America the Jubilant
Barack Obama's Nov. 4 victory speech at Grant Park brought together overjoyed blacks and whites in a mass not witnessed since Halle Berry finally showed her tits in Swordfish. Even a relaunch of the McRib in Louisiana would fail to match such racially harmonious ecstacy.

But following George W. Bush as president isn't a hard gig. It's like being a neighborhood's new ice cream truck driver after the last one molested all the 6-year-olds. People wonder if Obama can make good on all of his campaign promises, like it matters. He'll soar past Bush in approval ratings by walking through the White House front door without tripping on the runner.

Pretty much everything went to shit under 43's watch, including the economy, Britney Spears' sluttiness, international relations, air travel, health care and military families' faith in the government. The Yankees can't win a World Series anymore, porn clips come with that annoying 18 U.S.C. 2257 disclaimer, the brainless Deal or No Deal is a prime-time hit, and AOL lost 120 zillion subscribers (including every grandma who ever sent an e-mail with a blank subject).

As merely a presidential candidate in July, Barack Oabama "dazzled" over 200,000 supporters in Germany. We send the current guy overseas and we're lucky if he doesn't come back with a shoeprint on his face.

Change is coming to America. Thank fucking god.

New York Giants
From the Jan. 6 win at Tampa Bay that started an improbable Super Bowl run to the Dec. 21 OT victory over Carolina that clinched the NFC's No. 1 seed, the Giants provided their fans an entire year's worth of thrilling moments, going 16-3 in 2008, until a rest-'em-up loss in Minnesota that didn't matter.

It's an easy group to root for. Absent of prima donna receivers and gangsta corners, these lunch pail-carrying gridders validate football as the ultimate team sport. When Plaxico Burress' stupidity and legal defiance threatened the team's focus and dignity, the G-Men had no problem rendering him out of sight and out of mind. Contrast that with those idiots Roddy White and DeAngelo Hall, who were still slurping Mike Vick while getting destroyed in a prime-time loss last season.

Salaries alone dictate that the lives of pro athletes are much different than ours. That's OK, as long as there is one simple bond — that winning is paramount, even after the mega-deals have been signed. That's how teams show respect for the fans who subsidize their fortunes. The mutual respect between the Giants and their fans was the theme of the day when they strode up the Canyon of Heroes, on a Tuesday morning when I was surrounded by a million smiles, a sea of blue and an unforgettable cry of "We stomped you out!"

Religulous
Bill Maher's film on the absurdity of organized superstition sums up everything I've loathed about religion ever since I was old enough to realize that not only is there no Santa Claus, but that water-to-wine story is bullshit, too. (And you can throw in talking snakes and parting of seas for good measure.)

If I want to waste my time attending rituals with no tangible result, except to give away money, I'll get some Knicks season tickets.

Some choice YouTube clips:
• Bill Maher on why religion must die for mankind to live
• George Carlin on why religion is the greatest bullshit story ever told
• David Cross on religion, the Catholic church and being an atheist in Atlanta

Chocolate News
On Comedy Central's hilarious news spoof, David Alan Grier tackles such key issues in black culture as The Death of Hip-Hop ("When did "Fight the Power" become "Wait 'Till You See My Dick?") and Reginald "Fat Man" Harrison's controversial No Child Left Behind public-service announcement.

He also catches up with former porn star Donald "Licorice Stick" Mayfield, who inspired countless sex moves, including the Detroit Mud Pie, the Velvet Slingshot and the Denver Omelet.

Amazingly, the show manages to carry on after the tragic passing of white correspondent Roger Dunn.

New York Mets' Collapse: The Sequel
I called it "the best new comedy of the fall season," but the Mets' late-season choke was actually a repeat. While not as colossal as the '07 version, the '08 debacle was equally as satisfying, as it featured the same playing-for-nothing Marlins acting as spoilers at Shea, and it vindicated once-a-Yankee-always-a-Yankee Willie Randolph, who, in Mets fans' delusional eyes, was seen as some kind of barrier between that team and 120 wins.

Every Now and Then I Took a Nice Photo
Among my favorite pics this year were a couple shot in Central Park: one of a man walking up the stairs from Bethesda Fountain toward the mall, and other doing a handstand in front of a downtrodden soul at nearby Naumburg Bandshell. As a capture one could never plan for, the latter serves as an example of why I dig photography — because you just never know when a great photo-op will arise.

I also worked out some new hardware, posting just a few wide-angle shots, and macro shots and used a zoom lens to capture Alex Rodriguez's concentration on a meaningless spring training pitch, which, with perfect balance and eyes locked on the ball, he correctly let pass two inches below the knees.

Atlantic City Poker Trips
Seventeen wins in 19 visits. Free hotel room four nights a month. Complimentary adult beverages while scooping pots. What's not to like?

Oh yeah, the dirtbags I have to play against in the most depressing town in the world. And the rolling mental hospital they call the bus from Port Authority.

Killing in the Name of ... a Blu-Ray Player.
When 34-year-old Wal-Mart employee Jdimytai Damour was trampled to death on Black Friday, it showed how greed has consumed America, from the heights of Wall Street to the depths of Valley Stream.

These animals — I will not refer to them as customers — killed a man to acquire not what they needed, but what they merely wanted at a cheap price. An MP3 player, a digital camera, a video game. They killed over this.

The economic climate has changed dramatically the way some live, but it will never be an excuse to entirely disregard common decency. There's blood on a lot of Christmas presents that came out of that Valley Stream Wal-Mart on Nov. 28, and it just doesn't get any lower than that.

Sarah Palin and Her Minions of Morons
The next time a lifelong politician picks a woman he met once to help him run the country, it would be nice if she had a brain. Because it's less insulting that way.

John McCain actually put Country Last when he presented us Mrs. Palin, with her wisecracks, winks and, most importantly, tits. Make no mistake, the last part is the only reason she was selected. And that's plain pathetic.

Though unable to withstand the rigors of a Katie Couric interview, Palin still managed to "energize" the Republican base. And by base, I mean rich folk and white trash. Thankfully, she also energized the Democratic base, who'd tired of morons in the White House. On election night it was clear that pro-America communities do not exist only in podunk towns where they think you're more American if you have a bigger U.S. flag flying from your porch. They exist, too, in big cities like Chicago, where hundreds of thousands of people — a true melting pot of people, not just one middle-aged whitey after another — celebrated raucusly the taking back of our country.

Plaxico Burress
Everyone seems to have the same questions.

With security options available to the super-rich, why carry? Why would he patronize a place in which he didn't feel safe without a gun? Why would he take out the gun if not in danger?

They all come back to the same answer: AssLicko is a fucking idiot.

We'll ask more of certain athletes if they prove to be capable, but for jackasses like Burress, all we need is for him to run fast, catch the ball, and to not commit crimes. It's amazing how difficult that is for some grown men.

The Madden Video Game Franchise
Maybe the game got too good too fast. After peaking with the 2004 (Michael Vick cover) edition, improvements in gameplay seemed to serve the virgins on Madden Nation more than the general public. When I play video games, it's the have fun and relax, not try to remember which 16 button combinations I have to hit before each snap to try to stop Marion Barber from running it up my ass.

Babies of the Year
Any life of any baby — celebrity babies included — consists of three main activities: eating, sleeping and shitting. If that inspires you to learn more at PEOPLE.com about babies you don't know born to people you don't know, you might wanna call Plaxico Burress and see if he's got an extra bullet and improved aim.

Calories, Fat Grams and Carbs
I hate them all, and by the looks of my stomach, the feeling is mutual.

(If you're just here for the pictures, here's my Fantasy Fest 2008 photo album.)

As an Internet junkie, I've always contended that this medium has made us smarter. The amount of information available to us, through countless filters, far trumps what people had access to a generation ago.

The Internet has probably made you a better shopper, with the ability to find what you want quicker and cheaper than ever. You probably keep in touch with way more friends than people your age did 20 years ago. And the people with whom you share opinions are not limited by neighborhood, state or even country.

All good things, to be sure.

But here's one thing the Internet might be killing: Fantasy Fest.

All because of guys like me.

For years on this site, I've documented my travel experiences in words and photos, and never did I think it would have an adverse effect on my return. Till this year, when time after time after time, I'd see an uncostumed, camera-wielding guy who clearly booked a trip to Key West only because he saw a set of tits on the Internet.

As I wrote in my 2006 review and 2007 review, the costumed folk love posing for pictures. Me, my girlfriend, my condo-mates, everyone. But it's clear that too many gawkers come to pad their porn collections rather than celebrate the freedom, creativity and community driven eroticism of Fantasy Fest.

I've taken plenty of pics of strangers, sometimes in the daytime while wearing just a t-shirt and shorts, but there's generally a context to my actions. It may be because I'm a Yankees fan, a Giants fan, a KISS fan, or a wrestling fan.

Someone wanna tell me what this guy is a fan of?

Too often, with these guys, it's "See tits, shoot tits." I know because I walk up and down the street with two nice ones. Well, next to them, at least.

I've watched countless guys catch a glimpse of my bodypainted girlfriend and instantly stop whatever they're doing — ordering a gyro, scratching their balls, etc. — to take a picture. Is it flattering for her? Hell, yeah! Is it indirectly flattering to me? Hell, yeah! But there's no context. When I say instantly, I mean it. Before there's a recognition of what the costume is — before anyone sees that my get-up may be part of the gag — they're shooting her chest. Sometimes I even get physically nudged out of the way. (That doesn't fly over well.)

On one five-block walk with Hello Titty, my gal was stopped by 25 people with cameras. Maybe five wore costumes. Maybe three were women (though many more women hooted their appreciation, few had the "see tits, shoot tits" Mardi Gras-like mentality).

For the people who dress up and want to shoot a memento of their trip, we can't pose for enough pics. For anyone who asks nicely or makes a witty comment about our costumes, we can't pose for enough pics. It's hella fun. I even wish more people would shoot candids to capture a more complete scene.

But for the guys without costumes, who are just jumping from one gal to another shooting torsos, what's the point of encouraging them to return? Better to let 'em sit home and wait for the pictures we'll shoot ourselves. Sometimes even shots of people actually doing something.

Mardi Gras never appealed to me because the phrase "Show your tits!" is to erotic fun as "Growing Up Gotti" is to television programming. It's dumbed down, crass and, ultimately, boring. These camera guys at Fantasy Fest — on average a good deal older than a Bourbon Street counterpart — prove to be no more mature or fun, and you can almost see the drool spill off their hapless mouths, which might as well be yelling "Show your tits!"

More Personal Reflections:

I don't meant to sound like I was down on the trip. I had a blast and am already looking forward to next year. Just thought I would try to discourage the socially impaired who may have one hand down their pants and the other booking airfare to Fantasy Fest. (If you want to have your hand down your pants at FF, fine. In fact, I encourage no pants. But try to be part of the party, please.)

• Why didn't I know about the Masquerade March before? I only caught the tail end of it, and it looked like a blast. Everyone in costume, tons of people taking pics. "Selected guesthouses provide costumed revelers with adult beverages along the way." I'm going to seriously injure whoever knew about this and didn't tell me.

• Torrential downpours suck. I barely brought out my excellent DSLR set-up because of the threats — and actual occurrences — of very heavy rains. Most of my pics were shot with a pocket cam, and I couldn't shoot as much candids as I would have liked. I don't like pina coladas, and I don't like getting caught in the rain. Alas, I did and was sick for the last couple of nights. There will be hell to pay in 2009!

• The demographic really changes at the end of the week. During the week, it's like any episode of HBO's Real Sex. Mostly middle-aged white folks. Then a significant number of blacks and Latinos come in for the weekend. Many in their late-teens and early-twenties, and lots of families as well. I guess it's a South Florida contingent, and, while they don't dress up too much, they do have fun as parade viewers. It wouldn't surprise me if Karl Rove kidnapped them all so they can't vote on Tuesday.

• Go cheap, go funny, go group. The best costumes always seem to be the group ones. Though I must say it's getting harder and harder to top ideas already executed. eBay is absolutely your friend for accessories. Think ahead so you're not getting ripped off at brick & mortar costume stores.

Photo Albums From Around the Web (more will be added as I find them):

• Flikr: Most Recent Photos Tagged "Fantasy Fest" — Lots of hits and misses from this general pool of pics. (Better than a pool of piss.) You can continue to monitor this link as photos get added.

• John Chow — Quality photos all around. Nice smiles, colors and editing. (Yes, the rain was this bad.)

• Bobby the Beast and Victor Dickter — I like these galleries. Lots of smiles and familiar faces.

• David Epstein — Quality pics, but a great many of people posing for someone else's camera. Don't ya just love guys who wait for others to ask for permission to shoot and then strike from the side?

• Fantasy Fest Memories — A quality cam seems to have used, but the gallery could have used better editing. One of my friends appears in four consecutive shots, none of which is she looking at the camera.

• Brian Zajac — Shots of the Key West bars and attractions highlight this gallery.

• Debo75 — Could definitely use some editing, but thumbs up to Debo75 for appearing in photos having fun in costume.

• Bolton Perry — Separate galleries for Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. Heavy on the "gotcha" shots. Same as last year.

• Jeff Potter — Looks like some were shot from a balcony somewhere.

• Eros Arts — Large gallery shows some of Fantasy Fest's gay revelers.

• Phil Stripling — Some nice pics at ipernity.com, an interface that's new to me.

• Patrick Fulcher — A whopping 339 photos, but there are a ton of repeats, and I have no idea why subjects were shot several times when they weren't even looking at him.

• T-Bone — Over 500 pics in this gallery. Many, many repeats.

• Humpa — A whopping 794 photos, way more than I could shoot with two drinks in my hand.

• Leester — A staggering 1,542 photos appear in this set, but a ton are repeats. Many nice shots with a more friendly tone than some of the "gotcha" sets out there.

• Bill Minter — Includes lots of photos from the Masquerade March, which I will not be missing next year. Bill's photo sets document parties all over the world.

• Tony and Cheri — Another excellent gallery and report from an obviously sexy and sociable couple. You need only to compare these types of photos with some of the more predatory ones linked above to understand the different types of people who descend to Key West for Fantasy Fest.(Don't miss the link at the bottom left of the page for part II of their set.)

This is a love story about urine.

And broken bar stools. And tits. And Germans.

On the exact minute the above picture (see album) was taken — at 4:00 a.m. on Saturday, Oct. 5 — the dirtiest, smelliest, cheapest, loudest, rowdiest, most diverse and GREATEST bar on the Upper West Side officially closed.

Yogi's was my favorite neighborhood haunt not just for what it had (sassy bar maids, $2.75 Miller Lites, a liberal buyback policy) but for what it lacked ... a ceiling. Yeah, it had a roof and all that, but there wasn't a limit to the crazy shit that could happen there at any time on any day.

The place bred stories. And that was fucking cool.

It was where I drank with a porn star, a dishwasher, and a trust-fund millionaire. And I don't mean like over the years. I mean at one time. It was where I met tourists from countless countries, got flashed by bartenders as incentive to not leave (it worked), belted out the words to redneck country tunes, and drank way too much on a too-regular basis with suits, skanks, hippies, degenerates, alkies, perverts, Columbia students, mothers, and the occasional dumb shit who'd order wine.

Like other local businesses, Yogi's will be replaced by luxury condos that'll probably start at $1M for a one-bedroom pad. And one day I hope to meet one of the new residents, to ask if he can feel the ghosts of Yogi's, if he can hear the echoes of Johnny Cash and David Allan Coe and, most importantly, if he can smell the constant film of piss that coated the floor of the most disgusting bathroom I've ever entered (about 2,000 times).

Yogi's Links:

• Yogi's Reviews on Yelp

• Photos: Tuesday Night at Yogi's — These were taken by my friend Kevin while testing out my new camera lens.

• NYCBP.com News — This NYC dive-bar blog will certainly recap the closing-night festivities. (Also check out forums and photos.)

It was the last time a female would speak to me for a decade.

A lot changed over the next 28 years. Women sometimes asked me for directions. I relished the hustle and bustle of working and living in NYC. I lost my dad. Terrorists killed my friends.

Yankee Stadium, as I knew it — the "new" Yankee Stadium, as it was billed after mid-'70s renovations — stayed relatively familiar. They brought in the fences for Dave Winfield. They added Japanese advertising for Hideki Matsui. They built a Dunkin Donuts for David Wells (kidding, sorta). But, for the most part, Yankee Stadium was a rock. As stable as anything in my life. Besides dog fighting.

It was there that I spent many a discount-student-ticket night with my friends, watching Wayne Tolleson precede Derek Jeter and Steve Farr warm up the bullpen for Mariano Rivera. (Somebody kill me.) Ya know what, though? Those are some of my favorite memories. I swear to Sarah Palin's god (wherever that Commander-in-Chief is) that no Yankees moment meant more to me than Don Matttingly's home run in Game 2 of the 1995 ALDS (incorrectly labeled as Game 1 by MLB.com; see Jeter and Jorge Posada in dugout). That was the indoctrination of thousands of people to October excitement in the Bronx.

The next decade-plus was a dream. Four World Series in five years (and two outs away from 5-for-6.) Thirteen straight playoff appearances. And Rudy Giuliani as a fan! (The guy is awesome. He snickers at a two-time Ivy League grad performing community service to pimp the merits of piss-ant-town Alaskan mayor, whose supporters are too dumb to recognize she's a pawn for the culturally steadfast but intellectually busted.)

A few years ago, I wrote about how much I welcomed a new Yankee Stadium. Logistically, it makes sense. Maybe they'll even add a second fresh-popcorn stand to collaborate with the inning-and-a-half wait we currently enjoy. Beyond that, advancements of technology, architecture and infrastructure since 1923 merit a new pad, as almost all pro sports teams have recognized. The Red Sox and Cubs may beg to differ, but they've won exactly two World Series since 1918. Guess they don't wanna mess around with that perfect formula.

I don't know if I'm going to be happy or sad when I leave Friday night. I may cry tears of nostalgia for Donnie Baseball or tears of joy for the final home games of Jason Giambi (nice dude, nowhere near worth the money), Carl Pavano, Andy Pettitte 2.0 or Sidney Ponson (6.29 ERA, and that was after a good start).

More than likely, I'll recognize the friends and family I spent time with at Yankee Stadium. How excited I was to see that lush, green grass (always!), how the score mattered plenty for three hours and not at all when real life snuck in. How Yankee Stadium itself played the role of one of those friends.

Also See: My Yankees-Related Posts Over the Years

Murcer, the only man to have played with both Mickey Mantle and Don Mattingly, spent the last 25 years of his baseball career in the broadcast booth, proving that an Oklahoma drawl can succeed on New York airwaves if mixed with the right amount of charm, wit and genuine love for the Yankees.

Center field for the New York Yankees is perhaps the most revered position in all of sports. And unlike other high-profile jobs — say, quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys or center for the Los Angeles Lakers — it's the only one in which you could do it at 5-11, 180 lbs.

As a player and broadcaster, you could relate to Bobby Murcer in ways that you can't relate to today's bulked-up gazillionaire athletes and polished talking heads who read one network promo/sponsorship after another. He carried himself as if he won some kind of Willy Wonka contest and got to be part of the Yankees for life. His appreciation was always apparent, his demeanor folksy but not clownish.

I'm glad he got to live the dream. He made being a Yankees fan that much better.

Murcer Links: Baseball-Reference.com | Wikipedia | Gallery | YES Network Reflections