Gen-X wannabe living in the past like it's the present and future. Be good.
twitter: @VarsityOptimism

(Source: thedeepmind, via mmmsimpsons)

blameaspartame:

my memes

(Source: jorts-manor)

fuckyeah1990s:

1990s Normcore

did-you-kno:

Source

My dad was the First Assistant Director on this movie. I visited set many times. LOL.

did-you-kno:

Source

My dad was the First Assistant Director on this movie. I visited set many times. LOL.

True Detective: Gen X Edition
dustinmartian:

Harmontown Charity Garage Sale!
Dan Harmon are the rest of the Harmontown gang are selling their stuff in a giant garage sale to benefit 826LA!! There will be music. There will be baked goods. There will be Dan Harmon, LIVE in person to sign blenders, t-shirts, furniture, art work and any other “treasures” you may discover.  All proceeds go to 826LA! Simultaneous on-line auction TBA!
826LA is a non-profit organization dedicated to supporting students ages 6 to 18 with their creative and expository writing skills, and to helping teachers inspire their students to write. 826LA’s services are structured around our understanding that great leaps in learning can happen with one-on-one attention, and that strong writing skills are fundamental to future success. With this in mind, the organization provides a range of writing programs to over 8,000 students across Los Angeles. All programs are challenging and enjoyable, and ultimately strengthen each student’s power to express ideas effectively, creatively, confidently, and in his or her individual voice. For more information, visit www.826LA.org.
*In addition, I will be bringing some weird random comedy podcast memorabilia I have from working at Earwolf, Feral Audio, and on the Mr. Show Hollywood Said No audiobook over the years.

dustinmartian:

Harmontown Charity Garage Sale!

Dan Harmon are the rest of the Harmontown gang are selling their stuff in a giant garage sale to benefit 826LA!! There will be music. There will be baked goods. There will be Dan Harmon, LIVE in person to sign blenders, t-shirts, furniture, art work and any other “treasures” you may discover.
All proceeds go to 826LA! Simultaneous on-line auction TBA!

826LA is a non-profit organization dedicated to supporting students ages 6 to 18 with their creative and expository writing skills, and to helping teachers inspire their students to write. 826LA’s services are structured around our understanding that great leaps in learning can
happen with one-on-one attention, and that strong writing skills are fundamental to future success. With this in mind, the organization provides a range of writing programs to over 8,000 students across Los Angeles. All programs are challenging and enjoyable, and ultimately strengthen each student’s power to express ideas effectively, creatively, confidently, and in his or her individual voice. For more information, visit www.826LA.org.

*In addition, I will be bringing some weird random comedy podcast memorabilia I have from working at Earwolf, Feral Audio, and on the Mr. Show Hollywood Said No audiobook over the years.

(via havingchanged)

gameraboy:

Jimmy Carter jogging in Disneyland

gameraboy:

Jimmy Carter jogging in Disneyland

(via vintagedisneyparks)

homebaseball:

"What is finished… is the idea that this great country is dedicated to the freedom and flourishing of every individual in it. It’s the individual that’s finished. It’s the single, solitary human being that’s finished. It’s every single one of you out there that’s finished, because this is no longer a nation of independent individuals. It’s a nation of some 200-odd million transistorized, deodorized, whiter-that-white, steel-belted bodies, totally unnecessary as human beings, and as replaceable as piston rods… Well, the time has come to say, is dehumanization such a bad word. Because good or bad, that’s what is so. The whole world is becoming humanoid - creatures that look human but aren’t. The whole world not just us. We’re just the most advanced country, so we’re getting there first. The whole world’s people are becoming mass-produced, programmed, numbered, insensate things…"—Paddy Chayevsky, Network, 1975.
I watched Network the other day with my dog in an effort to wade through a rare Southern California rainstorm. I had seen it once in high school and had always meant to revisit it, but somehow hadn’t found my way to it until just this past week. Not to overstate, but it was like finding a cinematic soul mate. It hit dead-on in so many areas of my interest: the 1970s, subversiveness, pointed satire and anarchic spirit. It fucking ruled. But this isn’t a screed on how awesome Network is. Everyone knows that. There are whole books dedicated to it. This is about another blow to the humanity of baseball. MLB Advanced Media announced yesterday at the MIT Sloan Sports Analytics conference that they have developed a revolutionary tracking system designed to completely explode defensive analytics. If you’re a futurist or SABRmetrician it is cum volcano-XXXX-illegal in 40 states-ball draining porn. For people who love baseball, it’s what Robert Oppenheimer and Bhagavad Gita called “the destroyer of worlds”.


Humanity has a funny way of designing it’s own destruction. I could get specific, but it would ultimately undercut my point, seeing as I’m talking about baseball, but the fact remains. This isn’t the start of something, it’s the end of everything. In the clip demonstrating the power of the new tracking system—which doesn’t yet have a name—Braves center fielder Jason Heyward robs the Mets’ Justin Turner of a potentially game winning hit. He slides to make the catch and thus ends the game, rising to his feet with appropriate excitement, the announcer aptly commenting that the catch was a “big league play”. Why? BECAUSE JASON HEYWARD IS A BIG LEAGUER AND BIG LEAGUERS ARE GOOD AT BASEBALL. What more did we learn from knowing his 97% route efficiency and 18mph foot speed aside from what we knew before? That Jason Heyward is fast and smart. We got that. Understood. Anyone with eyes could see that it was a great catch. It’s fancy and shiny and I’m sure FOX and ESPN will find some cool sound effects and whooshes and whips to make it all pretty-like, but what this system can’t account for is the rare, but existent, chance that Heyward makes the dive and the ball done pops out and the Mets win. Why? Not because his route was inefficient or somehow less than optimal, but because chaos and randomness finds a way. It’s the very nature of the universe and humanity itself. We are the sum total of all the inefficiencies and cruel randomness contained in the cosmos. 


Why do we keep trying to perfect the imperfect? Symmetry is overrated. What this truly is, is more useless metrics for people to wax rhapsodic about after the fact. It’s simply a way to engage non-athletes and imbue them with their own “special skill” to somehow “better understand” baseball. Well, guess what? Baseball don’t want to be solved. That’s why weird shit never stops happening and never will, no matter how many metrics and tracking cameras we try and throw at it. Because the unfortunate and terrifying endgame to “figuring it out” is that we know what will happen before it does, and at that point, why even play? Why not just simulate and crown a statistical champion? Because it’s not fucking fun. Because it’s not baseball and at their core, all these Brian Kennys and Bill Jameses know it. They’re just trying to make sense of inherent nonsense.  Once Major League Baseball installs the trackers in every ballpark and figures out how to handle disseminating the whopping 7 TERABYTES of data produced each game (that’s 17 petabytes of data per season in case you were wondering.), you can bet your ass that they’ll slap a price tag for access as an add-on to your existing MLB.tv subscription.  You can bet that this will be the sort of thing that the people who like this sort of thing will like. No, they’ll love it. There will be websites dedicated to it and we will continue to further distill baseball into a neat package of tendencies and probabilities until it bears only a passing resemblance to the thing we once knew.  Unless we fight back and treat our ballplayers as more than replaceable piston rods. They’re human beings, dammit! Their lives have value! For how pervasive these analytic overlords have become, isn’t it time to tip the scales back in favor of baseball? Isn’t it time to watch pitchers pitch, hitters hit and fielders field, if for no other reason that they are the ones who have dedicated their lives to achieving the type of greatness that advanced stats live to minimize and eviscerate?I’ll tell you how this ends: the metricians cannibalize themselves under an insurmountable pile of data and sterility and humanity wins, but none of that can happen unless you get MAD and resolve to take back the game from the death grip of math and unfun. The only thing at stake is baseball itself.

homebaseball:

"What is finished… is the idea that this great country is dedicated to the freedom and flourishing of every individual in it. It’s the individual that’s finished. It’s the single, solitary human being that’s finished. It’s every single one of you out there that’s finished, because this is no longer a nation of independent individuals. It’s a nation of some 200-odd million transistorized, deodorized, whiter-that-white, steel-belted bodies, totally unnecessary as human beings, and as replaceable as piston rods… Well, the time has come to say, is dehumanization such a bad word. Because good or bad, that’s what is so. The whole world is becoming humanoid - creatures that look human but aren’t. The whole world not just us. We’re just the most advanced country, so we’re getting there first. The whole world’s people are becoming mass-produced, programmed, numbered, insensate things…"—Paddy Chayevsky, Network, 1975.

I watched Network the other day with my dog in an effort to wade through a rare Southern California rainstorm. I had seen it once in high school and had always meant to revisit it, but somehow hadn’t found my way to it until just this past week. Not to overstate, but it was like finding a cinematic soul mate. It hit dead-on in so many areas of my interest: the 1970s, subversiveness, pointed satire and anarchic spirit. It fucking ruled. But this isn’t a screed on how awesome Network is. Everyone knows that. There are whole books dedicated to it.

This is about another blow to the humanity of baseball. MLB Advanced Media announced yesterday at the MIT Sloan Sports Analytics conference that they have developed a revolutionary tracking system designed to completely explode defensive analytics. If you’re a futurist or SABRmetrician it is cum volcano-XXXX-illegal in 40 states-ball draining porn. For people who love baseball, it’s what Robert Oppenheimer and Bhagavad Gita called “the destroyer of worlds”.

Humanity has a funny way of designing it’s own destruction. I could get specific, but it would ultimately undercut my point, seeing as I’m talking about baseball, but the fact remains. This isn’t the start of something, it’s the end of everything.

 In the clip demonstrating the power of the new tracking system—which doesn’t yet have a name—Braves center fielder Jason Heyward robs the Mets’ Justin Turner of a potentially game winning hit. He slides to make the catch and thus ends the game, rising to his feet with appropriate excitement, the announcer aptly commenting that the catch was a “big league play”. Why? BECAUSE JASON HEYWARD IS A BIG LEAGUER AND BIG LEAGUERS ARE GOOD AT BASEBALL. What more did we learn from knowing his 97% route efficiency and 18mph foot speed aside from what we knew before? That Jason Heyward is fast and smart. We got that. Understood. Anyone with eyes could see that it was a great catch. It’s fancy and shiny and I’m sure FOX and ESPN will find some cool sound effects and whooshes and whips to make it all pretty-like, but what this system can’t account for is the rare, but existent, chance that Heyward makes the dive and the ball done pops out and the Mets win. Why? Not because his route was inefficient or somehow less than optimal, but because chaos and randomness finds a way. It’s the very nature of the universe and humanity itself. We are the sum total of all the inefficiencies and cruel randomness contained in the cosmos. 

Why do we keep trying to perfect the imperfect? Symmetry is overrated. What this truly is, is more useless metrics for people to wax rhapsodic about after the fact. It’s simply a way to engage non-athletes and imbue them with their own “special skill” to somehow “better understand” baseball. Well, guess what? Baseball don’t want to be solved. That’s why weird shit never stops happening and never will, no matter how many metrics and tracking cameras we try and throw at it. Because the unfortunate and terrifying endgame to “figuring it out” is that we know what will happen before it does, and at that point, why even play? Why not just simulate and crown a statistical champion? Because it’s not fucking fun. Because it’s not baseball and at their core, all these Brian Kennys and Bill Jameses know it. They’re just trying to make sense of inherent nonsense. 

Once Major League Baseball installs the trackers in every ballpark and figures out how to handle disseminating the whopping 7 TERABYTES of data produced each game (that’s 17 petabytes of data per season in case you were wondering.), you can bet your ass that they’ll slap a price tag for access as an add-on to your existing MLB.tv subscription. 

You can bet that this will be the sort of thing that the people who like this sort of thing will like. No, they’ll love it. There will be websites dedicated to it and we will continue to further distill baseball into a neat package of tendencies and probabilities until it bears only a passing resemblance to the thing we once knew. 

Unless we fight back and treat our ballplayers as more than replaceable piston rods. They’re human beings, dammit! Their lives have value! For how pervasive these analytic overlords have become, isn’t it time to tip the scales back in favor of baseball? Isn’t it time to watch pitchers pitch, hitters hit and fielders field, if for no other reason that they are the ones who have dedicated their lives to achieving the type of greatness that advanced stats live to minimize and eviscerate?

I’ll tell you how this ends: the metricians cannibalize themselves under an insurmountable pile of data and sterility and humanity wins, but none of that can happen unless you get MAD and resolve to take back the game from the death grip of math and unfun. The only thing at stake is baseball itself.
Faraway Dunaway
homebaseball:

On October 7, 2013, I was standing on a chair in the middle of my living room. The Atlanta Braves had just taken the lead off an RBI single by George Costanza—excuse me, José Constanza—and I had completely lost my mind. My 2013 Postseason side-patched Dodger cap rest askew on my head with a rally towel I had acquired the previous day tucked beneath. This was not a proud moment. My cat Coop glared and judged me in that special way that only a cat can.Despondent, I began to unravel, shuddering to think of a Game 5 in Atlanta and having to endure not only possible defeat, but another four hours of that stupid (and kinda sorta racist) Tomahawk Chop. I solemnly grabbed my girlfriend Katie’s hand and though she had merely a passing interest in baseball, drawing most of her pleasure from that of my own and the occasional miniature batting helmet filled with ice cream and rainbow sprinkles, I requested that she see through this next half an inning with me so I did not succumb to a death reserved for only the stupidest of stupids."I really need you right now." I told her. I knew that there was no conceivable way she could understand what I mean by that, but, since she’s the best, she did it anyway. Her gesture to the Spirit of Baseball only yielded a Yasiel Puig double, replete with fist pumps and trademark Puigian cocksure followed by a mammoth Juan Uribe blast into left field proper. I was outside and halfway down the stairs before Uribe’s homer had even cleared the fences, utterly speechless and yet again, completely undone, overcome by the sheer improbability of it all. In June, they were out of it. Dead. Listless. Now, four months later, they were here, at that dreamy place that is simply beyond words.It is moments such as these that make up the core of HOMEbaseball. This is a space devoted to exploring the emotion, narrative and trajectory of baseball, in both the micro and macro. It is about dissecting and better understanding the baked-in Campbellian story structure that hides within plain sight of a nine inning game. It’s about the relationship between inevitable death and eventual rebirth; our Autumn and Spring. It’s about those who toil in the minors and never make it out. It’s about the ones that do and make us better people as an indirect result. To borrow from Ken Burns’ Baseball, it’s about coming home. It’s about discovering that our journey around the bases to return to where we started from is the most human impulse and journey one could undertake.While HOMEbaseball recognizes the rise and importantce of advanced metrics and analytics, we think they’re boring and often serve to rob the game of the things we truly love. Sure, they may tell the “real story”, but we fully call into question if it is the story most worth telling. After all, what good is wins over replacement player if you don’t know as much dumb stuff about all those replacement players as you can? Look, Sabermetrics are fun if you want to turn baseball into Pokémon or Magic: The Gathering, but what’s the point in that? Boiling down players to scientific formulas of efficiencies and tendencies is nerdy, and not the cute and charming smell-o-the-grass, crack-o-the-bat Wrigley Field nerdy. It’s mouth-breather nerdy. Untreated acne nerdy. Even this year’s edition of Baseball Prospectus (which I read and actually enjoyed) seemed to couch their dogma with nods to old-school factors such as luck and human error. It seems even the Tyest of Cobbs’ hearts can grow and soften into sweet and sticky sentimental goo. This is HOMEbaseball. It is a blog and podcast dedicated to the subsurface stories that make baseball the greatest team game ever played. It is decidedly apart from the establishment and seeks to stay that way. HOMEbaseball rejects the stuffy, over-50 BBWA classical approach to baseball writing and all the self-sanctimony and pusillanimous Dad-jokes that come with it. HOMEbaseball rejects that the BBWA still spells baseball as two individual words. HOMEbaseball believes in the importance of closers and their eccentricities. HOMEbaseball gets down with batflips and brawls. HOMEbaseball thinks that people who insist the game be played the “Right Way” should never stop eating their own butts. HOMEbaseball believes that Pete Rose and Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire and Shoeless Joe should be in the Hall of Fame. We also believe the Hall of Fame should be burnt to the ground and replaced with a plaque bearing 1970s journeyman outfielder Oscar Gamble’s imperative words: “They don’t think it be like it is, but it do.” Why? Because it fucking DO.HOMEbaseball believes that a game that ruminates upon itself as it happens deserves equally critical, insightful, irrelevant and inane ruminations. HOMEbaseball is a place that reveres the game yet seeks to set it on fire and watch the established burn in our wake all in one truculent irreverent breath, double middle fingers defiantly raised.Today is our Opening Day. Consider this the first pitch.Signed,Andrew R., Editor-in-Chief.February 10, 2014

homebaseball:

On October 7, 2013, I was standing on a chair in the middle of my living room. The Atlanta Braves had just taken the lead off an RBI single by George Costanza—excuse me, José Constanza—and I had completely lost my mind. My 2013 Postseason side-patched Dodger cap rest askew on my head with a rally towel I had acquired the previous day tucked beneath. This was not a proud moment. My cat Coop glared and judged me in that special way that only a cat can.

Despondent, I began to unravel, shuddering to think of a Game 5 in Atlanta and having to endure not only possible defeat, but another four hours of that stupid (and kinda sorta racist) Tomahawk Chop. I solemnly grabbed my girlfriend Katie’s hand and though she had merely a passing interest in baseball, drawing most of her pleasure from that of my own and the occasional miniature batting helmet filled with ice cream and rainbow sprinkles, I requested that she see through this next half an inning with me so I did not succumb to a death reserved for only the stupidest of stupids.

"I really need you right now." I told her. I knew that there was no conceivable way she could understand what I mean by that, but, since she’s the best, she did it anyway. Her gesture to the Spirit of Baseball only yielded a Yasiel Puig double, replete with fist pumps and trademark Puigian cocksure followed by a mammoth Juan Uribe blast into left field proper. I was outside and halfway down the stairs before Uribe’s homer had even cleared the fences, utterly speechless and yet again, completely undone, overcome by the sheer improbability of it all. In June, they were out of it. Dead. Listless. Now, four months later, they were here, at that dreamy place that is simply beyond words.

It is moments such as these that make up the core of HOMEbaseball. This is a space devoted to exploring the emotion, narrative and trajectory of baseball, in both the micro and macro. It is about dissecting and better understanding the baked-in Campbellian story structure that hides within plain sight of a nine inning game. It’s about the relationship between inevitable death and eventual rebirth; our Autumn and Spring. It’s about those who toil in the minors and never make it out. It’s about the ones that do and make us better people as an indirect result. To borrow from Ken Burns’ Baseball, it’s about coming home. It’s about discovering that our journey around the bases to return to where we started from is the most human impulse and journey one could undertake.

While HOMEbaseball recognizes the rise and importantce of advanced metrics and analytics, we think they’re boring and often serve to rob the game of the things we truly love. Sure, they may tell the “real story”, but we fully call into question if it is the story most worth telling. After all, what good is wins over replacement player if you don’t know as much dumb stuff about all those replacement players as you can? 

Look, Sabermetrics are fun if you want to turn baseball into Pokémon or Magic: The Gathering, but what’s the point in that? Boiling down players to scientific formulas of efficiencies and tendencies is nerdy, and not the cute and charming smell-o-the-grass, crack-o-the-bat Wrigley Field nerdy. It’s mouth-breather nerdy. Untreated acne nerdy. Even this year’s edition of Baseball Prospectus (which I read and actually enjoyed) seemed to couch their dogma with nods to old-school factors such as luck and human error. It seems even the Tyest of Cobbs’ hearts can grow and soften into sweet and sticky sentimental goo. 

This is HOMEbaseball. It is a blog and podcast dedicated to the subsurface stories that make baseball the greatest team game ever played. It is decidedly apart from the establishment and seeks to stay that way. HOMEbaseball rejects the stuffy, over-50 BBWA classical approach to baseball writing and all the self-sanctimony and pusillanimous Dad-jokes that come with it. HOMEbaseball rejects that the BBWA still spells baseball as two individual words. HOMEbaseball believes in the importance of closers and their eccentricities. HOMEbaseball gets down with batflips and brawls. HOMEbaseball thinks that people who insist the game be played the “Right Way” should never stop eating their own butts. HOMEbaseball believes that Pete Rose and Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire and Shoeless Joe should be in the Hall of Fame. We also believe the Hall of Fame should be burnt to the ground and replaced with a plaque bearing 1970s journeyman outfielder Oscar Gamble’s imperative words: “They don’t think it be like it is, but it do.” Why? Because it fucking DO.

HOMEbaseball believes that a game that ruminates upon itself as it happens deserves equally critical, insightful, irrelevant and inane ruminations. HOMEbaseball is a place that reveres the game yet seeks to set it on fire and watch the established burn in our wake all in one truculent irreverent breath, double middle fingers defiantly raised.

Today is our Opening Day. Consider this the first pitch.

Signed,
Andrew R., Editor-in-Chief.
February 10, 2014

WHO’S IN? Are you up to the challenge? #februarybaseballaday #baseball #mlb #springtraining #instagramchallenge
SICK BURN, BASEBALL PROSPECTUS:

"Tyler Cloyd was useful in the sense that he was a warm-blooded mammal capable of hurling a small sphere in the vicinity of a pentagon placed on the surface of the Earth, with little value beyond that."

SIQQ BURRNN
ladodgers:

Ryu-nited and it feels so good! 

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

ladodgers:

Ryu-nited and it feels so good! 

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

I’m very excited to announce @HOMEbaseball. Starting FEBRUARY 10, 2014, I’m launching a blog dedicated to covering the ins, outs, ups, downs, Puigs and Trouts of the 2014 Major League Baseball season. 

To be more specific, I am planning on watching baseball for roughly 10 hours per day and writing about it. If that sounds like fun to you, give this page a like and join up.

There’s a lot of time between now and Opening Day, so this won’t be the last time you’ll be hearing from me, but don’t you want to be a pioneer? @HOMEbaseball @HOMEbaseball @HOMEbaseball