John Starks Wasn't Sure Either

Columbia University's basketball team played a team from Central Pennsylvania College over the weekend.
In advance of the game the Columbia Spectator wrote:

"...forward John Starks Jr.—son of former New York Knicks guard John Starks—is second on the squad with 17.1 points per contest. "

Only problem is, despite the name, he is not the son of that John Starks.

Columbia issued an apology.

What makes this even crazier is that when we were discussing this story, someone walked in with a brand new intern and said "this is Grant Hill."

Turns out this intern's father went to Duke, his name was Hill obviously, and Hill was a recent Duke star, so he named his son Grant.

Word is the Word

I had never heard of University of the Incarnate Word before November. But now, a strange series of events has occurred and it now seems like all I hear about is Incarnate Word.

The first time I heard of Incarnate Word I was looking at the coaching tree for Pat Summitt. I saw that Angela Lawson is now the head women's basketball coach at Incarnate Word.

The second time I heard of Incarnate Word I was searching for something about Oklahoma, and a recap of Oklahoma University's college basketball game against Incarnate Word came up.

The third time I heard of Incarnate Word I was looking up RPI and was looking for the team with the #1 Strength of Schedule: Incarnate Word.

The fourth time I heard of Incarnate Word, I was listening to college basketball scores and St. John's suffered an upset against a school no one had ever heard of before: Incarnate Word.

I know what you are saying. All these things have to do with college basketball. The school has only been Division I for three years, so it's not unusual to have never heard of them before now.

The Universe is going to have to do something better if it wants me to believe in its powers.

So I decided to look up Incarnate Word. It's a Catholic University, obviously. It's located in San Antonio and has nearly 10,000 students. Incarnate means "in human form," often used along with the word "devil."

Any of that interest you? No, ok, hope about the University's motto:

"The Universe is Yours."

Are You There Universe, It's Me, Margaret

A few Universe moments I have been sitting on for a few months:

1) Mrs. Poop messaged me to say a friend of Chase's kept calling Julian "Julius." Then I read this in Sports Illustrated:

On a somewhat unrelated note: how embarrassing is it for Sports Illustrated to make that mistake? And I have seen several other similarly unfathomable mistakes. I wish I could find the time they referred to the Pittsburgh Stealers.

2) I texted Master Bates to tell him that I made some money for The Spinners by playing one of their songs on my show. And he responded by saying he recently heard their version of "I'm Working My Way Back To You" (SOTW, 8/24/11 on the 80s channel because even though it was released in December 1979, it hit the charts in 1980.

3) Mrs. Poop was baking. She was adding sugar to her concoction and I kept saying "lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor." Shortly, after I was watching an episode of "I Bet You" where Phil had to go door-to-door trying to borrow a cup of sugar from Antonio's neighbors.

The Universe Thinks My Art Sucks

As most of you know, The Poops moved into a new house this summer, we actually bought it just a couple days after Mrs. Poop's birthday.
Because we don't normally exchange big gifts, and we were spending a lot of money on the house, repairs, additional furnishings etc, I decided a gift heavy on sentiment, light on cost would be ideal.

So I drew Mrs. Poop a picture of our new abode.

Looks pretty good compared to the original though right?

But evidently the Universe didn't think my artwork is good enough because the gift from our realtor, sitting on the shelf the day we closed, was this picture of the house, drawn by a professional.

Ok, I readily admit it is better, but mine was drawn with love and colored with crayons.

And since then we've had the house re-sided, and it looks completely different.

What's The Universe Saying With This One?

By now, most of you know that I get dinner at work every night. We have a rotation of 10 or 15 restaurants. I almost always get the same thing every time we order from a particular restaurant.

But last night I decided to switch it up and order the chicken under a brick.

It was pretty good, if a little small.

I know I have never ordered this meal before. I've never talked about it before. I'm pretty sure I'd never even heard about chicken being prepared this way.

A few hours later I decided to watch the new episode of Four Courses with JB Smoove.

Near-Death Experiences

Most of my posts about the Universe involve insignificant incidents like the Universe bringing me the Mr. Belvedere theme, or a silly hat or candy or Mark Feinsand, but this is a little more serious.
On Monday I was completely unharmed by two experiences that could have ended really badly.
On the way to work a slow car was holding up traffic in the left lane. I later passed this car and saw the driver to be an Asian woman (double whammy). It is always my contention that slow drivers cause more accidents than fast ones. This driver was going so slowly in the left lane that the center lane was full of people zipping past (though not at an excessive rate of speed). This left me and the two drivers in front of me frustrated, because we were essentially trapped behind Yoko Ono is a Prius. Eventually we came up on accident scene where traffic was slowed. The unsure, nervous driver in the Prius must have jammed on her brakes, and the two frustrated drivers in front of me jammed theirs as well. But they were driving too close and collided with each other (though not with the Prius). I jammed my brakes as hard as I ever have. Tires squealed, everything on the seats went flying off, kids books and stuff from the back came to the front, I was shot forward too, until my seatbelt locked. But luckily, and very narrowly, I avoided being part of the accident. I noticed a piece of someone's bumper in the road, and the two cars pulling off to the shoulder. Later that day, while doing my late night Paul-ates, the walking cool-down lap, I heard a crack and a crash. It wasn't windy at all, but it sounded like a tree branch being broken. I stopped and looked around but it was too dark to see. Then I walked about 5 more feet and saw this.

Had I been walking just a little bit faster I might have been under that branch when it fell.

This is what it looked like the next morning:

I'm not saying it would have crushed my skull or that I would have died in the car accident had there been one, but no one wants to be whacked in the head by a falling branch or involved in even a minor fender-bender.

And I'm perfectly happy to give the credit for these near-misses to the mysterious power that watches over me.

The Universe's Favorite 80s Sitcom

Another crazy Universe moment occurred recently. I'm lying in bed reading a Sports Illustrated article about Bob Uecker and Mrs. Poop is watching King of Queens. The article included a picture of the cast of "Mr. Belvedere" so of course I started singing the theme song, "streaks on the china..."
Within 15 minutes this scene appeared on King of Queens:



Now I know I talk about Mr Belvedere a lot, and sing the theme song frequently, but not so often, that I wouldn't be amazed by the Universe's ability to deliver it to me within a few minutes of asking for it.

The Universe Wished Me a Happy Birthday

When I was much younger I let my birthday be known to co-workers. They made a huge deal out of it, embarrassingly me terribly, on TV. It was then that I decided it would be better to keep my birthday under wraps and avoid the unwanted attention in the form of people making stupid comments about my age.
But that means no cake. And because last year we bought a Fudgie the Whale cake at home and I ended up eating 19 of the 22 servings (as per the box), I decided I didn't want a cake this year.
As I left for work that morning I reminded Mrs. Poop that I was serious, a cake was not necessary.
Mrs. Poop was ok with that, the Universe wasn't. At work I have a birthday twin. She is not as bashful as I am. Her desk was decorated with about 20 mylar balloons, she was wearing a birthday tiara, and cutting a Fudgie the Whale cake.
So she got the attention she wanted.
And I got the ice cream cake I wanted.

We Prepared You For the Week in Pop Culture

Like most of you I agree the "Fred Sanford" is a much better dance craze than "The Bernie," which as slept the Oakland area.
Now one of Oakland's most prominent athletes, Stephen Curry, demonstrated the Bernie while running back down court after hitting the 10th of his 11 3-pointers against the Knicks in a 54-point tour de force performance.



But that wasn't the only time the Universe brought us a "Weekend at Bernie's" reference this week. There was also a very clever open to the latest episode of "How I Met Your Mother". The link isn't working so I will just set up the premise for you if you missed it. In Barney's Playbook of ways to get laid, there was a gambit called "Weekend at Barney's" with Barney playing the role of Bernie and Ted and Marshall as Jonathan Silverman and Andrew McCarthy.

New Year, New Job

A few months ago my friend and supervisor left my place of employment to take a better job at a competitor. Someone else was elevated to his role, it was widely assumed, especially by me, that I would be elevated to that vacancy. For reasons too complicated and aggravating to explain here, that did not happen.
I was shocked, saddened, angry, confused and hopeless. But as always, the Universe takes care of me. The reason I didn't get that job is so the Universe could reward me with a better one instead. The aforementioned friend and supervisor has recruited me to join him at his new place of employment.
I will be making more money, getting a key promotion I have been seeking for 5 years, and working much closer to home. Because I no longer have to commute, in addition to the increase salary I will be saving thousands on parking, gas and tolls.
And the biggest perk of all, I get free dinner every night. Which leads me to the worst part of this new job. By the way, isn't that always the case, the best part is the result of the worst part.
My new hours will be 11a to 8p. I won't have to wake up early, or even set an alarm, I won't get dressed in the dark, which may seem better to some. But to me I will miss my afternoons off. I will be devastated when summer rolls around and I don't get to come home at 3p and take the boys to the park. And I won't eat dinner with my family every night.
But that is a small sacrifice to make in the face of all I am going to gain from this new job. And Mrs. Poop who is making the biggest sacrifice of all, facing these monsters alone everyday, is also reaping the rewards, beginning with a brand new iPhone5.
And that is how life goes, you always have to let go of what you have to open your hand to get something better. It is fitting I start this job on the beginning of a new years, because it represents new challenges, new rewards and stuff we're going to buy with all that new money.

Note: please use discretion when commenting about my past or current employers.

Note: my e-mail account and blackberry had to be surrendered when I left. So you can't e-mail me at that address or text or call me on that phone number. Stand by for new information and if you need to reach me most of you know my personal address or can contact me through social media.

I Think Jim Joyce is Square with the Universe Now

Umpire Jim Joyce is best known for royally fucking Armando Galarraga's "perfect game" but now he’s done something to more than make up for that mistake.
When Joyce arrived at Chase Field to umpire a game between the Diamondbacks and Marlins he saw a stadium food service worker having an apparent heart attack. Joyce quickly jumped into action, performing CPR and trying to revive her with the defibrillator.
Paramedics arrived on the scene had to revive her again. But they did and the woman is going to be ok.
Joyce worked home plate that night because it was his turn, even though his fellow umpires wanted him to take it easy at third base. He said he'd rather stay busy behind home plate rather than move to third and think about the incident for the entire game. I suppose his blown call, which he handled with extreme grace, has been nagging at him for two years. Now he has something else to think about it.

Why I Believe What I Believe

Most of you know me as a pretty logical guy, too smart to believe in nonsensical things such as horrorscopes, ghosts, psychics and anything else people can conjure up.
But there are some things I do believe in.
First of all, I believe in me. I believe what happens to me is up to me, because of what I do.
I also believe in luck, but I also believe that luck favors the prepared.
And through a life spent marveling at things that happen for no explicable reason, I've developed a healthy admiration for the force that put Mark Feinsand on the same plane as Master Bates two days after I e-mailed MB to ask him to reach out to Feinsand. And then got him to stumble upon my blog, after MB challenged this mysterious force to prove its existence. I call that mystical force "The Universe."
I first started to believe in the Universe after the lowest moment in my life. I've written about most of this before but never in this way, so bear with me.
After Mrs. Poop had a miscarriage we weren't sure how long it would be before they let us try again. When we were given the go-ahead we were ecstatic that she got knocked up again so quickly. But then disaster struck. We went for what was supposed to be a routine ultrasound and just like the first time, there was no heartbeat and they couldn't find the baby.
After two of the hardest days ever, we had an appointment on a Friday morning for an ultrasound to confirm the miscarriage. Then on Thursday, Mrs. Poop was scapegoated at work for a problem that had nothing to do with her. They threatened to reassign her to another area of the hospital (it never happened, so don't worry), and then a few hours later we were scheduled to get final confirmation of another miscarriage.
You probably can't even imagine how she felt, losing her second baby, and her job over the span of a couple of days.
But a funny thing happened on the way to rock bottom.
We heard a heartbeat. The baby we now know as Chase was there the whole time, just chilling in Mrs. Poop's uterus, his heart beating, a sound so wonderful, it brought tears to my eyes.
Later that day the universe sent Mrs. Poop an e-mail (using me as its conduit) which said "Sorry about your job. But you can have your baby back. Love, The Universe."
I know that we are all very lucky in the way things turned out because I wouldn't trade Chase for any child in the world. And I will gladly worship whatever mysterious force brought him to us.

Sure Took You Long Enough

The 8-thousand and twentieth time is the charm. The New York Mets have their first no-hitter in franchise history.
My father and I have a long-standing debate over whether he can actually jinx no-hitters. He has called me so many times to tell me to put the game on, to ask if I'm watching, and each time the first hit was struck shortly after. He insisted that his calls had nothing to do with it. I told him his success rate was zero on calling and getting me to watch a no-hitter. Might as well try a different strategy. And this time, he was here with me in my house, so he couldn't call me.
And it's a good thing he was. Often on Friday nights I record the Mets game and watch something else with Mrs. Poop. Best case scenario, I would have seen it only delay. But in this case two things were set to record on the DVR. So if not for wanting to watch the game with Papa Poop, I might not have seen it at all.
And it's great that it happened on a Friday night. This could have been a Tuesday 10pm start in San Diego. But it was Friday when Mets fans were home, and even if they weren't watching they got an e-mail (though no one should be e-mailing during a no-hitter) saw a tweet or a Facebook post, and I'm sure by the end every serious Mets fan (except for Damino) was praying for the end of this dreaded streak.
If it couldn't be Tom Seaver, or Dwight Gooden in his short but spectacular prime, I am glad Johan was the pitcher to do it. Some teams have no-hitters by journeymen like Philip Humber, AJ Burnett and Bobo Holloman. The first (and hopefully not the last) no-hitter in Mets history was thrown by one of the best pitchers in franchise history.

Don't be confused by the announcers' talk, there is no way Terry Collins was taking Johan out of this game. Maybe if it were another franchise, but not the Mets. We needed this one, we deserved this one. And Johan said there was no way he was going to give up the ball.
It was funny to watch Santana bat in the 9th inning. It was probably the first time anyone ever went to the plate planning not to swing and hoping to strike out, not walk.
I think we can all agree after having seen the replay that the Beltran foul ball should have been ruled fair and a hit. But that's just part of the game. Maybe this is the Universe giving what it took from Armando Galarraga to a fan base that could really use it. I don't think it should diminish what Johan accomplished because he pitched a great game and still had to get 27 guys out without allowing a hit.

The second most tense moment of the game involved Mike Baxter slamming into the wall but holding on for a catch. Yadier Molina (that fuckin guy) hit one deep to left and Baxter grabbed it before smashing into the wall. It looks like he hurt his arm, maybe shoulder, so hopefully he won't be out very long. But it should surprise no one that overcoming a curse like this required some human sacrifice.
Did you all see the idiot fan in the Gary Carter jersey?

He actually made it into the pile before security beat his ass.

Every Mets game after the first opponent's hit Chris Majkowski, the producer for the Mets radio broadcast on WFAN, tweets out the particulars of the hit followed by the hashtag #nottonightboss. Now he was finally able to send this tweet: Tonight. Boss.

The folks at nonohitters.com updated their website to say "The streak ends at 8,019: Santana no-hits Cards."
What are they going to do now?
What is Majkowski going to do now?
What am I going to do now?

In a big way the experience of being a Mets fan is defined not by success but by failure. Not just abject failure, close-to-the-top, soul-crushing failure. The Mets always make you believe, and usually let you down. The no-hitter streak exemplifies that. The Mets have always been a franchise of great pitchers. And it's not like they haven't had chance, 35 1-hitters in team history.
That's the whole identity of being a Mets fan. Of always being second to the Yankees, always coming up short. But not tonight, Johan changed all that. Next time a Mets pitcher takes a no-hitter into the 7th or 8th, maybe Papa Poop won't even bother calling, and if he doesn't maybe I won't even get upset.
Because finally a New York Mets pitcher has pitched a no-hitter. Something I have been waiting my entire life to see has finally happened.

The Universe Gets Revenge On Those Who Get Revenge on Their Mothers

A few years ago Mama Poop thought she was doing something nice for me when she bought me a huge soup pot.
But because of the size of our kitchen and the fact that we already had an adequate soup pot, I declined her gift.
She suggested I keep the pot for Passover but seeing as how we never host Seders, I didn't think this was an effective use of resources, so I suggested she return the pot and get her money back.
Knowing Mama Poop as I do, I knew she would never return the pot. Sure enough, several months later I went to her house and saw the pot sitting there. I abducted it, never telling Mama Poop what I had done.

The problem is, I put the pot with my Passover dishes in the basement and forgot all about it.

So this year, when Chase got sick before the first Seder scuttling our plans to go to Step On Me's we had to come up with a last minute meal. I had an idea. I'll make chicken soup. I just need a pot. So I went to Shop Rite and paid $15 for a soup pot and came home to make my soup. Which is about the time I found the other pot. So now I am stuck with two.




I still have to go back to Shop Rite to return the unused pot. But I'm glad everything worked out and the soup was good.

The lesson as always: never try to trick your mom.

Paulo's Book Club: "Fooled by Randomness"

A funny thing about life, two people can look at the same thing, and see it completely differently. And that's why I didn't like "Fooled by Randomness" by Nassem Nicholas Taleb.

The book explores the "Hidden Role of Chance in Life and the Markets," something I often think about.

But here's the difference, I look at the strange things that happen and see the Universe, Taleb sees randomness.



The book is interesting because Taleb provides a great many thought experiments to prove his points but his thinking a little rigid, and he overuses ancient philosophers.

One of Taleb's main point is about the "black swan." He theorizes, correctly, that seeing a million white swans, doesn't prove that all swans are white, but seeing only one black swan, disproves that theory.

The Black Swan (another of Taleb's books) is the name for an unexpected event. He used the black swan theory to say that basically none of the traders on Wall Street have any idea what they are doing. They just do what everyone else is doing, and through pure luck, avoid the black swan. But when the black swan comes, the explode, and explode spectactularly, a theory that seems to fit and even the foretell the current economic crisis.

Although I disagree with Taleb's cynicism, many of you who think my Universe talk is crazy might enjoy his take. Hell, he may even be right. But my way is much more fun.

Mazel Tov to Big Pelf

Mets starting pitcher Mike Pelfrey and his wife welcoming a new baby boy this week.
And here's where the Universe started to have some fun with us.
Little Pelf was delivered by the same doctor who delivered Little Reissberg.
The Pelfreys named him Chase.
Chase Pelfrey weighed in at 7 pounds 14 ounces, the exact birhweight of my Chase.
Mike will miss his scheduled start in San Diego on Saturday and instead will pitch Monday against Arizona in Chase Field.

I Guess Her Time Was Up

An Italian woman who escaped death when she arrived too late at Rio airport to catch Air France flight 447 to Paris ran out of luck when she was killed in a car crash on her way home.

Johanna Ganthaler, 65, died when the car driven by her husband Kurt swerved across the expressway near Kufstein, Austria, and was hit by a truck.

After the couple from Merano, Italy, missed the Rio-Paris flight, they were put on a plane to Munich instead. They only learned that the flight had plummeted into the ocean with the loss of all 228 on board when they arrived in Germany.

The Ganthalers, who had just retired from running an appliance store, had spent a month with their son and daughter-in-law in Brazil, where Ms. Ganthaler celebrated her 65th birthday.

As any faithful Poophead knows, I often contemplate the strange vagaries of the universe. Can't really understand why Johanna Ganthaler would miss her flight, saving her life only to die a short time later.
But I guess when your ticket is punched it's going to happen one way or another.

The Universe is Working Overtime

A few months ago I got an e-mail from a guy who lived on my floor freshman year of college, after not speaking to him for about 10 years.
We exchanged a couple of e-mails and he told me he lives in Hoboken. I mentioned that TON lives there too and he said he actually ran into TON once or twice but that TON wasn't very friendly and blew him off.
Anyway, when I got laid off and my e-mail was disconnected I lost his address.
I assumed that was the end of it since he had no way to contact me, and I had no way to get back to him.
But then the Universe intervened.
I saw him yesterday while walking across 7th Avenue to Penn Station. He screamed my name and we talked for a few minutes. I thought my story about not getting back to him because of the layoff might sound unbelievable to him, but he said he tried to send me something a couple weeks ago and when it got returned to him he knew I left the company, either voluntarily or not.
So he was thrilled to see me, gave me a big hug when we departed and took down my new e-mail address.
Sure it did take two months for us to meet up again, but he doesn't even work in the city so I guess the Universe just took its time arranging some kind of art seminar for him to go to.
Thanks again, Universe.

The Universe Brings Me a Funny Hat

I frequently carry on about the strange powers of the universe (I think this story would qualify as what people like Oprah call "the law of attraction" which states if you think of something, it will come to you) but this latest incident stunned even me.
I was watching "Sesame Street" with Chase (I'm obsessed, I DVR every episode and make sure Mrs. Poop saves them until I watch them. I love Telly but I hate his best friend Baby Bear) and we heard a delightful song honoring "T," the letter of the day. It was sung to the tune of "Hey There Delilah" and spoke of Tina who was wearing a "terrific Tam O' Shanter."
Now you should know that Sesame Street is not my only obsession, I'm also frequently consulting the internet so that I can identify on sight styles of facial hair, airport codes and types of hats.
Since the Tam O'Shanter is one of my favorites I sent Mrs. Poop the wikipedia page dedicated to this cool chapeau.
The next day we were at the grocery store and we saw a man in the parking lot wearing a terrific tam o'shanter.
What are the odds?
I know you non-believers will say someone in a tam o'shanter walks by me everyday and I only noticed this time because I was thinking about this hat.
But I dispute that. First of all, no one wears a tam o'shanter anymore. Second, I would always notice one. Third, I'm always thinking about tam o'shanters.
This was just the universe's way of telling me to keep believing.

The Universe Gives Mrs. Poop Candy

I have often rambled on about the strange ability of the Universe to bring us exactly what we need and deserve.
During a stroll through CVS in early November I bought a bag of candy on sale for 50% off. Mostly I wanted the lemonheads but the package promised a wide assortment of candy. When I cracked open the bag, Mrs. Poop was anxious to try the Chewy Atomic Fireballs advertised on the package, and was very dismayed that we got 5 boxes of Appleheads but no Chewy Atmoic Fireballs.



So I sent an e-mail to the Ferrara Pan Candy Company:

"I recently purchased a bag of your Halloween assortment. The bag was advertised to include Lemonheads, Grapeheads, red hots and chewy atomic fireballs. I was very disappointed to find that were no chewy atomic fireballs in my bag. Not one. I realize that product assortment might vary, but not including the product at all? Very disappointing."

And this was their reply:

"An equal mix of all flavors are blended on a common conveyor then fed into the scale area where the bags are packed by weight."

That is the letter in its entirety.

Mrs. Poop was furious. Angrier than when no one comments on a cute picture of Chase.
But a few days later one of her co-workers brought in some leftover Halloween candy and amongst the goodies was a box of Chewy Atomic Fireballs, which Mrs. Poop brought home for us to share. The Universe comes through again.

And by the way, Mrs. Poop ate one, said they were too hot and I ate the rest.