Tag Archives: Allow me to introduce myself

Who’s got two tickets to Celts/Cavs tonight and is honoring the bravery of Tommie Smith and John Carlos?


This guy.

The job is often soul-suckin’, but sometimes it comes through with the perks.  Case in point: Tonight, me and fam-lay will be taking in our second Celtics game of the season, as LeBron James somehow squeezes his 10’8″, 971-pound frame (dimensions estimated) through the gates of the TD BankNorth Garden to lead his Cleveland Cavaliers into battle against the world champeen Boston Celtics.

The C’s will be without Kevin Garnett, meaning we’re likely to see an assload of Big Baby 17-footers, which is less than pipe, and the Cavs welcome back Joe Smith tonight, which adds another potent big with the potential to exploit a depleted green front line.  The math don’t look great for the champs.

Still, a Boston win would put them in a virtual dead heat with the Cavs for the 1 seed in the East (the Celts would be up one in the win column, down one in the loss column), and beating Cleveland without KG would be a monster statement heading down the stretch.  I, for one, can’t think of a better way to spend my Friday night.

Oh.  Right.

Well, fuck it — you never look gift tickets in the mouth (especially excellent ones — Sec. 8, in the letters, FTW), you get to watch the most beastly athletic specimen alive up close and personal, you get to spend time with the fam and you can always see the movie tomorrow, right?

If you’re at the Garden tonight and down by where the fancy bastards sit, please join me in partaking of a snifter of brandy.  Come by and say, “DEVINE, I DON’T MUCH APPRECIATE YOUR FOUL-MOUTHED NINCOMPOOPERY, AND I’M PRETTY SURE MARK EATON NEVER SAID THAT.”  That way, I’ll know you mean me.

I may or may not be live-live-Tweetin’ the game over at my Twitter feed (to which you should totally be subscribed), so keep an eye out for my particular brand of worthless sports commentary occasionally dressed up in dick jokes.


I mean … she should have put out by now, right?

12:28 PM: EDITOR’S NOTE: After a few hours of thinking about it, I decided to tone down the header of this post. My apologies if its previous iteration offended anybody.

“Listen, I’m not trying to pressure her, all right?  It’s just that, after two months, y’know, I figured this is the city line. would having a little bit more fun than she does.”

Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Buster Brown. This site isn’t that kind of girl.


And now, without further ado, as we do at the start of each new chapter in this blog’s life: Please rise for your municipal anthem.

Again and as always, thanks for taking the time to stop by.  By all means, feel free to stick around a while and do as the natives do.  Talk yourself out of draft picks.  Read 1,500 words kinda/sorta about how Larry Hughes can force you to define your fandom.  Sign our “Gastebüch” and marvel at our listings of BASKETBALL LEGENDEN.

Crank up the “Bonnie & Shyne,” allowing the soothing tones of Barrington Levy to bring back memories of the time when you thought you could totally dance to reggae-esque songs because all they really required you to do was get as close as you could to a girl (without sweating all over her, Angus), interlocking legs and moving side to side.  Pin thumbtacks of where you’ve traveled in the world on the Map According to Devine.

Get your face annihilated.  Let Big Baby run the show.  For God’s sake, stop biting off Wilt.  Or not.  Whatever you do, enjoy your stay, and let me know if you need some fresh towels.

Who’s got two tickets to Celtics/Lakers tonight and a douchey look on his face as he drinks a cappuccino?


This guy.

Merry Christmas, Devine [via fiancee].  Sec. 326.  Come by and say, “DEVINE, YOUR PHOTOGRAPH IS STUPID AND YOU’RE NOT FUNNY.”  That way, I’ll know you mean me.

I’ll probably be Twitterin‘ during the game, so keep an eye out for some real piquant observations garnished with unbridled hilarity.

This site is now learning to turn its head to preferred positions when lying on its stomach or back

At least, that’s what Mama’s Health tells me it should be doing today.


Of course, there’s only one REAL answer here: A healthy dollop of the hottest possible liniment applied directly to your special guy’s testicles.

Yep, today marks one month since I started this little shitshow.  Interestingly enough to no one but me, it also marks one year since I had my last cigarette, a decision I’m supposed to be proud of, but that actually infuriates me every day.  (I know I could have packed in another year or two of smoking enjoyment before anything real bad happened to my innards.)  So, hooray.  I am doubly following through on things.

If you’ll indulge me for a moment (and I’m assuming you will, considering you’re here), I just wanted to briefly thank everyone who told me I should try this and everyone who’s taken a second to read my inane ramblings (not to be confused with the fine site Inane Musings).  We’ve just passed the 4,000 visits mark, which is about 3,975 more than I anticipated receiving when I signed up for a WordPress account.

I especially want to thank those of you who’ve commented on posts, sent e-mails, gotten at me on Twitter, hyped my stuff on BallHype, or linked me in your blogrolls … remarkable enough as it is to have people read this stuff, it’s exponentially more so that someone would want to join in my conversation and suggest that others do the same.

I’ve been lucky enough to have gotten plugs and/or support from some pretty great people in this community, and I am very, very grateful for that.  I hope to validate their votes of confidence, and maybe even earn a few more while I’m at it.  And of course, if you’ve got any ideas for how I can improve the look/feel/content/smell/immune system of this is the city line., please feel free to throw some ideas in the comments or shoot me an e-mail — like most one-month-olds, this place is going to need some guidance (not to mention breast milk) before it can grow into an awkward, parent-resenting adolescent.

And now, without further ado, please stand for your municipal anthem.

Thanks for coming, and feel free to stick around a while — we’re just getting warmed up.

At least one pervert loves this blog, and I have incontrovertible proof

So there I was last night — sitting in my apartment, minding my own business, listening to The Bar Exam 2 as I checked this site’s traffic stats.  Imagine my surprise when I saw this:


That’s right: “Baby dick.”

As of about 8:30 p.m. Eastern time on Jan. 14, 2009, “baby dick” was the top search term for this is the city line. (EDITOR’S NOTE: Still true at 10:30 a.m. on Jan. 15, 2009. Dope.)

Now, there are perfectly logical explanations for why this humble site showed up in the search dragnet when Baron Von Kid Trapp set his likely knifenailed, certainly forever unclean fingers to the keys:

  • One of the first posts I wrote prominently featured Boston Celtics “point forward” Glen “Big Baby” Davis;
  • A video post ostensibly written to make fun of a fucking crazy person included the tag, “this is my baby”;
  • The site’s second post, which explains this blog’s title, included the tag, “Nice name … dick.”

See? A perfectly cromulent explanation.

Still, one thought keeps scraping at the base of my skull … that there’s something AWESOME about being a completely non-sexual Web site that turns up when an inveterate creep Googles “baby dick.”  So, in the interest of trying to ensure that this happens again:

NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM (Image courtesy of 2TheAdvocate.com)



The venerable Dick Stockton.





The estimable Dickie Thon.

The estimable Dickie Thon.


Hott stuff, comin thru.

"Hott stuff, comin' thru."


Former U.S. Rep. Dick Armey, R-Texas.

Former U.S. Rep. Dick Armey, R-Texas.


Now, come on, horrific, horrific freakshows.  Let’s get this baby dick train rolling!

P.S.: My fiancee’s pep talk on doing more legwork to increase this site’s visibility: “You can’t just hope that people will search for ‘baby dick’ on the Internet and find your Web site!”  Um, yeah, actually, I can.

Many thanks, and a trial separation

It’s been a good introductory week — we’ve seen “Biscuits,” background and backstory, Big Baby at the 1, biting (which is really a no-no), a baffling broad and a lamentation on the bastardizing (already in progress) of one of the most singular athletic entities of my lifetime.  (Couldn’t keep the alliteration going forever, try as I might.)

Thanks in large part to a pair of monster assists from Toronto’s most Schweppervescent open-run point guard J.E. Skeets, more than 900 people have checked this site out since its launch.  What I don’t know about site visits/page views/unique users/etc. could fill six warehouses, but the idea that ANYONE would take a few moments to read the nonsense that rattles around inside my head is phenomenally humbling.  (ED. NOTE: As proof of how little I know, that was 900+ PAGE VIEWS, not necessarily 900+ people.  Baby steps toward learning.  The “phenomenally humbling” part still holds true.) So to those who have been kind enough to click here, I thank you.  I hope I’ve wasted your time in exactly the way you’d hoped I would.  (And, hey, if you like what you’ve seen, there’s more coming, so please consider subscribing.)

All that said, it’s probably going to be a slow day here at this is the city line.  In the interest of not totally sacrificing my full-time job as I scratch the surface of what this site can be (and explore the pure exhilaration of the conceiving/composing/breathlessly-wondering-if-anyone-will-read process), I’m forcing myself to unplug for the remainder of today.  There’ll be one in-the-can post up later on — I can feel your steaming hot anticipation through my monitor’s face — and that’s probably going to be it until Monday.

But don’t fret, friends: I’m not leaving you empty-handed.  Boston-area radio listeners might already be familiar with Khabarta from his appearances on WBCN’s fine Toucher and Rich program; those of you who enjoy unbridled excellence may know him through other avenues.  This is him:

If you have not yet been so blessed, allow me to introduce you to arguably the greatest musical genius of our generation, with the possible exception of Clay Bennett (4:48 mark for the ill realness; gracias, Goat Deini).  Listen to samples of his music; check out his YouTube channel; dust off your 2K6 social networking jones and hit his MySpace page for more music and fantastic photos.  Feel free to thank me in the comments for the mind-assaulting tunes/videos.

Enjoy what I hope is a lazy, sales-meeting-devoid, smooth-sailing-’til-happy-hour Friday, and have a great weekend.

about the title

From whence does the name come?

This blog’s name comes from a lyric in “Silence Kit,” a phenomenal song by a phenomenal band called Pavement. Full lyrics are available here.

Where can one find this song?

The song is on a phenomenal album called Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain. The album came out in 1994, when I was 11 years old. It remains dope today. The album looks like this:

There's no photo here. That stinks.

Want to sample the whole record? You should, because it’s great. You can listen to it here.

But why, Papa? Why is this blog called this is the city line.?

Because my name’s Devine, and I always thought it’d be awesome to have “The City Line” be the name of my backing band when I became a lounge singer (not unlike Barry Jive having the Uptown Five). But since I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket and am as agile as a bag of shit (thanks, Dad!), me leading a band doesn’t appear too likely, and I didn’t want this slick idea to go to waste. Also, I’m a jerkoff who intentionally ditched the initial cap on “This,” as well as a grammar douche who added a period at the end to make the site’s name a complete sentence, lest my editorial OCD go into hyperdrive every time I visited my own blog.

Hence, you’re here. Welcome.