Baseball Braces For Bloomberg

For about four hours yesterday, a good portion of the baseball blogoshpere gathered at the Bloomberg headquarters in Midtown Manhattan. Many went through the painful process of putting on pants, emerging from their mother's basements and commuting to New York City in exchange for an up close and personal tour of Bloomberg's new baseball software, along with lunch, beverages, some especially delicious frosted peanut butter brownies and an awesome shirt.

Even those of us who don't work in finance were familiar with Bloomberg's capabilities in data gathering, organization and visualization and were anxious to see how they had applied it to baseball. The company is offering two separate products, one aimed towards fantasy baseball players and the other designed specifically for and in partnership with the teams in the MLB. The demonstration of the fantasy version came first.

Within the fantasy product, there are two main incarnations of the program, available for purchase separately. The first is the draft kit, in which you can enter the specifications of your league regardless of where it is hosted (CBS, ESPN, Yahoo, etc).

Bloomberg's system revolves around a proprietary B-Rank based on a 5x5 league, which the presenters disclosed next to nothing about. I understand reasons for the secrecy, but I think users might find this off-putting in contrast to the availability of data throughout the rest of the software. It's tough to get a someone with a sabermetric slat to put their faith behind a metric whose methodology is purposely concealed.

Beyond the B-Rank though, you can search for and prioritize players by any statistical category (and by multiple categories at once) to ensure you have a balanced roster. Conveiently, Bloomberg has already computed player's eligibility by position to save you that headache. With your subscription, you have access to a player's average draft position in relation to their projected production, providing a simple visual representation of their value among many, many, many other intuitive features and comparisons. If you take your fantasy draft preparation seriously, the biggest limitation of the utility of the software is the amount of time you want to put into it.

Similar to the draft tracker, the in-season version of the Bloomberg software offers an impressive depth of information and is very customizable. They don't have historical or minor league stats available yet, but those are included in the professional suite and could be added in the future. The in-season version will be the most useful to this site and you will likely see some of the Bloomberg visualizations in our posts once the software debuts on February 18th.

The draft kit is being offered for $19.95, the in-season tools for $24.95 and both of them together will set you back $31.95.

The professional level software was what was most tantalizing to most of us bloggers in attendance. With a less colorful and more data-heavy layout, I could imagine spending days on end poking through the spray charts, pitch predictors and countless other tools that were offered. The teams are being given a free trial which started at the Winter Meetings and extends through the All-Star break, during which time Bloomberg has been and will be making every effort to customize the software and give the teams exactly what they want.

One of the underlying themes Bloomberg bent over backwards to convey was that what we were looking at on the 7th floor of 731 Lexington Ave. yesterday was just the beginning. They welcomed and encouraged - and might have even demanded - our input and suggestions were that socially acceptable.

To a company like Bloomberg, the market for baseball information is pretty limited. The financial firm employs over 10,000 people and has 126 offices around the world, so their entrée into the world of sports statistics and information isn't likely to significantly affect their bottom line, even if their software becomes ubiquitous among teams, fantasy baseball players and bloggers alike. But they seem committed to constant improvement of the technology nonetheless.

What was most encouraging about yesterday's presentation was that Bloomberg seemed to embrace the sabermetric ideal, even though they had arrived there from a financial background. They aren't attempting to give people the answers they are looking for, they just want to give them the information to come to their own conclusions. Through it all, there was a notion of humility and the desire to improve the product in every way possible and that bodes well for the future of the software.

The View From The Bridge

The view from the George Washington Bridge gets me every time. Not as much as the first few times I crossed the GWB and gazed down towards Manhattan, but it's still gripping nonetheless. On a perfectly clear night like we had yesterday, the lights are impossibly dense and bright. They peak at the Empire State Building and below that slowly slope towards either end of the island. I imagine back before September 11th the Twin Towers would have played a prominent role in the skyline, but now the height of the Financial District is disguised by shorter buildings in the foreground.

The GWB has always been my conduit into Manhattan - well at least since I was old enough to drive and figured out that using the Major Deegan was for suckers. Coming from Upstate, I take I-87 to Rt. 17 to Rt. 4. Others take the Palisades, but the gas is cheaper the way that I go. And every time I go that way and funnel down through the approach to the lower level of the bridge, drive through the tolls and make my way through the short tunnel before it begins, I anticipate the view. Sometimes it's too hazy or foggy or rainy to really see, but I turn my head and look just the same.

Everyone has their own way of entering New York. Long ago Ellis Island was that way for millions, with the buildings appearing over miles and miles of ocean after a seemingly interminable journey from Europe. Today, many come in through Penn Station and get a feeling in the pit of their stomach when they first step outside and crane their neck in an effort to find the tops of the skyscrapers. Some look left when descending down the spiraling entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel and see the heart of Midtown rise from the Hudson River. Plenty see the skyline start to rise as they drive down I-495 towards the Mitdown Tunnel. Others press their face to the window of a plane to observe the perfect grid of the streets from high above.

Whatever it is, it's hard to miss the moment that you realize you're here when you arrive.

The New Yankee Stadium Of Golf

[Photo]

Since Matt brought the topic up before, here is an interesting (albeit pretty one-sided) article I saw about the course they played the Barclays' Championship at, Liberty National:

If you haven't heard about Liberty National, it's the world's most expensive grassy view lot -- a former oil tank farm that had all the visual appeal of a collapsing tenement building, even the rats avoided it. But it was located just across the water from the southern tip of Manhattan, roughly 1,000 yards from the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.

So a rich guy bought it and built a private golf course that has generated more conversation, commentary and criticism than a penal U.S. Open track. As one player sarcastically pointed out, it's probably no accident Lady Liberty faces the other direction.

What follows is a bunch of tour pros trashing the place, similar to what we heard from some players about the New Yankee Stadium. Similarly, Liberty National cost far more than other courses to construct ($250M) and demands a $500,000 membership initiation fee before annual dues are factored in, which I'm going to blindly guess are north of $50,000. However, it's only a short private shuttle-boat ride from downtown Manhattan which offers a level convenience which is unmatched in NYC area golf.

The owner, Paul Fireman freely admits that the course as a poor investment, and the designer Tom Kite readily acknowledges that due to the way the course was constructed, nothing is natural about it. For 30 years, they played the tournament at historic Westchester Country Club and no such kvetching was heard. Sound familiar?

Sure, most of the bitching from the players was unwarranted. And all of it was unnecessary, if you ask Vijay Singh:

"One who doesn't worry about what the golf course is, and just plays one shot at a time," Singh said. "You go out there and start criticizing the golf course, then you might as well not show up."

The great thing about golf, like baseball, is that everyone plays under the same conditions. So when it all shakes out, regardless of the difficulty or quirkiness of the place you are competing, the playing field is level.

Amsterdam Ale House

Formerly Westside Brewing Co, seeing the sign for Amsterdam Ale House made my day. And it was only 9:30.

Guess that guy on the Beer Advocate message board was right...

Requiem For A Restaurant

The absolute best part of living in Manhattan is the preponderance of awesome things within walking distance from your apartment. I have accounts with two different banks, both of whom have a location within two blocks from my place. We have two grocery stores within the same distance. I can walk to work in just about the time it takes to listen to Shine On You Crazy Diamond Parts I & II, and Central Park is under 5 minutes away. I've mentioned the Beacon and Fairway, both of which I wouldn't swap for another theater/grocery store.

Another thing that makes the location of our apartment so perfect is (was) Westside Brewing Co. When we first moved down here, we used to go there every Sunday night in addition to the impromptu visits during the week. If I had anyone came into town, it was the first place I thought to bring them.

I would place their wings in my top five of all time, with some serious consideration for the #1 spot. I'm probably biased, but trust me, these were not your ordinary orangey, fake-looking, limp dick wings you get at TGIFriday's. The sauce wasn't sweet like a BBQ and didn't really have a buffalo twang. They never detailed any of the ingredients on the menu, and I'm not much of a gourmand, so if you've never had the pleasure, you are going to have to use your imagination a little bit. They were a deep maroon color, subtly smoky, hot, but not lingering, and... did I mention they were fucking amazing?

Westside stopped brewing their own beer long before I moved down to the city, but they kept a rotating selection of ten taps to make up for that fact. They centered on local brews like Captain Lawrence, Chelsea and Blue Point, but also drew from across and the country and world. Last time I was there, they had Green Flash Le Freak on tap and around Easter-time last year they had an incredible Rauchbier (smoked beer) from Germany.

The had a pretty fervent staff turnover, but managed to keep a cute girl hostessing with remarkable consistency. One time Sampson and I walked in, and were making some offhand comment about work, and the cutest of the hostesses smiles and says "Are you guys in the movie industry?" Sampson immediately goes "Yeah, I'm a director and he is a producer". Her eyes light right up, so we had to let her down gently. She's was like, "Oh, it seems like everyone is in the movie business around here". After we sat down, I went to Sampson, "They aren't really in the movie business sweetie, they just want to have sex with you".

The place wasn't without it's faults. For one, it was closed for strange reasons way too often. Too many times someone came into town and wanted a fairly cheap, relaxed meal, I couldn't wait to take them to WSBC. I would hype up the wings and promise I could pick them out a great beer, only to roll up to the place and see a note scrawled on the door explaining some strange circumstance which precluding them from being open.

About a year and a half ago construction began on The Harrison, which took up most of the block between 76th and 77th & Amsterdam and Broadway. It was well boarded off, but through the slats, you could catch a glimpse of the cavernous void that claimed Amsterdam Billiards.

One night I walked in to the bathroom and in the corner underneath the urinal there was a gigantic hole, looking right down into a 25 foot deep rubble-filled pit. That must have violated the health code, because two nights later they embarked a a little hiatus for a month or two.

In the three years we've been going there, they never changed their menu. It's not like it diverted us from stopping by, but as a place that had a pretty large regular customer base, you'd think they'd have wanted to switch it up a little bit.

It is also extremely close to The Beacon and it gets a lot of spillover, which can be annoying if you want to get a seat at the bar. They occasionally even play the music of the act that is on that night. One night Kelly Clarkston was in town and we got sat down right next to a table full of pre-teen girls who knew the words to every single song, and weren't afraid to sing along at full roar.

Sometime last year, our friend Ian was around and we popped into Westside to grab some food. We got the wings (as always) I ordered a Hawaiian pizza, Sampson got a burger and Ian got the tuna melt. The pizza always takes longer to begin with, but at one point I glanced over my shoulder and happen to spot the our waitress and my pizza in mid-air headed towards an inevitable demise.

She didn't think we saw it happen and about two minutes later, after the mess had been cleaned up, she came over and said "Sorry guys, your food will be up in like 5 minutes. Want another beer?" We didn't feel like correcting her just yet, and let it slide.

She eventually brought us over the food and as she's sliding the pizza in front of me, I go, "Round two on this one, huh?" She stopped for a second and goes, "Yeah, I was kinda hoping you guys didn't see that". She was cute and we laughed it off. When Ian got terrible food poisoning an hour later, he wasn't laughing. There's not way of telling, but I'm pretty sure the 20 minutes that tuna melt spent under the lamps didn't help. That didn't stop us from going back either.

The allure was obviously the beers, for me personally. It was always crowded, so I don't think I'm alone in that respect. They absolutely always had a high quality Double IPA on tap, whose hoppy character was an unlikely match for the wings. Ten beers every week allows for some pretty serious breadth and they did a pretty good job of managing the selection.

I really don't go out to dinner than much because we have a grill and SeamlessWeb (and I have no money), so I'm probably the last person who is going to get sentimental about an eatery closing it's doors. Evelyn Lounge... now that was a tragedy. But wow, this sucks a fucking lot. I was moving my car the other night, saw the papered up windows and went out of my typical loop so I could email Sampson a picture with the caption "RIP Westside Brew Co." from my iPhone.

It's not all doom and gloom though. I was trawling the message boards over at Beer Advocate and found this little gem:

I have an infallible source telling me this place will be re-opened under new management in a few weeks. And by new management, I mean guys who know how to run an outstanding beer bar. UWSers should be psyched. More to follow.

It's a message board, so I'm not going to get my hopes up, but please, please, please almighty Beer Gods, get something in there soon. It's not fair. I'm dying inside.


----

I just went out to take the daytime pictures above and as I was standing there, a guy with one of those chest baby pouch/carriers and his wife walk up. The dude was probably in his 30's and with a forlorn look on his face he said "It's like, closed, man."

Nothing Like Home

It took 11 hours, four separate car rides, and the combined efforts of five friends/family members, but I finally made it back to NYC last night. I've got some pictures documenting the journey back which may or may not make their way up on the site after work.

The mythical music post obviously didn't make it up this weekend due to the unforseen circumstances discussed above and Brendan still has to weigh in with his Extreme Beer Fest recap, so the non-sports content is going to bleed into the week a little bit. Hope y'all folks don't mind.

Live From Red Sox Nation

I didn't want to blow my cover by announcing this beforehand, but I have successfully infiltrated a dwelling inhabited by one or more Red Sox fans in Brighton, Massachusetts. Before I leave, I promise to steal something, or at least leave an upper-decker.

The one confirmed Sawx sympathizer is none other than Fack Youk contributor and resident Boston correspondent, Brendan. We are teaming up this weekend to bring you, loyal readers, tipsy dispatches from Extreme Beer Fest.

Getting here wasn't easy. In fact, it was one of the most hazardous, and dangerous, and greatest adventures, on which man has ever embarked.

If I were to tell you that I got pulled over driving from the Upper West Side of Manhattan to Brighton, where would you guess this happened?

1. On I-95 between NYC and New Haven (You have to speed to make up for the time you lost on the Cross Bronx Expressway!)
   
2. On I-91 between New Haven and Hartford (I didn't know there were cops in Connecticut...)
3. On I-84 between Hartford and Sturbridge (See above)
   
4. On the Mass Pike between Sturbridge and Natick (Got a little impatient, could see the light at the end of the tunnel)
   
5. Or on the Pike between exits 15 & 17 (Speed limit is 55, Officer? I'm sorry I thought it was still 65!)

If you said any of those, you would be wrong, because I got pulled over for not wearing my seatbelt in New York-fucking-City. I was crossing Broadway on 79th St., eating an oatmeal raisin cookie and scrolling through my iPod when the lights kicked on behind me. Sheeeeeiiiiiiitttttt...

The cop pulled me over at a bus stop, and two seconds later, a double length MTA bus pulls up right alongside and lets a good 15-20 people off right in front of me, each of whom steals a guilty glance at the asshole who just got pulled over in Manhattan.

He comes up to the to car and goes "Ipulledyouoverforfailuretowearyourseatbelt,canIhaveyourdriver'slicense,sir?" I kind of half-laughed and turned it over. While he was in his car, I fired off this picture over my shoulder to document the special moment.


It may have been the most efficient traffic stop ever. The copper came back to the car in under three minutes and goes "Sir,I'veissuedyouacitationforfailuretowearaseatbeltwhileoperatingamotorvehicle, itcarriesnopointsandtherearetwowaysyoucanrespondtoit...DriveSafely"

Odd choice of words there, my severely underpaid compatriot. I was driving safely until you pulled me over for something that has absolutely nothing to do with the well-being of the other drivers on the road. I would have put the damn thing on after I was done with my cookie, dick.

I would have more of right to be angry if it was the first seatbelt ticket I got in Manhattan...


Anyway, after that auspicious beginning, the drive didn't get a whole lot better. Did you know that the Cross-Bronx Expressway is the worst stretch of highway ever to have been covered in asphalt? It's true!

From the time I entered Connecticut until I got to Boston, it snowed.

And snowed.

What's that you say? Its dangerous to be taking pictures while operating a motor vehicle in a driving snow storm? Nonsense. I made it here unharmed, unlike some asshole in an Accord behind me who fishtailed into the median... shows what you know.

-----

Well folks, not sure about the amount of sports content today or the rest of this weekend, but we are going to Night of the Barrels tonight and Session One tomorrow, so you can expect at least one but probably two beer-geeky recaps complete with pictures and snarky comments. I'm also going to try to put up a music post with a New York-Boston connection that ties in the JFK quote above, before the weekend is over.

If you are going to be at Extreme Beer Fest, look out for Brendan and I. He'll be the tall guy and I'll be the one with the beard. You won't be able to miss us.

"Let's Call It Even" [Creep Of The Week]

It was a close call between Doris and the asshat who decided to disallow bringing your own alcohol to the Preakness, but I think the biggest creep ultimately won.

Since it was 55 degrees out, John and I spent the day kicking it on the terrace drinking some Leffe, Southampton Abbot 12 and jamming out to Songlines.

As expected, when Doris threw our original sign back, she included the remnants of the pumpkin in the delivery.


Since we hadn't heard anything back since out last communication, and the pumpkin was still strewn across the terrace, we decided to reach across the aisle.

Well, sort of...

It reads:
[DORIS -

Let's call it even. You haven't offered an alternative explanation as to how our pumpkin was executed, so we must assume you did the deed. If you throw this bag out (or use it in one of your famous pumpkin, pigeon feather and dead cat pies) we'll forget this ever happened.
With love, 115 <3]

However, we also added some additional favors to our return package:

I wonder if it is still where we left it...


BTW: If you have an Aunt who is a former caterer who makes a mean corn relish, and a friend to isn't afraid to murder innocent animals, I highly recommend a venison sausage, corn relish and mustard sandwich.

And for good measure, here is a plug for North Coast Brewery which makes and Old Stock Ale (11.7% ABV), Blue Star (the best session beer possible) and a beautiful Belgian-stlye brew, Brother Thelonious:

Doris, Part III [Non-Sports]

[Here are parts I and II, in case you missed them]

Thanks to everyone who participated in the Delusional Doris Sign Sweepstakes earlier today! Mostly due to the length of the entries, there was no winner from the comment section. However, I did draw some inspiration from them and made two additions to our sign.

The top line now reads: "Did you write that letter w/your teeth?" (h/t: FY contributor Matt)

And the last two sentences read: "The difference is that when you did it, we laughed it off, and when we did, you called the cops. (and the new one) I bet they had a nice laugh when you hung up.
<3 115 xoxo"

I go to put it up, and to my horror, her door is open.


She wasn't outside, but just when you thought this woman couldn't be any creepier, she props her door open with a garbage can lid and a splintering 2x4. I don't know how that doorway connects to her apartment, but I can only assume the staircase is lined with with old newspapers, bird feathers she has collected from the roof, pre-1963 Playbills, and dead cats.

It's really awkward to ZipTie the signs on her side, from ours. I have to lean over the planter (which is right next to the railing) and around the chimney with both hands free to connect the tie. It makes it a whole lot more difficult when you have to keep an eye on that open door to make sure your crazy neighbor doesn't come flying out on her broomstick, causing you to lose your footing and fall 6 floors to your death.

If you look closely, you can see the two ties from the last sign, cinched much tighter than when I put them up. I can only assume that she had never seen a ZipTie before, and tried to remove them by yanking on the long end, only antagonizing her further.

This has been fun, but I really didn't think last night's post was going to be the 5th most popular post in the (somewhat brief) history of this blog. I'm not sure what that says about our sports commentary or more importantly, you sick puppies, but thanks for stopping by.

Whether she responds to this sign or not, rest assured there will be another Doris post at some point.

Doris Follow-Up [Non-Sports]

[Here is part I in case you missed it]

It was a beautiful snowy day here in the city, and when I got home, I immediately checked to see if there had been recent activity on the terrace. I didn't see anything at first, then just barely caught a glimpse of the corner of our sign sticking out from the edge of the deck, under about two inches of fresh powder. I walked out, picked it up and saw that it had been ripped in half. Fair enough. But, if the snow melts and the pumpkin is back on our side, we've got problems.

She also tied a plastic bag with a letter inside to the a hook on our chimney. Here it goes.

The Envelope:"To: The guys who are no longer with their parents - or - at the Frat house. But Hey, guess what - In The Real World - with - Surprise of Surprises - OTHER RE(down arrow)AL PEOPLE!!!"

This took me a good 10 minutes to decode. Her lower case "t" looks like an "e" with a line above it which I thought was an accent or a tilde or something. (See the word "at" on the fourth line down, first in from the left). I was thinking to myself, "What the fuck is a froe house"?

Just a tip, when you're literally writing out an attempt at making fun of someone, you don't want to awkwardly try to insert another word into your punchline. You either leave it as is or get a new envelope.

Yes, we no longer live with our parents. Is that supposed to be an insult? Nice try, but neither of us ever lived in a frat house. "The Real World", huh? That's pretty rich coming from a fucking agoraphobic. Your "Real World" consists of 800 square feet. And of course, that last "sentence" contains four dashes and zero coherent thoughts.

And now the letter. You'd think by the envelope that it would be in pen in cursive or something. Not so much:

Front Side:

"TO: THE ANGRY GUY AT 115 w.74 - (NOT THE NICE SIDE-KICK)"

You love the dash, don't you Doris? I wonder who she thinks is the "side-kick"... Check out the comments on the last post, Doris, neither of us are nice. We are angry because you smashed our pumpkin on our terrace for no fucking reason.

"I DID NOT TOUCH YOUR BOXES"

Yes. Yes you did. You put some old grayed-out boards on there and moved our "Golf Carts" sign just this past week. You put a strange bamboo arch in there at some point over the summer and planted other odd looking plants without asking us.

There is no other explanation as to how that pumpkin ended up on our side. It did not commit suicide by jumping from the planter. The cat that stops by occasionally didn't roll it over the edge. Several pigeons did not combine forces and drop it there.

Perhaps there were some other hooligans on your roof who did it. But you blamed us for everything that happened on your terrace, period. Not sure if you've peered out through that giant pile of plastic bags you have in your apartment recently, but we aren't your only neighbors.

"WE AWOKE THE OTHER DAY AFTER SUPER BOWL SUNDAY..."

Being that today is Tuesday, I'm guessing you are referring to yesterday?

"...TO FIND A PUMPKIN SMASHED AGAINST OUR BUILDING W/SUCH FORCE IT WAS ALL OVER THE WALLS + ROOF!! WE THOUGHT YOU OR A DRUNKEN FRIEND DID IT SO WE RETURNED THE FAVOR + NOTIFIED THE POLICE + TOOK PIX -->"

/Shakes in shoes.

Not all that scary, considering you just confessed to "RETURN[ing] THE FAVOR" in the same fucking sentence.

We took pictures too, except we didn't show them to the police. We posted them on a semi-vulgarly named sports blog and told a bunch of people on the intertubes about how crazy you are.

Back Side:
"YOU HAVE HAD A PROBLEM STAYING WITHIN YOUR BOUNDS IN THE PAST. -"

Sweet, a stray dash!

What she is referring to here is that fact that our neighbors who have two dachshunds were over here literally two and a half years ago and despite our best efforts the pups occasionally ventured onto her side of the terrace, maybe three times.

"YOU ALSO - OR ONE OF YOU AT LEAST - HAS A REAL ANGER CONTROL/SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT PROBLEM"

Angry because we wrote a sign with the F-word or have you been reading the blog? Entitlement because we don't think people should smash a rotting member of the squash family on our terrace? You want to try that one again?

"YOU ALSO - OR ONE OF YOU AT LEAST - HAS A REAL DRINKING PROBLEM"

There you go.

"- YOU'RE NEVER TOO YOUNG TO BEGIN SHAPING UP AND BEHAVING LIKE A MAN!! (MEN)"

Stray dash, volume 2. Thanks for the advice, Grandma. "NEVER TOO YOUNG". Going all Benjamin Button on us, I see.

"YOUR NEIGHBOR -
@117
DORIS "THE MAD WOMAN"

You said it.

As you may or may not be able to see, there were two different markers and even a pen used in this masterpiece. It contains sixteen dashes.


I just wish it wasn't snowing so I could hang up the new sign...
(sorry for the partial joke recycling)

"Doris -
You never touched our boxes? Who put those old boards across them last week? Fairies? What about the bamboo arch? Pigeons? The pumpkin was sitting in the box on Saturday, and on Sunday, it was smashed on our terrace. Were we supposed to assume the black cat did it? You are the one who used to sweep up every single thing on your shitty tar-pit and fling it all on our side. The difference is that when you did it, we laughed it off, and when we did, you called the cops."

As you can see, there is still enough room for about two lines. In 12 words or less, what should I close with? Leave your best shot in the comments, and your zinger just might meet Doris' crazy eyes tomorrow night.

[Update 2/5: Part III of this saga has now been written]

Welcome To The Internets, Doris [Non-Sports]

Everyone has had a crazy neighbor. We knew she was a little strange when we first spotted the yellowed newspapers she had stuffed in the top corner of one of her (broken) windows visible from our apartment. Occasionally she would blast classical music out of her AM/FM-Radio/Tape Deck combo right on the window sill, which you could hear even if both of our windows were closed.

When my buddy Sampson and I were looking for a place down here, we wanted outside space. Non-negotiable. It is an incredibly valuable commodity in Manhattan and it allows us to grill year round, which is obviously essential. We pay through the nose for it, but it's honestly worth it, especially during the summer.

When we first moved in, it was July and the terrace was a death trap of silver tar. On the hottest days, you could leave footprints just by walking on it, and the railings oozed black tar that ruined more than a few articles of clothing.

Neither of us had a "job" at that point, so we spent about three days and three trips to the Home Depot in Secaucus transforming a worthless space into the selling point of our apartment.

We didn't go in blind. My Dad used to wake me up at 7:00AM on weekends when I was 8 years old to help him with carpentry projects around our house. Sampson and I both worked for my cousin in Lake George over summer breaks in high school building custom lake houses in Cleverdale.

Sampson came up with the design, and I took care of most of the logistics. We carried every board, nail, bucket of stain, and FastenMaster Screw up six flights of stairs and I don't regret a second of it.

The fact that we had people over somewhat frequently didn't sit well with most of our neighbors. The people who lived here before us were apparently never around, which was a stark contrast to two 22 year olds with no jobs and a propensity for late nights and generous pours of Johnny Walker Red.

Doris' terrace borders on ours, not shown to the left in that picture.

The first run-in we had with her was when she called the fire department on us and had them confiscate our propane tank. Common sense would dictate that like a mother bear and her cub, you don't come between a man and his grill. We still don't know what exactly precipitated this most despicable act, but despite our initial outrage, we never said anything to her or retaliated in any way. We just bought a charcoal grill and used the extra 15 minutes it took to sear a couple of sirloins to drink another beer.

Doris used to just assume that everything that ended up on her terrace was a direct result of us, so she would sweep it up and throw it over on our side. It could have been a dead pigeon and she probably still would have tossed it over. Newsflash: There are numerous explanations for why something ends up on your terrace. We don't just throw shit over there for fun.

She also thought it would be a good idea to create a barrier between our spaces using an upside down ceramic planter, a wicker basket and some lattice, all strung together with twine. One day, I actually saw her during the daylight, and sarcastically complimented her on her work. She went "Oh, I just work with what I have, like Caldas, down in Brazil there". Riiiiiiight.

We actually have had some decent conversations with her, but her weird side inevitably came out. One night, Sampson passed out on the terrace and woke up to her throwing bird seed on him at 4:00AM.

We eventually built some spruce boxes where her odd "artwork" used to be, and planted some Aborvitaes for noise cancellation and privacy purposes. Doris was thrilled that we did it and we even planted some flowers on her side.

We had a truce for quite some time... until this weekend.

Earlier in the Fall, we nabbed a pumpkin on a golf trip to Jersey. It sat on our picnic table until it collapsed in on itself in late December. We threw it in one of the boxes to compost and it lay decaying peacefully there, ready to fertilize our Myrtle.

On Sunday, we went out to grill some chicken skewers for the Super Bowl and the rotting pumpkin was smashed on our AstroTurf. We had some ladies over at the time, so we laughed it off, and gave them the background on how crazy she was.

That lasted for about .10 of BAC. Around midnight we went back upstairs and took the remnants of the pumpkin and threw it all back on her side.

Why? Cause fuck her, that's why. There was no reason at all for her to take OUR pumpkin from OUR box and throw that shit on OUR terrace.

Well, today, I got home from work and decided to survey the terrace situation. She returned every chunk and every seed of the pumpkin back on our side. HA. Fuuuuuck that.

I had some leftover posterboard from the "Look At It, Dave" experiment, and decided it was a good time to use it. I made the following sign and Zip Tied it to one of the haphazardly arranged Time Warner cables on her side of the terrace, above the pile of pumpkin remains I threw back on her side.

[It reads:]

HEY DORIS!
ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?

I think we already know the answer to that question... There is absolutely no reason for you to throw a composting pumpkin onto our terrace, which explains why we threw it back. You really shouldn't be touching the boxes we built or anything in them. We haven't bothered you for a long time, so...

STAY OUT OF OUR SHIT!

Cordially,
The 115 guys

Plane Crash [Breaking News] [Non-Sports]

A small plane crashed into the Hudson River about an hour ago off of Midtown Manhattan, not far from my office on 57th street. Looks like they made a safe evacuation, but when its 21 degrees outside, that's not where you want to be.

Hope everyone is okay.

[Update: 5:05PM] It appears that all 148 passengers and the crew are safe. Well done.

[Update: 6:30PM] A co-worker of Cliff's was aboard one of the first ferries to respond and took the following picture]