. And, the machine that was feeding him fly balls was shooting them higher than any Little League bat could possibly loft a pop-up. Jalen held his own, even though his outfield routes bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain comic strip.

Get ready for six more months of this, kids.