What? You don’t like carnations? Or is there not enough “tea” in your Long Island?

The horses are on the track and, y’all….Street Sense is taking his bad ass self out of the running. It’s the Race of Champions – does he not want a double crown at least? I think we can take Curly-Que, ‘ole boy. You had him!

Alas, a Rumble is not what he wanted. Perhaps the mile and a half is too long for a smoker in a wife-beater. Perhaps he feels too pretty, witty, and gay. Perhaps he can’t get out of the West Side. Perhaps Uncle Unchie wants him to make the keilbasi. Perhaps Michael Jackson dressed up as him and sung (and rumbled and snapped his hooves) to “Beat it.” Perhaps he is dueting with Barbara Streisand. Perhaps James Dean has risen from the dead to play a role that was meant (and intended) for him. (Come back to mama and not the five and dime, Jimmy Dean Jimmy Dean.) Well, slap my ass and call me Maria!

"But when you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way," ‘ole boy! So I will forgive you this once. But first go chew some grass and think about what you have done to me. (I'll be watching West Side Story.)

What I am trying to lay out here (for them bettin’ folks and not the quittin' folks) is another round of This Is How You Do It. THIS is how you bet on the horses, in this case this weekend's Belmont Stakes. What is behind the horse's name? I'll tell you - it's turning into a race of inanimate objects and general ephemera.

But first, let’s talk refreshments! The peeps are saying that the official drink is the Belmont Breeze, which I think is just whiskey punch in a prettier costume. Whiskey doesn’t do pretty very well (at least not in high heels, just trust me on this). And I had to look this up but when I tell you about this drink, you are going to go pour yourself one in tribute because this is me tugging at your heartstrings. The head bartender of the Rainbow Room created it. Rainbow Room - of Windows on the World - of World Trade Center of - No Fucking More. I might call you a terrorist if you don’t drink that. Or un-American.

According to legend and the old-timies, the Belmont Breeze replaces the White Carnation, which has cream in it. Cream. I don’t do "cream drinks" and frankly it doesn’t have enough alcohol in it to justify frilly cream. That is one button, ruffle, or accordian pleat too many is what I'm saying. So just pour you a Long Island Iced Tea. I’ll look the other way when you say, “New York.”

OK. Now, music. Obviously, the theme song is “Georgia on my Mind.” Alright, alright. This below is about to get very “yankee”-heavy so I am just tempering it with some Southern Comfort. The theme is New York, of course – NOT New Jersey and not anything that rhymes with "bets." The key word is York - Upstate, in fact.

The song isn't - but could be - Ryan Adams’ New York, New York. If not for this lyric alone: The world won't wait and I watched you shake * But honey, I don't blame you * Hell, I still love you, New York * Hell, I still love you, New York * New York. Then consider that the video was shot 4 days before 9/11 with the NYC skyline in the background. Then punch in Ryan fucking Adams in the calculation.

And it UNFORTUNATELY isn't REM's Leaving New York. Stipe considers NYC a second home and wrote this song in an airplane flying out of his beloved. (Which could be taken and re-appropriated any which way you see fit. Like Losing My Religion will always be Losing My Virginity to me.) Back o/t: the song is a tribute to New York. And, what's more, the song is even better with the Mike Mills arrangement because he is butter to Stipe's bread. Captain to his Tenille. Iggy to his Stooge. Hall to his Oates. The two of them rock a sweet melody like NO OTHER....It's pulling me apart. Change....Find it in your heart. Change....Leaving was never my proud. Excuse me while I get all tingly listening to that song. It's THAT kind of song for me.

And it is not Bob Dylan's Talking New York, one of the first songs he actually wrote. While it isn't necessarily singing the praises of New York per se, I think it truthfully represents a New York experience, and subsequently a Belmont experience. The "City" (pick a place) can kick you in the ass. Yet it is a place to go to and make your dreams happen and Bob did just that - in this song, in cutting his first record there, in making it happen. Isn't that what the horses are doing? And like 'ole Bob, they leave town after either getting beaten down or making it. So long, New York.Howdy, East Orange.

Alas, those songs are not what it is. Traditionally, the song was an old folk song from way back when old-timies existed called, Sidewalks of New York. Tripped the light fantastic on the sidewalks of New York. It has been covered many times, by the Grateful Dead for one - so I hear. But I might prefer the Duke Ellingon rendition. Alas, that song was replaced in the 90's to make room for THAT song - THE New York song. Start spreadin' the news...

New York, New York as song by...............David Hasselhoff. I kid you not. Sung to the tune of “I want a….ham…bur…ger.” (New york. Yum. New…..ham.....york.....burger.)

I did. I just messed with the Hoff. I’ll lock up the liquor cabinet.

So you got your drink and you've got the juke box humming. Or your ipod, but take the buds out of your ear and put it on surround sound because watching the horses - the Triple Crown - is a social thing.

Here we go, in post position:

Imawildandcrazyguy - AKA The SNL Catchphrase

He's just a Lithuanian horse who'd rather be cruising for American foxes in his tight plaid pants (with bulge of course, you know what they say about horses). He'll be the most fun to watch as he wiggles that sashay down the track sometimes slipping out of character to do his famous "happy feet" bit. The "rock star comedian?" He's the Rock Star Horse. [Credit: thanks to the genius of Steve Martin.]

Tiago - AKA The Brazilian

Ladies, cross your legs. A cult of pain has swept the racetrack this year. Hot wax getting all up in there. Frankly, there's not much hope for "Tiago," he's going to be busy with his legs over his shoulders, wincing in not-quite-but-close childbirthing pain. But he'll be the sexy one as he will be bare ass except for an exclamation of hair to cover his lady bit. Prediction: Guy's choice.

Curlin - AKA The Perm

I've retired the Canadian athlete bit. Our Preakness winner has reinvented himself. He took his winnings and marched over to Truvy's Beauty Parlor where the latest glamour technician gave him his current look. He's bringing perms back!

CP West - AKA The Monogram

That Monogram is EVERYWHERE. He's adorning your luggage, your clothing, your towels, your Tiffany charms. This is what you will know him by on Saturday: CWP. He makes me want to bring back the "L" for Laverne shirt.

Slew’s Tizzy - AKA The Trumpet

You take Dizzy Gillespie and Miles Davis' Bitches Brew and you've got yourself a horse! As they say: Have trumpet, will excite. This is the horse to do that. Like his "parentage," he is known for fast runs and venturing into his upper register. Is he a cool melodic improviser? Or an aggressive explosive one?

Hard Spun - AKA The TightAss

Is he uptight? Or does he have an exceptionally attractive bootie? You tell me.

Rags to Riches - AKA Little Orphan Annie

He’s the horse with the little mop of red, curly hair and will be accompanied by his ever-faithful canine companion, Sandy, tagging along beside him. Right off the gate he might be yelling, "Leapin' lizards!" as the other horses take lead. But he will pull himself up from the spoils like he knows best. He’s got spunk, street smarts, and clown hair. Don’t be surprised if he breaks into a number...the ever optimist.

What are you betting on this time?

Run for the Black-Eyed Susans…or the Bourbon...sometimes it just is about the bourbon

I’ve said it before: I get into the Triple Crown. I read about the horses, I study them, and then I make my little chump change bet based on those statistics and the horse’s underdoggedness quotient (i.e., the blind horse is getting my vote or the one with "chips in his hoof".)

Taking the science out of it, the one thing I really like about the horses is the names -- born of lineage and a play-on words...and kitsch. Based on this art, now you can rank them on the cuteness factor.

Let me lay it out for you,* by post position:

Mint Slewlep – AKA “The Drunk”

He started drinking at the derby and, frankly, never stopped. And I haven’t researched him yet but I am guessing he is a product of Seattle Slew (which is another fun game to guess the lineage, see?). He gets his words mixed up and he is always fun and he takes his drink in a collins glass. He missed work for this bender.

What he will be wearing: A jersey with the following written upside-down: If you can read this, pick me up, and put me back on my barstool.

XChanger – AKA “The Cyberpunk”

He likes stories about giant robots and dreams of a world of fantastical structures and weapons. Blade Runner is his favorite movie. He might apply time travel to everyday life.

What he will be wearing: He is made of steel and he has bionic prosthetics.

Circular Quay – AKA “The Parrothead”

He moved to Key West to live the life of leisure and become the beach bum persona for which he aspired to when he first heard “Margaritaville,” in a parking lot. Count on him to blow off a flip-flop, for lyric's sake.

What he will be wearing: A Save the Manatees jersey and flips flops.

Curlin – AKA “The Canadian Jock”

Not the one with athletic prowess, but strategy and skill instead, much like a game of chess. He gets the good sportsmanship award as nobody is a loser, and if he wins, he is buying you a drink...because that is the spirit of the game.

What he will be wearing: The team uniform and carrying a broom.

King of the Roxy – AKA “The Club Kid”

He does his business after dark. He associates socializing with elaborate lighting systems that throb to the beat of the music, smoke beams, a disco ball, podium dancers, and girls get in free night. He always makes it past the doorman. He is music mixed by a dj and dancing mixed by alcohol.

What he will be wearing: A Jean Paul Gaultier knock-off.

Flying First Class – AKA “The Socialite”

He is not shy about publicity...does he love or hate his picture taken? I can’t tell. He is not known for any artistic merit or intellectual genius, but only known by his less-tangible ability to dominate the social scene and use personal charisma to achieve prominence.

What he will be wearing: God knows, but he will have a dog in a pink shirt and a Cartier-encrusted collar.

Hard Spun – AKA “The Knitter”

He is missing the craft fair for this, kids. He has a blog about knitting, called KnitWit or The Happy Hooker, where people can share tips and techniques, run competitions, and share their patterns. He also participates in chat groups as a means for social networking with like-minded crafters. Non-essential craft my ass.

What he will be wearing: A beanie, some mittens, a scarf, and wrapped in an afghan.

Street Sense – AKA “The Gang Member”

Well, gang member but not in the pejorative sense. Think a Jets/Sharks face-off, facing the other horses, nuzzle to nuzzle, and rhythmically snapping his fingers. That's how this horse rumbles. Even better if he breaks into song.

What he will be wearing: Hopefully a wife-beater.

C P West – AKA “The Preppie”

He attended an elite college preparatory school. His motto is "Choose Juicy." He will be heard asking the other horses where they summer. You can call him "Chip."

What he will be wearing: A button-down Oxford cloth shirt, cuffed khakis, and cordovan loafers.

Who will you be rooting for?

*I assure you, no stereotypes were hurt in the making of this list.

Giddy Up

You know what has me hyped this week? The thought of letting it all hang out in a bikini in one month? Ah...nnoooo. Let's not think about that right yet. Exposing your baby's skin soft feet to your summer shoes? Uh...holy blisters, Batman. True, my beach house summer begins in just over three weeks. I should be excited about that. Instead I am just stressed about getting my ass in gear. So my power walks are going to turn into runs now. So, no, the approaching summer at the beach isn't the source of my excitement just yet.

Oh no. It's something quite grand actually. The first weekend in May is almost upon us. The Run For The Roses. The galloping! The Derby! Yes, this time of the year "...the sun [does] shine bright in the old Kentucky home." The big hulking horsies. Little tiny wee jockeys. Mint juleps. Seersucker. Cash thrown all around. Giddy. Up.

Every year, I watch the race with one eye open. Lest one of the horsies collides and falls while they are hoofing it down the track. And for what? More oats in his breakfast than Mr. Ed down the stall? Every year, I think this is the time some horse is going to bite dust. And that would break my heart. I might give up the horse races altogether if I had to witness that. So one eye open. And one eye nudging my horse - or the horse in last place - to run a little faster. Run!

I also have a love-hate relationship with horses in general. I think they are beautiful creatures. Solid. Powerful. Silky. Ponytails. And big huge eyeballs that seem to know you, if you know what I mean. Almost creepy, like that painting in the Haunted Mansion with the eyeballs that follow you. Horses seem to watch and observe. So I have this fear of them at the same time. Growing up, my friend, Christy, lived on a ranch and they had lots of horses. I loved going over there. But I was always a little afraid of riding them. I wasn't very good at nudging them along. I was always like, "you take your time, little horsie. We will go when you are good and ready. I'm not pushing you. I am your friend." So I was often left out in pasture just hanging out with the horse. Because if I nudged him, then I might have been bucked off the horse like Valerie did one time. I am pretty sure that hurt. So the fear of the horse.

I love watching the horses. I like the steeplechase races.

I like hearing the horses. The cloppity-clop of their hooves.

I love researching their names. And tracing their lineage to see how the names evolve.

And then there is the game. I love betting on the race. And I'm pretty good at it (or lucky at it, rather.) I have guessed the winner in the past three years. So listen to me people when I say -Afleet Alex. I like him for some of the reasons I liked Smarty Jones last year. He doesn't come from "royal" pedigree. He has the human interest element as in he is not trained by one of the big guys, like Frankel or Zito. And he has a good heartstrings story. When he was a baby he was kept alive by being bottle-fed because his momma couldn't produce enough milk for him. And, finally, he is not a quitter. He raced his little heart out with a lung infection - and came back to win the Arkansas Derby. I'm telling you. Alex is a winner, y'all.

But you know what I just did? I jinxed it. So let me tell you about some other fabulous horses who could win.

Bandini - He bites! Really, he has bitten another horse (although he didn't take any ear with him). And he is a black horse. So, a beauty.
High Fly - Aww...he is pretty too.
Sun King - Because of his name. Psychedelic, dude.
Bellamy Road - Because he is the favored? But, eww, Steinbrenner's horse.
Wilko - Because...Wilco! Rock on.
Noble Causeway - He keeps getting better each race. The dark horse?

See? I'm pretty knowledgeable when it comes to picking the horses. Atleast I didn't pick based on jockey outfits. So listen to me. Or don't. But really? Back to why I'm hyped. Really? It's about the cocktail. My one time of the year to savor all that is minty lucious whiskiness. Giddy up indeed.

Factoid of the Day:
Over 80,000 Early Times Mint Juleps are served over the two-day period of the Kentucky Oaks and Kentucky Derby, requiring 8,000 liters of Early Times Mint Julep Ready-to-Serve Cocktail, 2,200 pounds of freshly harvested mint, and 80 tons of shaved ice. *

*From KentuckyDerby.com re. the Early Times Mint Julep recipe.

Let The Madness Begin

I'm a girly-girl. I think most of my friends would agree. But I love sports. And I take issue with the phrasing of that declaration, self. "But?" Girly-girls can't like sports? Of course we can! And I'm here to tell you about it.

I'm sure it started very young, probably in the womb. But my earliest memory of playing "ball" was when we lived in Connecticut and I was maybe 6-7. My dad was a real hands-on kind of dad and when he got home from work, it was all about us kids. That is when he started our weekly ball games. He was the pitcher, two of us would field and one would be the batter, and my brother, sister, and I would play against each other. But we also supported each other in the field, so we would have to work together. It was a good combination of team-playing and healthy competition. We anxiously awaited daddy coming home to continue The Game.

Then we moved to Florida and my parents immediately signed us up for every sport that was available. I played soccer, softball, basketball (short-lived), and swam competitively. My dad was often the coach for one of our teams. He taught us the game. He showed us the game. He would share stories of his own experiences playing as a kid. You knew how every position worked - and how they worked together as a team. It was never really about winning but doing the best you can, enjoying yourself, and making sure everyone had a fair chance. In fact, we were often - but not always - the losing team when my dad coached because he believed in nuturing everyone's natural ability. He figured if you were there to play, then play you will. All's he expected from you is that you try your best. His believing in you inspired a desirous effort to do the best you can. Years later, when my dad would run into a kid he had coached 10-20 years earlier, they still affectionately referred to him as "Coach Ski". He loved that.

Not only did we play, we watched sports. Even my mom. I always admired that my mom could chat sports with their friends. And we always went to see the Los Angeles Dodgers spring training games in Vero Beach, where I developed this insane crush on Steve Garvey. I had posters of him and one time I remember, in particular, Dodgertown was hosting fan appreciation day so my dad took me to get my picture taken with Steve and have him sign my mitt. Well, he was swarmed with fans and I couldn't get close enough. I was probably 8 and my dad took me up on his shoulders - or maybe he picked me up - but I was at a high enough height that I could get his attention. I yelled out his name, "Steve!...Steve!..." He looked up and....winked at me! But not only that he called me and my dad over and posed for a picture with me. My first crush on an athlete - and an older man.

There was no escaping the world of sports. And it may sound like it was forced on us. It wasn't. It was a natural existence and one I didn't mind. We were always allowed to make our own decisions about playing or not playing. When I delved into the world of art and gave up sports for a couple years, my parents were fine with that. It was all about passion. Find your passion. And the only way you will find your passion is by trying new things. So then they went out and bought me the best paints, pastels, pencils, paper, and art supplies any young budding artist should want.

I think the best story to sum up how my dad's love of sports impacted how my brother, sister, and I approached sports involves my brother. My bro, The Jock. The Jock excelled at every stinking sport he played (MVP, MVP, MVP, college scholarship, etc.) But it was a particular award he received while playing football in high school that touched my parents deeply. It wasn't an award for the best athlete, which he would undoubtedly deserve. But this award was for the best all-around player. The player, who in addition to being a great asset to the team, always gave 110 per cent (even though Coach Cornball sucked). The player who inspired his teammates. The player, really, with the most heart.

So, really, it is this kind of Spirit of the Game that excited my dad and that he passed on to his kids. He loved March Madness and I do too. It's got a whole hell of a lot of Spirit. That is true with college sports. Professional sports - which I do watch - are tainted with greed (bloated salaries), glorified "all-star teams" (hi Yankees), and altered strength (steroids). Its athletes are also too perfect - the game too polished. But college sports still has the Heart and thrives on the imperfections of young athletes. The college game is more fresh. Sure, there are under-the-table incentives, the occasional envelope stuffed with cash, ethical lapses, questionable conference reshuffling, recruiting scandals, the BCS debate, Wide Right, etc. It is what it is. It's an athletic competition, but one still rife with home-grown rivalries, alumni loyalty, tradition, pep bands, and the cutest mascots (I'm looking at you Uga). Give me the thrown visers, dadgummits, College Gameday, and the pageantry of The Big Dance any day.

So, daddy, this tip-off is for you. I hope you are watching.