Housewifehusband log: Stardate XXX*

If the XXX doesn't grab your attention, I don't know what will.

Free gas for a year!

Eat some beans. As you will see, there's a distinct lack of erotica. Sorry.

Closet prude!

No, that's where I keep my stash of porn. I am indeed truly sorry.
Here you go:


















Oh, Alessandra. Sigh.

Je m'excuse, Flying Nunly, you'll find no beefcake here.



















"My friends, don't I count?"

Of course not. Anyway, you have zero time for striking a pose; isn't there an election to steal? Since we're on the subject of kleptomania, the reason for thieving, for the second time in a week, a post title from the inscrutable and groovetastic Freida Bee is three-fold:

1. I'm off today, and when I'm off, I'm even lazier than normal; thus, not using whatever small reservoir of energy I still possess to think of a clever title on my own. To my credit, eventually waking the slumbering powers of my brain, I did manage to change it from wife to husband because, though I do sometimes cry during certain movies and crying is about the most womanly thing there is, I piss standing up.

2. Despite my penchant for slackitude, there is plenty o' laundry to wash and fold, so I will be, in a certain sense, playing house. And once we've shuffled the kids off to school, my sometimes-better-half and I can play doctor in the near 90° heat.

Gee, this post is even sexier than I had envisioned.

3. I couldn't think of a third thing, so read my NBA Finals preview.

Hey, where are you going?

Ungrateful bastards.

















Woo. How exciting. Celtics and Lakers. Golly, I hope we see Michael Jordan at courtside! That would make the experience super duper special! Anyone have a bucket or an industrial-size paper bag?


















"Lakers...Celtics...oh, yeah."

Dammit Stern, not again. Would someone get him a towel?

Here's what we know: the Celtics can win on the road, which in these playoffs, came as a surprise. The Hawks beat them three times, for Satan's sake. The Pistons can lose at home, which is their recent modus operandi. My bad for giving them the benefit of the doubt. Flip, you're flopped. The Lakers can win if they're playing a predominantly older team. The new-and-not-improved Big Three aren't young pups. The Spurs can lose if Manu Ginobili suddenly misplaces a leg. And what was with giving up not one, but two 17+ point leads? Assholes.

Ray Allen finally showed signs of life as the series rolled on, Paul Pierce played magnificently on the road in a game that would clinch a Finals berth and Kevin Garnett was workmanlike. The problem? Since acquiring Pau Gasol, the Lakers, including the postseason, are 40-12. Kobe has indeed been spectacular, but Los Angeles doesn't make the ultimate round without that outright theft of an all-star calibre player for a never-was, a couple of never-will-bes, a corpse and some draft picks. Fuck you, Memphis.

In the regular season, Boston won by an average scoring margin of 10.3 points/game, the highest such mark in the NBA since the 1996-97 Chicago Bulls. In other words, they were really good. The Lakers weren't slouches themselves, winning by 7.3 points/game, third in the league. In the postseason, however, the Lakers have maintained such excellence, winning by 6.4 points/game, not too shabby at all considering the much better opposition. Yes, that leads all playoff squads. The Celtics have fallen back to 4.3 points/game, and were even outscored in one series -- by the Cavs. Grumble.



I'm with you, Herm, but the best indicator of future success is the points/runs/goals you score and allow, not your W-L record. And that, unfortunately, is what I have to make my prediction on, not the fact that Boston won 66 games beating up on scrubs like Miami, Charlotte and the rest of the Atlantic division. The Celtics certainly don't look like that steamroller anymore, do they?

Rooting for the city of Boston to win another title is akin to rooting for a Republican in anything, but I'd much rather see Kevin Garnett, for example, hold the Larry O'Brien trophy above his head than a guy named after a fucking steak. At power forward, Top Sirloin Rosenberg! Morons. Like this guy: McHale the GM was quite the opposite of McHale the player, and that, not The Logo, is who Garnett had to work under for so many years. And I didn't see a Hall-of-Fame calibre center thundering across the Land of a Thousand Lakes either.

One more, not often voiced, reason to root for the Celtics is the way they arrived at this juncture. How many times have we seen a team trade away serviceable, if not outright quality, veterans for so much young, untapped talent, draft picks, cap space, you name it? And how many times has that blown up in that team's face? Boston said, fuck no, good people of Massachusetts, let's get some old dudes and make a run. Sure, we'll be capped out and we'll lose some young players in the process, but these guys already know how to play. If the Celtics win the title, then more teams will likely follow The Dogma of Herm. For us basketball junkies, that means no more Jonathan Benders, Stromile Swifts and Kwame Browns controlling your fortunes! More blockbuster trades! Not for the future, but now! Crazy hedonism! Live for the moment! Pass that stash! Run around the house naked! If you're not trying to win a championship, you're in the wrong business! I'm looking at you, Donald Sterling!

So, drunken leprechauns dancing in the streets? Sad to say for those of us with a soul that hasn't been charred to a fine crispy texture because we're not cursed to find habitation in the sweltering concrete and plastic heap that is the City of Angels, that won't happen. Lakers in six. Fuck it. KG, Defensive Player of the Year, baby!








"Celtics in seven!"


*sorry, FB, today it's DefCon 1.