Monday morning, I spoke with Apple phone rep Brandon, and he was a totally nice guy. (Have you encountered an Apple employee who wasn’t super nice? With the exception of Steve Jobs, of course.) Brandon confirmed that I should bring my iMac to the Genius Bar of an Apple Store. Not my closest Apple Store, because that would mean carrying the 800-pound computer into Manhattan on the train, or paying the $12 tunnel toll plus parking. So Brandon made an appointment for me at the Garden State Plaza in beautiful Paramus, New Jersey. (Brandon would later receive a “very satisfied” rating from me in an emailed survey.)

Lex, who checked me in at the Apple Store, was ridiculously nice, as was Jay, the genius assigned to my case. Scanning the room, I saw a heavily whiskered, floppy-emo-haired young Apple employee happily chatting with a senior-citizen customer. I thought to myself, this is a special place. Why can’t society be more like an Apple Store?

Now I was in a shiny mall with a lot of free time on my hands. Take the computer out of the equation and it really frees up the day. Sure, I could look things up on my smartphone, but mobile internet is really only useful and convenient up to the point when you genuinely need to look things up on the internet. Then the touch screens and itty-bitty places to click become an amazing pain in the ass. Oh, you say, then carry around this large rectangular iPad—problem solved! No, we made phones small so we could conveniently carry them around. Smaller and smaller we made them. But now we’re making them bigger and bigger again. We are idiots and have no goddamn idea what we’re doing.

Jay had told me that my computer might be ready by evening (in time for Tuesday’s radio show!) or if not, then tomorrow (not in time!).

It was kind of nice to walk around a mall. It’s only in the last several years that I haven’t been a regular mallgoer, and I find them vaguely comforting. Hmmm, Monday late morning: Is this where I’d find those desperate housewives I’ve heard so much about? Have loved food courts since I was a little kid—it is the dream set-up for a picky eater. And at this one, or at least at 11:30 a.m. before the lunch rush, the various ethnic meat-and-two-sides merchants were handing out chicken samples on toothpicks. I got four little pieces of chicken, not bad! But I spent my money at Taco Bell. For the past couple of months, ever since a friend sang the praises of the Doritos Locos Taco on Facebook, I have wanted to try one. Now was my chance. It was well worth the wait.

Monday evening came and went with no word from Apple. I came to terms with not doing my morning radio slot. But I wanted to be up and ready as soon as that call came in. Wait, would it be a call, or an email? My home phone was connected to the internet, so would that even work? I constantly pressed the stupid tiny little refresh button on my phone’s email app.

I had other worries. Torrential rain was forecast for Tuesday afternoon. Was this the ideal time to pick up an expensive piece of electronic equipment? I packed an umbrella in my backpack.

At 1:11 p.m., the word came in: My product was ready for pick-up. I hadn’t eaten, due to bad time management and a lack of food in my apartment. Hmmm, maybe another Loco taco? But I’d have to eat before I got the computer, as the iMac is freaking heavy. Once I picked it up, there’d be no time for monkey business. I drove the rainy half-hour to Paramus and found covered parking. That alleviated my water-damage worries. I carefully consulted the “You Are Here” map for the most efficient route back to the parking structure.

I gave up my taco dreams. Logic won out: I still had no idea if the external-drive back-up transfer would go smoothly, and rain might still be a concern once I got back to Hoboken. It was best to get the computer and return home as quickly as possible. Do not pass go; do not collect $200.

But maybe a pretzel? Certainly I had time for a pretzel. Auntie Anne’s, or Wetzel’s? Wetzel’s. There was a Wetzel’s stand on my planned route. But… $3+ for a pretzel? Forget it, Wetzel. Onward to the Apple Store.

I was steps away when I noticed a group of people coming my way, all wearing lanyard name tags. I wondered what their affiliation was. Convention-goers? But were there convention facilities in the mall? And then a thought occurred: Now that I didn’t have an office job and wouldn’t be attending conventions, would I ever wear a lanyard name tag again?

As I was lost in this wistful musing, a petite attractive woman, with long dark hair, seemingly called out to me. But was it me? The name-taggers were mid-stream; she could’ve been talking to any of them. Maybe she was with them. But no, they continued to their unknown destination, and she was still summoning me. The computer could wait.

Arrgh, trapped. It immediately became apparent that she was a kiosk employee. Selling, what? Hand creams and such. No!!! This stuff is boring. I’m a Dial Gold soap guy; I am brand-loyal. And I need to get my computer. And it’s raining. I protested (methinks too much), but she said it would only take 10 seconds. Clearly my reputation precedes me.

“You are Jewish?” she asked, in a thick middle-eastern accent that indicated I didn’t have to ask her the same question.

“What is your name?” she followed up. When she seemed unsatisfied with “Jack,” I added “uh… from Jacob.”

She placed a spoonful of sea salt in my palm. Then, as I held my hands over a small white bowl, she sprayed them with water. I was told to rub the salt all over my hands. She sprayed the residue into the bowl.

“See? It exfoliates. Look at all the dead skin.” I looked in the bowl but didn’t see much. After all, I had just showered. I wanted to look nice for my Apple pals.

I was handed a paper towel to dry off, but then phase two began. She opened another jar and put some shea nut butter in my palm. I almost made a reference to Shea Stadium but thought the better of it. Rub it in, rub it all over. Oh I was sad. My hands were all greasy (or “greazy” as we referred to one guy’s hair in college) and they smelled all pretty.

Then my Tel Aviv temptress moved in for the hard sell. “I give you nice discount because you’re Jewish.” I knew from our secret newsletters that we controlled Hollywood and international banking, but did we run the skin-care industry as well? She led me by the hand to the cash register. “Here, I show you. Regular price for sea salt, $70. But because you’re Jewish…” I didn’t see what she hit on the keyboard: Control-alt-David Ben-Gurion? But $70 suddenly became $25 on the electronic screen.

“I don’t know,” I said, “Doesn’t salt cost, like, two dollars? In the supermarket.” She shook her head at me—oh you silly boy—and continued to explain what a great deal this was.

“But it costs zero if I don’t buy it,” I claimed. Now she was growing slightly frustrated with me. “Hey, I am Jewish,” I meekly offered as explanation.

At long last, I stood up for myself. I told her that I was preoccupied with my computer, I was really only here to pick it up, but if she would give me a business card, I’d… well, I’d be free to leave. I will have wriggled off the hook. She returned to her keyboard, typed in a string of characters, and printed out a small receipt. What was this? The URL for the Protocols? “My email,” she said with a resigned smile.

And just like that, I was—in the words of Allen Dershowitz—the vanishing American Jew. Arrgh, but my hands were all gross. Everyone is so friendly in that Apple Store; I hoped no one would want to shake hands. Hey Lex. Hey Jay. A new guy signed me in. Should I explain that I don’t normally smell all fragrant? And what if the computer slipped out of my slick hands and smashed into James Frey-like fragments? Would AppleCare cover that?

And why did she give me her email? Did she want me to ask her out? It was an exciting thought. Though Paramus is kind of far. And our politics are probably very different, Israeli Jews often on the conservative side of the ledger. (She had mentioned that my purchase would “help Israel.”) But I’d have such nice hands. No, wait, I asked her for a business card, and she gave me the email. This was a business transaction and nothing more.

I got a decent grip on the computer’s thin foam wrapping (those Apple guys think of everything) and headed out. I couldn’t divert from my highly efficient route, so I had to pass by the sea-salt kiosk again. Maybe she wouldn’t see me if I went the long… she saw me. She smiled and called out something. I didn’t hear what it was. I just smiled and kept moving. Best to put it out of my mind, until Mossad agents abduct me in the middle of the night.

I got back to the car and drove straight home. Well, not straight home. I was really hungry by this point. And I’d be passing Secaucus. Many years ago, my friend Joe and I had read in the Star-Ledger that Giovanni’s Deli in Secaucus had the state’s best mozzarella. We made a road trip but it was closed that day. This could be my chance. I pulled off the highway, googled “secaucus mozzarella,” used GPS directions to find the place (OK, OK, the smartphone can be handy from time to time), and ordered a prosciutto-and-mutz sandwich. Back in the car I unwrapped the wax paper and dove right in. It was an amazing sandwich. The fresh cheese was so good, so buttery. Although, maybe that was just the shea nut on my hands.

The Who — “Happy Jack” [THEME]
Sly & the Family Stone — “Everyday People”
Josie Cotton — “Johnny, Are You Queer?”
of Montreal — “Tim I Wish You Were Born a Girl”
The Kinks — “Lola”
Blur — “Girls & Boys”
Sweet — “A.C.D.C.”
Joan Jett and the Blackhearts — “Crimson and Clover”
The Felt Tips — “Boyfriend Devoted”
The Frogs — “God Is Gay”
Scott Thompson — “I’m Gay”
The Lemonheads — “Big Gay Heart”
The Field Mice — “This Love Is Not Wrong”
The Pains of Being Pure at Heart — “This Love Is Fucking Right!”
Bob Dylan — “The Times They Are A-Changin’”
Pete Seeger — “Tomorrow Is a Highway”
Bruce Springsteen — “We Are Alive”

played on BLAST Live via the BLAST Gallery, Teaneck, NJ
Tuesday, 5/15/12, 8:00-9:10 p.m. eastern time

I have vague recollections of Dark Shadows reruns on TV. However, in my head I’m confusing it a bit with horror-host Zacherley. Anyway, I had very little idea what to expect when I saw the new film adaptation. But I knew I would see it, and see it in the theaters. I can’t break my every-Tim-Burton-movie-starting-with-Pee-Wee streak now, can I?

From the trailers, I imagined this would not be very faithful to the show. It appeared to be a goofy, fish-out-of-water tale. Not that I was overly concerned. Burton can certainly do goofy (Mars Attacks!) and I’d trust Johnny Depp in just about anything.

My Wikipedia reading now uncovers that thism in fact, sticks fairly close to the source material. And Burton turns it into a very enjoyable film—almost an excellent one. This Dark Shadows is a unique mix of genuine gothic horror and quite clever comedy. Burton must share credit for this success with screenwriter Seth Grahame-Smith (whose birth name is seemingly Seth Greenberg, so there’s another mystery for you) and the always dependable Depp. Johnny Depp is hilarious in this. And he does it by playing it totally straight—the 17th-century gentleman vampire transported to 1972. In another actor’s hands, Barnabas’s surprised reactions to modern touches might become tiresome after awhile. But Depp makes it funny every single time. A scene in which he recites Steve Miller lyrics had me loudly laughing aloud. I laughed a lot during this movie.

The rest of the cast is pretty solid as well. Michelle Pfeiffer maybe underplays things a bit too much. Eva Green is the sultry villainess and she almost keeps up with Depp. The second coming of Jackie Earle Haley continues, and he gets a few laughs. Newcomer Bella Heathcote has a delicate loveliness and emanates her character’s innocence with a hint of her dark, shadowy back story. Chloë Grace Moretz has entered a post-Hugo awkward phase but she gets some big laughs too as the bored, chomping-at-the-bit teen. Of course Helena Bonham Carter is here, daringly going a little frumpy. Plus you get killer cameos from Christopher Lee, Alice Cooper, and Jonathan Frid himself.

Ultimately, the film gets away from Burton in the last 20 minutes or so. A little too much mayhem, a little too much Disneyland Haunted Mansion. The slightly rushed coda made me wonder if Burton secretly wants to get back together with Lisa Marie. Overall, this is a lot of fun, and yes, I’m adding the original series to my Netflix queue.

The Who — “Happy Jack” [THEME]
Frank Sinatra — “Fly Me to the Moon”
Big Eyes — “Back From the Moon”
Dukes of Stratosphear — “Bike Ride to the Moon”
Nana Grizol — “Circles ‘Round the Moon”
Elvis Presley — “Blue Moon”
Dump — “Moon River”
Les Paul & Mary Ford — “How High the Moon”
Beach Boys — The Surfer Moon”
Willie Nile — Vagabond Moon”
The Waterboys — “The Whole of the Moon”
Beulah — “If We Can Land a Man on the Moon, Surely I Can Win Your Heart”
Ella Fitzgerald — “It’s Only a Paper Moon”
Rolling Stones — “Child of the Moon”
Lyle Lovett — “Moon on my Shoulder”

played on BLAST Live via the BLAST Gallery, Teaneck, NJ
Tuesday, 5/8/12, 10:00-11:00 a.m. eastern time

I know The Avengers opens later this week, so be forewarned: This is not an Iron Man prequel. The Giant Mechanical Man is a small movie with an equal number of charms and flaws.

It stars the poor man’s Amy Adams, Jenna Fischer. You know—Pam—who we’ve all grown a little tired of by now on The Office. In this she portrays Janice, a likable enough sad sack who might as well be closing up the library in Pottersville. It’s as if Pam never moved to Scranton, got a job at Dunder-Mifflin, or met Jim.

Enter Chris Messina, best known for the highly forgettable role of Vicky’s fiance in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. He plays the titular mechanical man, but not actually a robot. He’s a street performer who paints himself silver. (Who uses a brush. I imagine I’d use some sort of makeup pad or sponge, but then again I like to think they consulted the Blue Men or somebody.)

The characters are on a depression crash course: She’s broke and directionless, he’s newly single, semi-broke, semi-directionless, and silver. So they buy a zoo. No, no, but they get jobs at a zoo. You know, meet cute.

Writer/director Lee Kirk is Fischer’s husband, so you know she didn’t have to audition. Kirk seems stronger at directing than at writing. The movie has a pleasant, grey, downbeat feel to it. (Detroit does a very nice job playing itself.) There are nice individual moments. Fischer and Messina turn in solid performances and display some chemistry. But the script often lets them down. Characters coincidentally show up exactly where they need to be, as if some screenwriter placed them there. The behind-the-scenes zoo office dialogue is fairly embarrassing. Maybe the consulting budget was blown on the Blue Men because it doesn’t feel like they talked to any zoo professionals. Actually, it doesn’t feel like Kirk has ever held down any sort of “real” job.

There’s also a strange sort of ’90s feel to the movie and I’m not sure why. Janice’s cellphone is turned off early in the movie, but I think that’s only so she can’t locate the mechanical man later on. And both characters look for jobs in newspaper want-ads. I kept expecting the Smashing Pumpkins to show up.

In the supporting cast you get Lucy Punch, who had more to do in the not-very-good Dinner for Schmucks. Bob Odenkirk gets even less to do—he’s only in one scene. Janice’s sister is the lovely Malin Akerman, who remains lovely, and the brother-in-law is Harry from Mad Men, who at least makes some decent facial expressions. (Yeah, like Malin Akerman would marry him.) Topher Grace plays a self-obsessed self-help author. It’s fun to see him with long hair and Topher tries his best to make the character lively. Unfortunately the script renders him highly unrealistic.

It’s not a bad movie, though not a particularly good one. I had an OK time watching it, and there’s a little food-for-thought for those outside the workaday world. I’d say it’s ideal for plane viewing or a grey day at home on cable. Or, go see The Avengers if you prefer that sort of mechanical man.

The Who — “Happy Jack” [THEME]

Question from Ryan:
Dear Jack,I recently tried your tv advertised bacon cheese burger combo!&I found that in REAL LIFE!THE SANDWICH I BOUGHT DIDN’T LOOK ANY WHERE NEAR AS SUBSTANTIAL AS THE 1 IN THE TV AD!YOUR A FRAUD!!
Post-answer song:
The Inconceivables — “Hamburger Patti”

Question from Michael:
I noticed the toilet was rocking in my bathroom. I tightened down the bolts on the floor so that it stopped. Yet I am still worried that perhaps the looseness of the toilet broke the wax seal and it is leaking. Should I forget the worry?
Post-answer song:
Differentgear — “Worry”

Question from Raylene:
Why do we always want the ones that don’t want us, but run from the ones that do want us?
Post-answer song:
J. Geils Band — “Love Stinks”

Question from John:
My right shoulder hurts. What’s the problem?
Post-answer song:
Johnny Thunders — “You Can’t Put Your Arms Around a Memory”

Question from Jan:
What should I get my sister for her birthday?
Post-answer song:
The Stone Roses — “(Song for My) Sugar Spun Sister”

Question from Pat:
How many roads must a man walk down before they call him a man?
Post-answer song:
Lucinda Williams — “Side of the Road”

Question from David:
What if the hokey pokey IS what it’s all about?
Post-answer song:
Yo La Tengo — “The Hokey Pokey”

Question from John:
Should I have this lanced?
Post-answer song:
The Len Price 3 — “Doctor Gee”

Question from Carolyn:
Am I haggard?
Post-answer song:
Elvis Costello and the Attractions — “Tonight the Bottle Let Me Down”

Question from Karen:
Is it important to respond every time your child says “Mom, look at this!” or can you skip a few?
Post-answer song:
Handsome Boy Modeling School — “Look at This Face (Oh My God They’re Gorgeous)”

played on BLAST Live via the BLAST Gallery, Teaneck, NJ
Tuesday, 5/1/12, 10:00-11:00 a.m. eastern time

I was aware of the New Jersey Nets from the very beginning, but wasn’t a fan. Their entry into the National Basketball Association in 1977 coincided with my first year as a sports-card collector. But my family lived in the Bay Area, so the only team I cared about was the Golden State Warriors, with Rick Barry and a young Robert Parish. (Little did I know that the granny-style free-throw shooter Barry was born and raised in New Jersey and had played two seasons with the ABA’s New York Nets.)

For a couple of years, I collected every sort of card: football, hockey, Star Wars, Mork and Mindy, Charlie’s Angels, The Muppet Movie. But soon enough, Reggie Jackson captured my imagination and baseball took over my world.

We moved to Maryland and then to central New Jersey. I still followed basketball somewhat—Magic, Bird, Kareem. Amit and Gadi’s dad took us to a Nets game at the Brendan Byrne Arena. I met then-mascot Duncan.

But if the ’80s me had a basketball team, it was the Philadelphia 76ers. (Central Jersey is funny like that; you get both NYC and Philly stations and aren’t sure who you’re a suburb of.) Dr. J was the man. Interestingly, he’d been on the Nets too. But the team couldn’t afford Erving’s contract when they paid their way into the NBA, so the good Doctor went to the Sixers. When I got my driver’s license, Katie and I went to the Spectrum to see Erving score his 30,000th career point. (We received commemorative certificates that night, and for years it has killed me that I can’t find it. Maybe Katie has hers.)

Still, baseball was my true sports passion, and specifically the Yankees. That has remained the case, but in 2003 things started to open up a bit. My great buddy Joe moved away from Hoboken, and I found myself with a lot more free time on my hands. Steve and I purchased a half-season Nets plan for 2002–03. It was a blast. I could drive to the games at the Continental Airlines Arena (which had been the Brendan Byrne Arena, and would become the IZOD Center) and listen to Chris Carrino and Tim Capstraw do the post-game show on the radio on the way home. I really loved going to games.

And I genuinely started to appreciate and enjoy basketball. I’d watch those doubleheaders on TNT. Couldn’t get enough of west-coast late games during the playoffs. When I’d travel, it was always comforting to flip on some random basketball game on the hotel TV. (Still is.)

Back in Jersey, we loved the players. Jason Kidd of course, and Richard Jefferson, Vince Carter, Kenyon Martin, but also the less glamorous: Zoran Planinic, Brian Scalabrine, Rodney Rogers, and so many others. There were also devoted fans you couldn’t miss who we quickly grew to love, such as Dancin’ Phil and the Hex Guy. Soon after we started regularly attending, Lawrence Frank became the coach, and he was our guy. Good times, bad times, we supported the team, and I really felt like I was part of something.

Each year, Steve and I would buy a mini-plan—tickets to 10 games or so. I enjoyed friendships with the ever-rotating cast of account managers, especially Adler, Liz, and Wally. We loved to be there at the first game of the season, last game, and around Christmas when there’d be Santa basketball at halftime. We had other favorite halftime performances such as frisbee-catching dogs, the Simon Sez guy, and the Nets Senior Dancers. The Jersey connections were the best, whether it was Joe Piscopo, Hillside Elementary’s Drums of Thunder, a Jumbotron message from James Gandolfini, and a classic video clip of Bruce Willis revving up the crowd during game 4 of the 2003 NBA Finals. Yippee-ki-yay!

But nothing lasts. During only our second season as ticket holders, it was announced that the team had been sold to Bruce Ratner and would be moving to Brooklyn. I wrote about it back in 2004 and was very proud to learn my essay had been tacked up on a bulletin board at Jersey City’s own WFMU.

Still, there were legal challenges and economy-related construction delays, and it seemed like the move might never happen. We hoped not, anyway. Even though it slowly became almost impossible to find team merchandise at the arena with the words “New Jersey” on it. And the new ownership didn’t seem very committed to putting a winning team on the court. Kidd was gone, then Jefferson, and Carter, and they weren’t being replaced by top-shelf players. Then Russian zillionaire Michael Prokhorov bought the team, Coach Frank was fired, but the downward spiral continued. (Did anyone really think LeBron was going to play here, with such a shoddy supporting cast? Or, more recently, Dwight Howard?) A team that had routinely made the playoffs now had one of the worst records in the history of the NBA. Crowds dwindled, except when a high-profile opponent was in town. It was no fun to show up at a game when there were more away jerseys than home in the crowd. It was demoralizing. We’d been gutted, sold for scrap, and nobody cared. Why improve the franchise before the splashy move to Brooklyn anyway?

The lease ran out at the IZOD Center and the team announced it would be temporarily moving to Newark. That last game at the Meadowlands, April 12, 2010, was pretty sad. We’d miss the arena, familiar faces, and good friends like the turkey ladies. As a nice touch, the team let fans shoot a free throw after that game.

So last season we found ourselves at Newark’s Prudential Center. It was an interesting change of pace, I suppose. It’s a nice building. There were new food stands to try out. I missed driving to games—parking is sparse by the arena—but enjoyed walking through the Gateway Center to and from Newark Penn Station. (After games, with all the closed shops in the walkway, it has that mellow feel of arriving on a late flight and heading to baggage claim.) Sometimes I could hear the post-game show on my phone, if the illegal radio app was working.

But something had truly changed. The Prudential Center never really felt like home. Signage everywhere reminded you that it was a hockey arena first and foremost, home to New Jersey’s last real remaining team, the Devils. (This is despite Mayor Booker’s recent feud with the Devils’ owner, over money of course. You don’t have to follow sports for very long at all—or life, really—to learn that money is all that seems to matter.) And the Nets’ Jay-Z co-ownership era just started to feel empty. Was it this increasingly grade-B celebrity culture that inspired Kim Kardashian to sniff around our enthusiastic but dopey forward Kris Humphries? (Last season, we also had Maria Sharapova’s fiance on the team.) Then Hova and Beyoncé stopped showing up at games, and stopped booking prominent r&b acts to perform. Halftime “entertainment” was now youth basketball games. It was finally official that 2011–12 would be the last season in New Jersey, and the organization couldn’t even pretend anymore that it wasn’t in a holding pattern.

The final season arrived. Eventually. First there was a long NBA lockout that the owners seemed in no hurry to resolve. It looked like there might not even be a season. (And why should there be? The league’s TV money was guaranteed either way.) Disillusioned, Steve and I did not purchase a ticket plan for the first time in a decade. Besides, it would be cheaper to buy tickets on StubHub. (Four dollars! Two dollars!) Even with the reduced schedule, I still managed to get to five games. The Jersey-shunning organization had now seemingly changed its tune (slow ticket sales, maybe?), and the slogan this year was “Jersey strong, Brooklyn ready.” Celebrating 35 years in New Jersey. Whatever.

But Steve and I would not miss the last game. In mid-February, we scored decent mid-court seats for the April 23rd finale, a $33 value for $12.95 each, plus the inevitable StubHub fees. Money money money money.

And today was April 23. The game was listed as sold out, but there were noticeable empty seats throughout the arena, especially in the luxury sections. Still, it was a much more sizable crowd than usual and there was, dare I say, a “playoff atmosphere.” Fittingly, the Philadelphia 76ers were our opponents. No Dr. J on this squad, and after a strong start to the season, the Sixers were limping into the postseason (could clinch a berth with a victory tonight). The Nets, with 22 wins and 42 losses, would miss the playoffs for the fifth consecutive year. That’s not easy to do in the NBA.

But the mood was good. A nice hand for Carrino and Capstraw before the game. Longtime P.A. announcer Gary Sussman, absent all season, returned to the mike. Some guy from Jersey Boys sang the anthem; that was nice. The Nets went up 1–0 and… that would be their only lead of the night. But the crowd stayed into it, deep into the game. There were spontaneous chants of “Let’s go, Nets!” Actual spontaneity—not initiated by preprogrammed sound effects. Dancin’ Phil Tozzi was in the house in a shocking-pink shirt. (No sign of Bruce Reznick, the hex guy—I hope he is OK. I put the hex on some Sixers free-throw attempts in his absence. It worked a couple of times.)

Instead of under-11 basketball, tonight’s halftime was a nice ceremony with many former players. It wasn’t as majestic as the recent 100th-anniversary bash at Fenway, but for Jersey it was OK. There was Darryl Dawkins—Chocolate Thunder—in a pink-purple suit even brighter than Dancin’ Phil’s shirt. Beloved former general manager Rod Thorn was on hand, a true class act. Multi-time drug-policy violator/anti-Semite/homophobe Michael Ray Richardson was in attendance; yet no invitation proffered to Jayson “I Went to Prison Because I Killed a Limo Driver” Williams. Otis Birdsong, Derrick Coleman, Albert King, Kenny Anderson, Kerry Kittles, all there. Tim Bassett, whose basketball card I held in my hand when I was 8 years old. (Doug Collins, in the arena as current coach of the 76ers, was also in that stack of cards.) Biserka Petrovic represented her son Drazen.

Video tributes from Carter, Frank, Scalabrine, Kenyon, Buck Williams, Devin Harris, and of course, J. Kidd, the captain forever. Kidd’s kid TJ, the giant-headed toddler of the Finals years, was now a teenager and in the crowd. They dusted off the old Gandolfini video; gave the Willis clip one more spin.

In the third quarter the Nets pulled within one point, further energizing the fans. But it was as close as they’d come. With Brook Lopez and Deron Williams out with injuries, the team was overmatched. Yet again. We lost 105–87. With 14 seconds remaining, the crowd rose to its feet. But not to boo and trudge out, as we had after other lackluster efforts in recent seasons. No. Tonight we applauded. We cheered. In appreciation for the past, and as a warm farewell.

I don’t know how many of us will make the two-river schlep to the Atlantic Yards next season. Personally, I’m still on the fence. When it was rumored that they might even change the name from the Nets to something else, I was prepared to write them off forever. (Thankfully, that didn’t happen. Come on, is there a better basketball team name out there?) It may come down to ticket price vs. income. Or not. I love the Nets, but they broke my heart a little bit. We’ll see if it mends.

The Who — “Happy Jack” [THEME]
Nat King Cole — “Nature Boy”
Kelly Stoltz — “Mother Nature”
The Beatles — “Mother Nature’s Son”
Shop Assistants — “Nature Lover”
Heron — “Upon Reflection”
Midlake — “Core of Nature”
The Bats — “Flowers & Trees”
Talking Heads — “(Nothing But) Flowers”
Phillip Glass — “A Drive in the Country”
Smog — “Let’s Move to the Country”
Simon & Garfunkel — “Leaves That Are Green”
Holly Golightly — “Mother Earth”
Emitt Rhodes — “Mother Earth”
Velvet Underground — “Ocean”

played on BLAST Live via the BLAST Gallery, Teaneck, NJ
Tuesday, 4/24/12, 10:00-11:00 a.m. eastern time