Son of a Nugget

• Several people forwarded me Gothamist's map of the pan-Manhattan maple syrup smell. Being new to the blogo-world, I only realized recently that all right-thinking people despise Gothamist, but whatever. Nice maple syrup map.
• One day I bitch about Steve Kline, the next day the Giants pick up Matt Morris. The uncritical fan in me likes this development. However, the always-perceptive McCovey Chronicles sez: "Wagering on Matt Morris to be worth $9M in 2008 is like betting on Howie Long to win a Tony that same year for starring in a Broadway adaptation of Firestorm."
• Today's one of those everything-is-bleak days in the news: thousands of drunken whiteys clobbering Arabs in Australia, the state killing people in the US, secret laws (secret laws??) being invoked, and the 49ers deviating from their CC&P-ordained 4-12 trajectory. They're sinking fast, foax, and UC Davis is no longer a valid reference point. No, it's even worse: think Raiders.
• Meanwhile, it's been ages since we've seen a show, and at least a week until we're likely to do so. Best city for the rock & roll on the planet, but lately, it's been nothing but statements of porpoise, a million deadlines, final exams, and procrastination with Google Earth. Seriously, that's the coolest thing ever invented.
• The Year In My Lame Ideas, volume one: it's about time for the "vibration paradigm" to be supplanted for silent cell phone rings. I considered odor release, but finally settled on a little packet between cheek & gum that releases a flavor of your choosing when someone calls. Just set your phone to "flavor." You could have different flavors associated with different callers: anise for Sally, pork loin for Bob, whiskey for Mom. Insert increasingly crude series of jokes here.