Time for your weekly edition of the Defector Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. You can also read Drew over at SFGATE, and buy Drew’s books while you’re at it. Today, we're talking about fake dead husbands, garnishes, athletic athletes, and more.
Your letters:
John:
Can we get more teams with the little ranking number by their name? I do not watch much college football and I don't know anything about the teams. If there is a game on and one team is ranked and the other is not, my assumption is that the only mystery around the outcome is if the ranked team will hit the 56-point spread. If there are two unranked teams, my assumption is this game has zero relevance; it may as well be a pickup game in the park. Once you put a number ranking by a team name, now I can start believing in an upset, even if it is #7 vs. #84.
Yes! Oh my god, yes! I like the way John thinks. Every Saturday I wake up, check the college slate, and immediately scan for the little ranking numbers. If I see one ranked team is playing another, that’s the one I’m gonna tune into first. And if both teams are ranked in the top 10, oh my god TODAY IS JUDGMENT DAY. Never mind that rankings have been bunk my entire life, nor that they barely have any meaning in the playoff era. If your school has a little number by its name on the chyron, to me that means they’re good. Even if they’re bad. Even if they’re Texas Tech. You are now appointment viewing for me until you fall behind by 30, at which point I will flip over to a Kansas State game.
If I haven’t shed this flawed instinct at age 49, I’m never going to. Don’t even want to. The numbers make everything more fun. This is true in both college football and college basketball, both of which then up the ante with little seed numbers once the postseason begins. Again, these numbers mean very little. But if an eight seed beats a one seed in March? MADNESS! ALL OF THE MADNESS! The illusion of rankings is a powerful one, not to mention enjoyable.
So yes, let’s make sure that every team in every game has a proper ranking affixed to it. Force the AP to rank them, or consult some nerdy nerd CPU ranking. Like the Sagarin ratings! Remember those? They still exist! Only this week’s batch has Notre Dame ranked second overall. I’m sorry, Jeff Sagarin, but your rankings are flawed. Please reorder them.
David:
Bill Burr is one of my all time favorite comedians. Pushed back on Joe Rogan about masks and getting vaccinated, and his bits with Conan O’Brien were gold. Finding out he went to Saudi Arabia for blood money wrecked me. The old Bill Burr would have ripped people for selling out like that. Which brings me to my question: is there anyone that you thought you knew, but then turned out be a gigantic asshole?
Honestly, I’m gonna move on from talking about the bad comedians. When Roth and I talked with very good comedian Eli Yudin on the podcast last week, some of the air went out of the conversation when we segued into talking about the Riyadh Yuksapalooza. Because what is there that’s new to say? Like so many other things over the past decade, this is a subject where all parties involved end up talking in circles. I say the bad comedians are bad, the bad comedians pull out the “my critics are the real racists” defense, and Robin Williams turns over in his grave for the 900th time. It’s a boring subject, because these people are boring: Burr, Chappelle, Hart, Ross, all of them. All of them are past their primes, but unwilling to cede the floor.
All of them also work in an art form, standup comedy, where material is precious. Unless you’re Richard Pryor, the average comic can’t put together a historically great set once a year. Even someone like Burr, who is an extremely talented performer, can’t put out 78 Netflix specials and have all of them be good. Working-class comics have it even rougher. As Yudin told Roth and me, every working standup now is forced to constantly put out new material, especially online. One artist alone can’t meet that demand while maintaining a high standard. It’s not possible, as Taylor Swift just discovered.
So you have grunts at the bottom of the food chain forced to constantly hustle, and then rich assholes at the top of it who don’t care about quality control anymore because they don’t have to. That dysfunction neatly parallels with that of every other American industry right now, and it makes for bad art. And talking about the bad art does likewise. The way art evolves is with fresh voices, new ideas, and an excited public eager to consume it. But most Americans would now just rather spend all of their time arguing online. So fuck the blood moneymen; you and I have more vital things to do with our lives.
Now let me actually answer poor David’s question. I’ve been told “never meet your heroes” so many times that I just assume every famous person I encounter/worship will either be a prick, or a prick behaving nicely because my tape recorder is on. The only star who ended up being a genuine asshole to me in person was Jeff Garlin, who years later was outed as one of the biggest dickheads in show business. As for stars I never met but revered … well, I thought Louis C.K. was a solid dude until he did all of that Louis C.K. shit. That’s on me, but at least I came correct. Nobody in Los Angeles seems willing to do likewise with Kobe Bryant.
Anon:
Is it weird to not remember when you lost your virginity or to whom? I'm getting older and my 20s are kind of a blur.
It’s probably not as weird as '80s movies conditioned me to believe. I grew up determined to lose my virginity as quickly as I could, because I’d be a loser forever if I didn’t (I also wanted to have sex with women). Revenge of the Nerds told me so, as did every Motley Crue video. So you can imagine my disappointment when I didn’t finally break the seal until the age of 20. You can also imagine my disappointment (not to mention hers) when ED set in. It wasn’t some magical rite of passage; it was a disaster. I was a disaster. So I don’t go out of my way to remember that night, and I’m guessing the woman I was with doesn’t, either.
But I definitely remember it. In fact, thanks to my cultural upbringing, I remember every single goddamn hookup I ever had. Frankly, that’s probably weirder than NOT remembering a lot of them, even the first one. Sex should not be the be-all and end-all of one’s existence, otherwise you’ll end up as unhappy as Paul Crane.
You should still like and want sex, though. Movies have gone from being too dialed in on sex to having no sex at all, and that’s probably worse. I should be able to see Honk If You’re Horny at the local Cineplex without persecution! We all should! MOAR HORN.
Jonathan:
How long can you be home alone before you start to miss your family?
Depends. Is there football on?
In all seriousness, I can go for a couple hours before the solitude creeps in. And that’s with a dog around. It’s only so much fun to raid the chocolate stash. I need my people around.
Greg:
Is there any truth to the piece of wisdom of an easy baby equals a hard teen, or bad baby equals good teen? This was sort of true with me and my brother, and right now my two-year old is kicking my butt daily. (PS: Tell me it’s okay and that we'll get through the difficult toddler years. I just wasn't built for this and man, it’s really dragging me and the missus down. I was a camp counselor and teacher for years so I love kids. But this age of tantrums and fighting, and then the whole "ooh savor it" thing… give me a break. I'll take a punk teen who breaks curfew over another fight to get this kid out of the bath every day.)
Who said that? That’s a load of shit. Parenting is hard from start to finish, with the challenge before you constantly evolving. No phase of the job is directly comparable to the other. In the beginning, you face the challenge of changing diapers, trying to cobble together five hours of sleep for yourself every night, and washing baby bottles until your palms are raw. Then you defeat the baby and what’s this? Now you must master the dreaded toddler, screaming on airplanes, going to the hospital with rotavirus, refusing to eat macaroni five minutes after specifically asking for macaroni, and hellbent on wearing their favorite shirt every day from today until death. Then the toddler graduates to grade school and now you must confront asshole playdates, back to school nights scheduled right at kickoff, and three-hour lines for the kiddie roller coaster. Then comes middle school, featuring social anxiety and all kinds of new odors in the house. That’s 13-plus years of toil right there.
But you’re not done yet! Because now comes the final boss level of high school. You think it’ll be easier than dealing with a baby, because at least a teenager can walk upright. THAT’S HOW THEY GITCHA! Because a teenager will use that mobility to sneak a vape in the high school shitter, to run away from you when you tell them that they have to start thinking about college, to steal your charger because they start every day with their phone battery run down to 0.00004 percent, and to think of every conceivable way to fuck with your head. And I’m sugarcoating it! When my own kid broke curfew, I wasn’t like, “Good thing she’s not three anymore!” I was like “Why the fuck is she in Annandale right now?!” I figured I was good to go once I never had to clean up an exploded pair of Huggies again. But teenagers brought all new messes that I wasn’t prepared for at all. WHAT A LOAD OF SHIT!
So any piece of “wisdom” that tells you this age isn’t like that age, or that this crisis will be easier to handle than that crisis, is bound to be flawed. Parenting, by its very nature, is a lifetime exercise in crisis management. And the only way you find answers is by enduring whatever shitstorm the job throws at you. I’m a pretty decent parent now, but only because I had to be a lousy parent first. I screamed at my kids, broke down in tears when I couldn’t get them into the car, and drank on the job. There were days when I was like, “I have no fucking idea what to do right how.” You feel helpless, stupid, and alone.
But you’re not alone. Every other parent has been there, and many of us have made it to the other side. Greg, you and your wife will make it, too. You’re in the shit right now. But once your kid turns 16 and gives you all kinds of new grief, you’ll at least be used to hard work. You’ll be wiser, stronger, better. And you’ll look at old photos of the kid when they were two and you’ll savor those old moments then, because you’ve come to understand the nature of the job. Also, loogit the photo of your little baby pushing a miniature shopping cart around. That’s so cute!
HALFTIME!
Matt:
When I was much younger, the Patriots were a very below-average team. Before the Brady/Belichick era, what were Patriots fans like? Were they still loud and/or annoying, or were they more closeted about their fanhood when the team really stunk?
There were certainly fewer of them, but they were fucking annoying. It was like the pre-title Red Sox, when those fans went around begging random strangers on the street to feel sorry for them. I was going to school in New England right around this time, and the few Pats fans I knew demanded that I recognize Rod Rust as the worst football coach of all time (Brian Callahan would now like a word), and then threatened my life if I dared to speak ill of medium talents like Steve Grogan or John Stephens. They were weird, and I avoided them. If only Sunday Ticket had existed back then, so that I wouldn’t have to watch those shit Patriots play the equally shitty Jets every Sunday. Beasley Reece was usually the play-by-play guy.
By the way, I love Drake Maye. He kicks ass. The fact that he plays for the Pats doesn’t even bother me. This is growth, of a kind.
Laurie:
I've been watching professional sports for decades and I am always annoyed when the commentators use "athletic" as a descriptor. "That was an athletic move." "He's such an athletic player." Athletic seems like the bare minimum for a professional athlete. So, what is the alternative or opposite of "athletic" in these terms? Cerebral? Wiley? Lithe?
Oh I’ve heard “cerebral” plenty, especially for quarterbacks. If your QB says five words a day and has all the mobility of a stanchion, you better believe he’s getting the “cerebral” tag. We can also put “gym rat,” or its modern equivalent, “dawg,” in here. If you’re not a world class athlete but you can still produce thanks to a surplus of grittitude, the color guy will find a way to praise you for it. And don’t forget fat guys getting called “surprisingly athletic,” because how could a fat NFL player also be athletic?
These terms are all relative among pros, of course. They’re all incredible athletes, but no one wants to hear that when they’re watching Nathan Peterman back there. Compared to Lamar Jackson, Nathan Peterman isn’t athletic. But oh my god, you should see the size of that guy’s cerebrum. Jon Gruden says he’s never coached another player with one that big!
Jeff:
I think it was you who once wrote that you should always garnish. I love using Italian parsley, and I truly think it makes a difference in a dish. Curly parsley, however, is an abomination. It feels like you're sprinkling plastic on your food. Why do we need curly parsley?
I did? That doesn’t sound like something I’d say. I usually treat any non-dessert garnish as something to sweep aside so that I can get to my ribeye faster. It does help make a plate look fancy if you happen to have company over, though.
Now, about the parsley. As Jeff said, it really does make a difference in dishes (even as a garnish). But I’ve never gotten too wrapped up in which kind of parsley does a better job of it. If I buy flat leaf parsley more routinely over curly parsley, it’s only because the curly parsley is harder to rinse. You wanna get the dirt off, you end up holding a leaking faucet. What a pain in the ass. I shouldn’t have to bust out a salad spinner just for an herb, dammit. But flavorwise, I’m agnostic. I think. Maybe I should buy more curly parsley to see if it’s as shitty as Jeff claims it to be.
Richard:
Is there a name for when you're pushing down on the top of the garbage to make some extra room and your hand slips and goes into the depths of the bag and touches all sorts of eldritch horrors? It's like a stinkfinger, but with presumably less actual feces.
Yeah but it still involves your finger and a stink. Plus it’s just about the same level of revulsion. If I have to reclaim a good battery out of the trash and end up touching a bunch of chicken juice, it ruins my day for a solid minute. That’s a stinkfinger, even if poop wasn’t involved.
Which reminds me of an original stinkfinger I suffered just a few days ago. We have a dog. When he shits outside, we pick it up with a poop bag and then toss the bag into a little trash can on our front stoop. A couple of times a week, we have to empty the little trash into the big kitchen bag once that’s gotten full. Normally, I barehand all of the poop bags for the transfer, because we cinch those bags tight and because we put no other trash in the front door can. Also, I’m lazy and don’t want to replace the little can liner.
But the other day, I reached in without realizing that a varmint of some kind had infiltrated the trash can to feast on all of the tasty poop within. So stuck my hand in, felt the moisture, and immediately pulled back. There was shit all over my hand. Luckily for me, I can’t smell. If I still could, I would have barfed all over our front step. Instead, I washed my hands nine times over and then cleaned out the little trash can as best I could. The memory lingers. Never rawdog a canine diaper genie.
Patrick:
Many years ago, Skyline Chili was ranked by Albert Burneko as the worst regional food in America. There was a hilarious kerfuffle about it, remember that? Since then, has any regional food moved toward supplanting Skyline, or is it still solidly in last?
Well shit now I want little ranking numbers by everything listed on a restaurant menu. Anyway, perhaps Albert has a new No. 1, but I’m guessing that he enjoyed Cincinnatians getting mad about his Skyline jokes so much that he’ll keep Skyline as the worst even if they start adding braised short ribs to the recipe.
Personally speaking, I have never tried Skyline Chili, and likely only would for the sake of content. I have a palate now, so I have the ability to avoid shitty food before it’s even entered my digestive system. As a result, I only judge gross foods by the eye test. Someone sends me a photo of Altoona pizza (Google it at your own risk), I say to myself, “That’s the grossest shit I’ve ever seen,” and then I go have some roast chicken for dinner. A life led this way is quite satisfying. I’m no longer young enough, or drunk enough, to go trying Nebraska meat pies on a whim. Hence, our commenters will have to assist Patrick in introducing new contenders for the throne (and by throne I mean a toilet).
Email of the week!
John:
This was around 2008 and I was working at Nordstrom. I had a husband-wife tandem that were great regular customers. They shopped at all of the events, came in about once a month, etc. One day, the wife comes in. She was clearly distraught, and she dumped a bunch of clothes on the counter to return. Not a big deal, it happened all the time. I could tell she was not in a good place, so I just started ringing the returns without saying anything. It was women's clothing, but the policy was you could return anything to any department, and I was right inside the entrance and she knew me.
As I'm processing it, she stepped away to take a phone call. Her friend stepped up and whispered, "Her husband just died." I was devastated to hear that. He was one of my best customers and we got along great. I kept my mouth shut and finished the transaction. However, the odd part was she wasn't returning her husband's clothes, which was very common when longtime Nordstrom customers died (this is Seattle, where people think it's their birthright to return, like, a sand blaster to Nordstrom). Their widows/widowers would return stuff for cash all the time and we just accepted it.
Fast forward about a week, and who walks in the door? The husband. Alone. He ALWAYS came in with his wife. If you told me he was a ghost, I would have had no logical explanation to argue against it. I freaked out and began to question everything that I had known in life up to that point. Also, he didn't come into my department, he was just walking through the store to get to the mall, so not interacting with him made it all the more surreal. I told this story to people in the break room, and a woman from another department informed me it was the woman's EX-husband who had died, not her current one.
So, back to the woman's friend that told me her husband had died: like, maybe add THAT important detail to the story? That's insane to leave that detail out, right? Anyway, Happy Halloween!
That one took a lot of sharp turns.
