No, not that GM.
The NY Mets announced Sandy Alderson as their new General Manager on Friday. He was signed to a four-year deal with a club option for 2015. Since I know nothing about this guy except for what I read on Wikipedia and heard Friday on WFAN's Mike'd Up, I guess I really don't have an opinion on this one. He seems like he knows what he's up against and that he has a pretty clear vision of what needs to be done.
The one thing this announcement did get me thinking about is why men named "Sandy" do not seem to exist in any other facet of life except for baseball. What's even stranger is that -- unlike the Alomars ("Santos") or Koufax ("Sanford"), whose names actually lend themselves to "Sandy" as a derivative -- "Sandy" Alderson's real name is Richard Lynn. Does calling yourself "Sandy" make you sound more baseball?
I think it kinda does, actually.
Regardless, just get us a damn championship...or the NY area will certainly come up with a new, undoubtedly more colorful nickname for ya. OK, Sandy?
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 12, 2010
Greek Mythology
Much has been said about yogurt being the official food of women. It’s the manna that does everything a woman could possibly ask – from beating back osteoporosis to staving off jegging-induced yeast infections. It gives us that high-protein/low-fat one-two punch that keeps us going. And, in the case of doctor-recommended Activia, it lines our insides with those creepy good bacteria that, you know, keep us going.
I had been hearing a lot of good things about this “new” kid on the block they call Greek yogurt (or Greek-style, since many brands are actually made in the US with nontraditional methods). As is the case with most web chatter about trendy eats, I knew enough to at least suspect it was contrived. Could it be a yogurt conspiracy borne of focus groups or Internet viral marketing, not out of common sense? Stranger shit has ensued.
As I readily admit, I am part of the problem. So, I Googled “Greek yogurt” to find out exactly what the stuff is (in my defense of I don’t really know any Greeks). A top result was a blog post on a particular brand of US-made Greek yogurt, Fage. I got the info I was looking for and so much more. One of the comments: “I loooooove Greek yogurt!!!! Add some fruit and granola and I’m in HEAVEN!!!!”
Oh, for the love of Zeus.
I am 20+ years removed from the Catechism of the Catholic Church, but I do know Heaven is supposed to be a place of eternal bliss, love, and light. It’s the ultimate reward for a righteous life led with devotion and self-sacrifice. As such, I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with fucking yogurt. Furthermore, should “heavenly” cuisine involve fruit of any kind, it best be either garnishing my cocktail or nestled betwixt golden layers of pastry. If granola exists in the afterlife, then there really… is…no…god.
Anyway – I recently found out I did try Greek yogurt, though unwittingly. I brought a parfait (yes, the kind with fruit and granola) home to share with my husband. A few bites in, we questioned whether it had gone rancid or really was even yogurt. Next time I was at that deli, I asked.
Yep, just like all these rave reviews on the Internet, it was Greek to me.
I had been hearing a lot of good things about this “new” kid on the block they call Greek yogurt (or Greek-style, since many brands are actually made in the US with nontraditional methods). As is the case with most web chatter about trendy eats, I knew enough to at least suspect it was contrived. Could it be a yogurt conspiracy borne of focus groups or Internet viral marketing, not out of common sense? Stranger shit has ensued.
As I readily admit, I am part of the problem. So, I Googled “Greek yogurt” to find out exactly what the stuff is (in my defense of I don’t really know any Greeks). A top result was a blog post on a particular brand of US-made Greek yogurt, Fage. I got the info I was looking for and so much more. One of the comments: “I loooooove Greek yogurt!!!! Add some fruit and granola and I’m in HEAVEN!!!!”
Oh, for the love of Zeus.
I am 20+ years removed from the Catechism of the Catholic Church, but I do know Heaven is supposed to be a place of eternal bliss, love, and light. It’s the ultimate reward for a righteous life led with devotion and self-sacrifice. As such, I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with fucking yogurt. Furthermore, should “heavenly” cuisine involve fruit of any kind, it best be either garnishing my cocktail or nestled betwixt golden layers of pastry. If granola exists in the afterlife, then there really… is…no…god.
Anyway – I recently found out I did try Greek yogurt, though unwittingly. I brought a parfait (yes, the kind with fruit and granola) home to share with my husband. A few bites in, we questioned whether it had gone rancid or really was even yogurt. Next time I was at that deli, I asked.
Yep, just like all these rave reviews on the Internet, it was Greek to me.
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