We were fortunate enough to spend our Sunday afternoon in Central Park, lying in the grass, getting sunburned, occasionally getting knocked in the head by stoners playing disc golf. In the background, there was a kid's Little League game. Kids were swinging and and running and sliding and throwing, and it was great, they were smiling and happy, it's what summertime is supposed to be.

And then came the coach. He was innocuous at first, tapping a kid on the head, whispering urgently in his ear. Then he grumbled a little more, and then he yelled at an umpire, and then he yelled at a player and next thing you knew, it was like sitting in the bleachers at Yankee Stadium, except you weren't even fortunate enough to have beer around. He turned a fun game in the park with the kids into … something ugly. Fortunately, the team won, so it was totally worth it.

Anyway, we're just grumpy because there just Isn't Enough Aloe. We have 10 reviews this week, and would love much more. Just use the form on the right …

-- BT

The Black Table needs your help! Every week, we need reviews of the latest media-related crud, new products from Capitalists and odd idea, concept or trend. All you need to have is a sharp opinion that you can distill down to one paragraph of 150 words and give a letter grade. To submit, please fill out the form below. Entries may edited for length, style and clarity. Hit us with your best shot. Fire away.

STILL LYING ABOUT MEETING YOUR DATE ON THE INTERNET: Look, we know you. We've known you for a while. We know most of your hangouts, and we at least know most of your friends by sight. So when we see you at the restaurant with a date we've never encountered before, you don't have to blush into your napkin and mumble something about a friend of your cousin's sister being in town for the weekend. This isn't 1997, you're not some chat room stalker, and we understand. It's no big deal, really. And if we do mock you, we'll do it behind your back, in hushed tones, at least until we gotta drive upstate next weekend to hook up with, uh, this friend of our stepdad's family that we met at a cookout a while back: B -- Bergman

A CERTAIN SENATOR FROM MASSACHUSETTS: Dude. John. You were my fucking MAN for those few fatuously hopeful months before that ill-fated election. I mean, I overlooked the fact that were a complete stiff, a lifeless, dull and completely personality-devoid being, however intelligent. I even spent two months canvassing for you in L.A., extracting money from Beverly Glen residents and their hipster counterparts in Silverlake with the methodology of a DENTAL SURGEON. Hell, I even flew to Florida for election weekend, knocking on countless doors, convincing the inbred, ignorant and illiterate Floridians that John Kerry was their man,

even if he forgot to make that clear in the earlier months of the campaign. We even offered fucking rides to the goddamn polls (which were literally blocks away). Now I get your emails every day -- "Eli, you and me must take a stand and fight the republicans on THIS (insert petty senatorial quarrel here)!" -- but John, I thought we had an understanding. After that election thing, me and you were over. And it's not your fault (well it kinda is) and it certainly isn't mine. John man, you had your chance to shine, and you blew it. You didn't take a stand (what was your stance on the war, exactly?), you pandered to playing a bullshit game that our counterparts are so much better at and we got beaten, badly. Look man, just cut the fucking emails and move on, or I'm gonna file them in the email graveyard that is my trash folder, along with offers for viagra, cialis and chaep sfotware. Being constantly reminded of losing a winnable election that still hurts six months later. D. Realizing that the unending barrage of Kerry emails might signify a run in 2008, thus ensuring an even redder White House. (Dr. Frist, anyone?) F -- Eli R.

GETTING ARRESTED: When I imagined myself getting arrested, I figured it would be for something exciting or substantial. Getting into a drunken brawl, publishing literature that was deemed obscene or protesting against the government -- things like that. But last Thursday I was walking about Manhattan's East Village and promoting an upcoming punk rock show by taping paper signs to light posts. Having skillfully put up one of the flyers, I was met by two plainclothes officers of the New York City Police Department. In times past, I have put up such posters in full view of uniformed officers of the NYPD without even getting a second glance. But these were officers from a special anti-vandalism unit. They quickly handcuffed me and put them in the back of their unmarked car. I had heard stories of people being arrested for putting up flyers for music shows before, but had attributed them to the stoned ramblings of frustrated musicians trying to explain some lost hours of their lives. So for the first time in my life I was being arrested. Would this bring me to Riker's Island? Would I become a career criminal and have to join the Aryan Brotherhood in prison? Would I have to hide strange objects in my rectum? No, for my troubles I received a free three-hour stay in a police precinct and a desk appearance ticket. I wrote to a friend and former co-worker who is a retired NYPD cop and told him of my arrest. "I was a cop for 21 years, and I locked up over 1,000 people, and each and every one of them deserved it," he wrote back, "but I would NEVER EVER stoop to doing something so lame. They should be ashamed of themselves." I go to court July 5th. F -- Matthew Sheahan

SHARING A DESK WITH A PREGNANT GIRL: Sometimes I could punch the micro-managing boss I work for who told me I'd be better off at Starbucks because at least they'd give me health insurance. Or her assistant who has no education past the 11th grade, but rode for 2 months on a roller coaster and was offered a job at my station (coincidentally at a higher position). It all becomes irrelevant though, when I open my top desk drawer and next to the Sharpies and whiteout, are three bags of gummy worms, a pack of cookies and a can of root beer. Thank God the girl who shares my desk is pregnant. Someone here is crankier and fatter than me AND still has the good graces to stock our desk out like a 16-year-old's slumber party. A -- Crystal Kash

DEADPAN HIP-HOP SPEAK: Fran Drescher mugs for the camera and emits "shizzle," Vanilla Ice yet again blathers "word to your mother," 40-something ubiquitous white-guy radio voice drones "what up... yo", Doogie Howser crows "bitches ain't shit" -- well, maybe not that last one, but he may be the only whiter-than-Casper-after-a-Minnesota-winter mofo who's not bandwagon jumping. Hear me ... if you're pigmentally challenged and you speak as if you're trying to "out street cred" Flava Flav while doing your best Ben Stein, you're not in on the joke and no, you don't "get it." D- -- Jason Mesches

MARIAH CAREY'S PERFORMANCE AT THE MTV MOVIE AWARDS: An important truth was learned this past Saturday night: Mariah Carey can bring the heat. I never thought I'd say anything like that, but after seeing half-sister girl throwdown firsthand at the MTV Movie Awards, I hereby stand corrected. During the break in the action to set the stage, I asked anyone around me working a Blackberry, which was pretty much everyone, if any of their units had the optional Cyanide capsule upgrade because I needed to put myself out of my inevitable misery, pronto. When the Diva from Long Island made her grand entrance, I cringed. But when she started singing my jaw dropped. Wow, does she have some pipes. And she was really singing. No lip synch for her, as she belted out her latest junior high slow dance anthem, which is apparently number one on the charts. I haven't seen conviction like that since Martha Stewart got sent to prison. Mariah dear, I doubt I'll ever go so gay as to actually buy one of your albums, but you're such a good singer, I almost feel bad for every joke I've ever made about Glitter. A -- Todd Munson

CHRISTIAN SLATER'S GRABASSERY: It seems like every time we see Kuffs nowadays, he's scrubbing down some cop car or getting stuffed into one. This guy used to be THE MAN. Heathers, True Romance, Gleaming the Fucking Cube. He could have had a handful of Winona Ryder, Helen Slater, Patricia Arquette ... but no. He's got to go a-goosin' on the Upper East Side -- which sucks, considering that all the really prime stuff is down on the Lower East. Get a Metrocard, pal. By the way, to all the drunken frat assholes who didn't pay attention to Mr. Untamed Heart's misfortunes, there's a city full of women just waiting to have you and your wandering hands arrested the next time you feel like fluffing the pillows at Off The Wagon. F -- Jason Notte

THE MARLBORO MINOR: I feel for you, Kid Who Just Bummed a Smoke from Me. I really do: I remember what a pain in the ass it was to get cigarettes in high school. That said, I didn't realized how young you were until your voice cracked when you asked for my lighter (and you spent five minutes making it clear you had no bloody idea how to use one). My bad for being clueless, but for making me an accessory to your corruption, you're sharing this F -- Lauren

A REALLY GREAT STRETCH: You know the feeling. You're training for a new job, or have had a long day of classes, pretty much anything that involves a lot of paying attention and sitting for a long time. It hits after about four hours, when you realize that your butt really doesn't want you to sit anymore and that paying attention is becoming really difficult. Finally, you get to leave. So you stand up, put your arms above your head and just stretch first-thing-in-the-morning style. Sure, you almost pulled something, and people are looking at you strangely, but wow, that was fantastic. A -- Leigh-Anne Mathieson

MISTRESS OF OFFICE SUPPLY ORDERING: A fortnight ago, I was bequeathed Mistress of Office Supplies. The last Mistress of Office Supplies abused her powers, ordering medium ball-point pens and cheerless Post-it notes. It will be different under my reign! I shall shower the office with the best of bulk coffees, the richest of the non-diary creamers, and the finest ball-point pens a major office supply catalogue can furnish. White or Bright-white? Nothing but quality for my flock! It is not, however, a job taken lightly. With great power comes great responsibility, but I have chosen this life and I will walk it alone. A -- Ceda Xiong

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