Looking at the clock, I am almost exactly 13 hours late in writing a witty, or sensational, or comical, or ________ post reflecting the news that Mr. Barack Obama is the guy that our country has determined will take the reins and steer our country back to greatness. I realize that anything I say now is not exactly 'hot off the presses.'
However, with that imagery in mind, I do have some 'hot' news to report, filled with globs of irony to satisfy your ironic tooth.
While Obamans across the nation celebrated Barack's clinching the presidential race, touting him as the one to bandage our bleeding financial industry, to balance out the distribution of wealth among our citizenry, to impose NCAA football playoffs -- I have discovered yet another industry that can breathe a sigh of relief on this Nov. 5 : Newspapers.
Sure there have been reports and projections that technology and the blogosphere are tag-teaming the demise of the ol' ink and paper daily news, but I'll tell you what.. Today, after visiting 2 gas stations, 3 convenience stores, a hardware store, a neighborhood market, and 3 newspaper dispenser stands, I found myself newspaperless, empty-handed like O.J. in a jail cell.
They were all sold out! Every last Washington Post, New York Times, and Wall Street Journal was gone. One shopkeeper even laughed at me, as if my expecting the availability of a gosh darn newspaper at one in the afternoon was a gosh darn joke. (Side note: all I wanted was the Post's Style section so I could do my daily crossword puzzle. So much to ask for?)
Then it dawned on me. He's done it again! Barack has saved the ailing print newspaper industry. The presses have turned back on. The rollers are a-rollin'. The newsboys are on the corner belting it out for a quart-, well, fifty cen-, actually, seventy-fi-, you know what, let's just make it a dollar. (Yay capitalism, right?) Regardless the cost of the paper, the news being conveyed is priceless. And here I almost bought a Kindle!
So hats off to you, Senator-and-soon-to-be-President Obama. Hopefully your success with resucitating the newspaper will be mirrored and surpassed on other more trivial areas, such as international relations and the R word. Now, as my older and seldom insightful brother would say - "Don't screw up."
Cause if ya do, then that damned institution you just saved will be the first to point the finger. Now ain't that grand....
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Requiem
Five years ago today, a musical visionary by the name of Steve "Elliott" Smith left this world under a veil of mystery, marked by a long history of depression, alcoholism and rampant drug use. On October 21, 2003, in Los Angeles, CA, Smith died as the result of two stab wounds to the chest. To date, there has been no conclusion as to whether the wounds were self-inflicted or not.
Since first hearing the now-hit "Needle in the Hay" from Elliott's self-titled album Elliott Smith (1995) early on in high school, his music has played an influential role in my growth and maturation. I was instantly hooked, and quickly scoured the music collections of my friend's and brother to get my hands on as much of it as I possibly could.
In my experience, Elliott Smith is a perfect example of how music can help to craft a person's perception, whether situationally or in the 'greater picture' view of life. Personally speaking, albums such as the aforementioned Elliott Smith, XO, Either-Or, Roman Candle, and From a Basement on a Hill became the soundtrack to the up and down rollercoaster ride that is high school, two relationship break-ups, homesick nights in college, the deaths of close friends, etc.
Any first-time listener will notice the obvious: his music is sad. But is that such a bad thing? In our times of grief, whether we can notice it or not, one thing we desire above all else is someone who can relate, someone who can comprehend our state of mind, someone who has been there.
Well, Elliott Smith has been around the Sad Block more times that anyone should like to count. Like many poets before him, and like many songwriters today, he wore his emotions on the sleeve of his albums. A bad breakup was transformed into a song. A drug overdose metamorphosized into an album. If anything, his music provided the solace in the form of, "You think you have it bad?.. Well listen to this!"
My mom always questioned my music choices, claiming I tended to gravitate toward the dark and gloomy. I guess it's just comforting to know that you don't need to be head-over-heels in love or driving fancy cars in order to write/perform/sell music. It's comforting to know that heartache happens, and that bumps exist in the road of life. It's comforting to know that others have been there, or are there, and show us that perseverance is indeed possible.
I may not seem quite right. But I'm not fucked, not quite.
-Elliott Smith, "Bled White", XO
Other links:
Paste magazine story on Elliott out today
"Sad Kermit" YouTube video singing "Needle in the Hay"
Elliott Smith Wikipedia entry
Monday, September 22, 2008
Lessons learned
These past 8 days have been quite a roller-coaster ride for me. Starting last Saturday night, I have been head-butted in the face (without provocation by a complete stranger outside a bar in Georgetown); have been mistaken for Ethan Hawk (this is the second time this has happened, remarkably); was involved in a bike-on-longboard accident which resulted in either a bruised nerve in my elbow, or hairline fracture, or both; was involved in a car-on-deer accident which was hands down the scariest ordeal of my life (car pulled a 180-degree spin and crossed 4 lanes of highway, only to stop in the northbound lanes [we were heading south] hard against the guardrail, narrowly keeping us from presumably rolling down a 20-foot hill into a lake); and gashed upon my foot at a time and unplace which remain unknown.
Yeesh, I am almost out of breath just typing all of that.
So yeah, as you can see, I have been a little preoccupied with staying alive and have been unable to spend much thought time in front of my new best friend - my computer.
While all of these lessons seem to suggest a wide-array of meanings and shed many different rays of light on my life at present, one moment in particular has stuck out in my mind. It occurred this past Wednesday early in the afternoon, a little over twelve hours beyond the aforementioned bike accident.
I was at work (which is bartending at a local restaurant), and having a heck of a day as I battled the pain of an arm I was not able to even straighten and the gloomy realization that in my current situation, I was not exactly covered under any health insurance plan. I had been attempting feverishly to contact my mother all morning (Mom knows all, right?), and had no luck at all in doing so.
In my crippled state, I had opted out of taking any tables. However, out of a boredom that grew quicker than our nation's economic plight, I decided to take one or two tables and maybe make an extra ten dollars in tips on an otherwise-profitless day.
The second table I sat was a pair of elderly women, likely in their 60's. I figured this to be an easy wait, assuming two waters or unsweetened iced teas (or one of each), and either a pair of salads or maybe the tuna melt.
I was dead on with the drinks (two waters, with lemon), but turned out to be a glutton for punishment with the food orders. Arguably my most difficult customer to date, she insisted upon an item from our old menu, which, included food items that did not even exist in the kitchen anymore. I did my best to accommodate her substitutions, as she read them from a copy of our take-out menu that was graffitied with her desired ingregients pre-visit. She was, to say the least, hell-bent on receiving the extinct sandwich.
Ultimately, I screwed up one thing (cheddar and mozzerella sound the same, right?) and feared the worst. Following our earlier exchange, noting especially the disappointment and disgust in her tone of voice, I expect nothing short of an impromptu baptism, courtesy of her cup of ice water near the edge of the table. While she was sure to point out my error, she accepted my apology in a seemingly sincere fashion and turned her attention to the bastard sandwich on her plate.
I turned and visited the kitchen, intent on conveying my frustrations to the kitchen staff, all too aware that they would come across no where near as forceful as they should, with my limited arsenal of Spanish-speaking abilities to blame. No one was present, so instead I prepared another makeshift ice pack and saran-wrapped it once again to my ailing elbow. Maybe she will feel sympathy toward my misfortune and tip me a little better than I was likely to get at this point?
Returning to the table, I awaited the final prognosis on the sandwich. Surprisingly, the woman was actually enjoying the sammy (portobella mushrooms, cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomato, roasted red peppers, no mayo, side of feta vinaigrette dressing). In addition, she asked me what the problem was with the elbow.
As it turns out (and these are the cliffnote's here), the woman is a retired longtime worker at the local free clinic. She prompted me to seek hospital attention, and so I was forced to divulge my insurance predicament. In turn, she wrote down a private number to the local free clinic and told me who to ask for, and to use her as a reference. She then explained how the clinic works, what I had to do to apply, where it was, etc.
In a moment, my worst customer ever became the catalyst I needed to respark my faith in the human race. We are not all as selfish, miserable, greedy, vindictive, disgusting and altogether whack as mass media translates us to be. Diamonds in the rough do exist, and, with any luck, will manage to shine bright and redefine the thought to instead read, "Rough spot on a diamond."
So that's my little story for today. Go do something outwardly good today. Maybe someone will blog about it.
Yeesh, I am almost out of breath just typing all of that.
So yeah, as you can see, I have been a little preoccupied with staying alive and have been unable to spend much thought time in front of my new best friend - my computer.
While all of these lessons seem to suggest a wide-array of meanings and shed many different rays of light on my life at present, one moment in particular has stuck out in my mind. It occurred this past Wednesday early in the afternoon, a little over twelve hours beyond the aforementioned bike accident.
I was at work (which is bartending at a local restaurant), and having a heck of a day as I battled the pain of an arm I was not able to even straighten and the gloomy realization that in my current situation, I was not exactly covered under any health insurance plan. I had been attempting feverishly to contact my mother all morning (Mom knows all, right?), and had no luck at all in doing so.
In my crippled state, I had opted out of taking any tables. However, out of a boredom that grew quicker than our nation's economic plight, I decided to take one or two tables and maybe make an extra ten dollars in tips on an otherwise-profitless day.
The second table I sat was a pair of elderly women, likely in their 60's. I figured this to be an easy wait, assuming two waters or unsweetened iced teas (or one of each), and either a pair of salads or maybe the tuna melt.
I was dead on with the drinks (two waters, with lemon), but turned out to be a glutton for punishment with the food orders. Arguably my most difficult customer to date, she insisted upon an item from our old menu, which, included food items that did not even exist in the kitchen anymore. I did my best to accommodate her substitutions, as she read them from a copy of our take-out menu that was graffitied with her desired ingregients pre-visit. She was, to say the least, hell-bent on receiving the extinct sandwich.
Ultimately, I screwed up one thing (cheddar and mozzerella sound the same, right?) and feared the worst. Following our earlier exchange, noting especially the disappointment and disgust in her tone of voice, I expect nothing short of an impromptu baptism, courtesy of her cup of ice water near the edge of the table. While she was sure to point out my error, she accepted my apology in a seemingly sincere fashion and turned her attention to the bastard sandwich on her plate.
I turned and visited the kitchen, intent on conveying my frustrations to the kitchen staff, all too aware that they would come across no where near as forceful as they should, with my limited arsenal of Spanish-speaking abilities to blame. No one was present, so instead I prepared another makeshift ice pack and saran-wrapped it once again to my ailing elbow. Maybe she will feel sympathy toward my misfortune and tip me a little better than I was likely to get at this point?
Returning to the table, I awaited the final prognosis on the sandwich. Surprisingly, the woman was actually enjoying the sammy (portobella mushrooms, cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomato, roasted red peppers, no mayo, side of feta vinaigrette dressing). In addition, she asked me what the problem was with the elbow.
As it turns out (and these are the cliffnote's here), the woman is a retired longtime worker at the local free clinic. She prompted me to seek hospital attention, and so I was forced to divulge my insurance predicament. In turn, she wrote down a private number to the local free clinic and told me who to ask for, and to use her as a reference. She then explained how the clinic works, what I had to do to apply, where it was, etc.
In a moment, my worst customer ever became the catalyst I needed to respark my faith in the human race. We are not all as selfish, miserable, greedy, vindictive, disgusting and altogether whack as mass media translates us to be. Diamonds in the rough do exist, and, with any luck, will manage to shine bright and redefine the thought to instead read, "Rough spot on a diamond."
So that's my little story for today. Go do something outwardly good today. Maybe someone will blog about it.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Hakeem ain't got nothin on this
Writer's block, while not exactly a tangible object in the world, might very well be one of the most annoying and debilitating things. Ever.
It's a truly remarkable circumstance, if you really think about it. (Note: In case it is not obvious, I have had ample time to think about it, as I have been a sufferer of it for some time now.) Whether you are a poet, journalist, novelist, copy-writer for corporate websites, restaurant menu creator, or any kind of 'writer', you are presumably familiar with this little demon and have cursed its name loudly at some point along the way.
What's remarkable, however, is that this 'block' is as much of a proponent for equal-opportunity as the EEOC. As long as your craft requires any amount of thought as a precursor to creation, then you, my friend, are a likely target. Why depress, frighten, anger, and belittle one group when you can take them all down?
It's almost unfair, really. When's the last time you heard of a soccer player who just spontaneously forgot how to run and kick a ball? Or how often do you hear of an accountant who suddenly cannot remember how to use a calculator? It just doesn't appear to happen. (Well, maybe the latter does.)
Why are writer's so susceptible to losing focus, and, ultimately feeling worthless and good for producing nothing better than some chicken-scratch on a piece of paper that is better off benefiting the recycling process more than anything else (that is, assuming that said piece of paper actually makes it to a recycling bin, and is not crumbled up and sent immediately to a trashcan overflowing with presumable other failed attempts, or worse, used for kindling in the fireplace.)
I know 'They' say the pen is mightier than the sword.... But in all honesty, I feel very confident I could make better use with a sword blindfolded and armless than I could with a pen mid-writer's block.
But maybe I'm just a pessimist.
(Final note regarding title of this post: Hakeem Olajuwon is the leading all-time shot blocker in the NBA.)
It's a truly remarkable circumstance, if you really think about it. (Note: In case it is not obvious, I have had ample time to think about it, as I have been a sufferer of it for some time now.) Whether you are a poet, journalist, novelist, copy-writer for corporate websites, restaurant menu creator, or any kind of 'writer', you are presumably familiar with this little demon and have cursed its name loudly at some point along the way.
What's remarkable, however, is that this 'block' is as much of a proponent for equal-opportunity as the EEOC. As long as your craft requires any amount of thought as a precursor to creation, then you, my friend, are a likely target. Why depress, frighten, anger, and belittle one group when you can take them all down?
It's almost unfair, really. When's the last time you heard of a soccer player who just spontaneously forgot how to run and kick a ball? Or how often do you hear of an accountant who suddenly cannot remember how to use a calculator? It just doesn't appear to happen. (Well, maybe the latter does.)
Why are writer's so susceptible to losing focus, and, ultimately feeling worthless and good for producing nothing better than some chicken-scratch on a piece of paper that is better off benefiting the recycling process more than anything else (that is, assuming that said piece of paper actually makes it to a recycling bin, and is not crumbled up and sent immediately to a trashcan overflowing with presumable other failed attempts, or worse, used for kindling in the fireplace.)
I know 'They' say the pen is mightier than the sword.... But in all honesty, I feel very confident I could make better use with a sword blindfolded and armless than I could with a pen mid-writer's block.
But maybe I'm just a pessimist.
(Final note regarding title of this post: Hakeem Olajuwon is the leading all-time shot blocker in the NBA.)
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Picture Time #3
So I have been lazy on writing lately. I apologize (to my friend Scott especially, as I am pretty sure he might be one of the few non-relatives that actually reads this semi-regularly). You see, I have some good ideas, I've just been slow to formulate and blogify them. They're coming, I promise.
Anyway, I figured I could at least throw some more photos up. I spent the afternoon at Great Falls (VA side of it), and snapped some cool/fun/interesting pics. While a few are below, the rest can be seen in this sampling here, hosted on my Facebook account. (Maybe we can be friends?)
Anyway, I figured I could at least throw some more photos up. I spent the afternoon at Great Falls (VA side of it), and snapped some cool/fun/interesting pics. While a few are below, the rest can be seen in this sampling here, hosted on my Facebook account. (Maybe we can be friends?)
Monday, July 28, 2008
Picture Time #2
For Picture Time this week, I want to share some pics I snapped this past weekend down in Cary, NC, at the Avett Brothers show. These guys are, hands down, my favorite artists out today. They are pretty much why I love music.
Anyway, all of this can be a topic for another day. For now, here are a couple of my favorite shots. Enjoy!
Sold out show at the Koka Booth Amphitheater, Cary, NC - 7,000 strong
Scott Avett (left) and Seth Avett (right)
Scott Avett
Seth Avett (bending that B string ferociously)
Bob Crawford - bassist extraordinaire
From Left to Right:Joe Kwan (cello), Bob Crawford (upright bass, vocals), Scott Avett (banjo, vocals, kick drum), Seth Avett (guitar, vocals, hi-hat cymbal)
For more on these guys, check out their Myspace page, or look them up on YouTube. Videos from their live shows truly show the energy that they put in to each and every performance, day in and day out.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Afternoon at the Coffeeshop
So there's this coffeeshop near my house, and I recently learned that they feature live music from time to time. As a slowly-developing musician, I decided to stop by this afternoon, to sort of case the joint out and get a feel for the atmosphere, the people, how Feng Shui the decor was. You know, normal activities for a Friday afternoon.
Having been here now for a good hour (you could say I'm "reporting live"), I have managed to observe a good number of interesting things.
For starters, there's this guy sitting a couple tables behind me, facing my back, also on his laptop. I am 95% sure he has been watching my erratic internet-surfing habits, and is probably watching me write this about him. It's really awkward. (HI!!!!! <-- message for him/you, [you meaning the guy]).
Anyway. So I ordered my standard large iced coffee, with cream only to make two equally unfortunate realizations almost simultaneously. 1) I had only $1 in my pocket (the shots of Jim Beam from last night are likely to blame for this). 2) there is a $5 minimum on credit purchases. My coffee rang in at a whopping $1.99 ($2.14 with tax).
Talk about a pickle. Grudgingly, I supplemented my order with a piece of blueberry coffee cake. As the barista readied the cake square (I regretfully declined the option to have it warmed up), I had my fingers, arms, legs and toes all crossed, hoping my order would now eclipse the $5 mark.
No dice. $4.83. Damn you independent, non-Starbucks coffeeshop and your affordable prices and friendly, neighborhood appeal! Why is your heart so gosh darn apparent? You and your chalkboard menus and Sharpie marker-written display case price tags! And free wireless internet connection?! Corporatize, will you? After all, this is America.
Even though the girl behind the counter insisted that it was "close enough," I felt obliged to add another item to the order to ensure that I reached the posted minimum. As an honest citizen and, more importantly with today's economy, customer, it was my duty to obey the store's rules. And buy more.
So, I threw on a bottle of water as well. Bottled water - now there's a patriotic and economically-responsible item. Is there a better example of brilliance in terms of commercialism? Of the three human survival priorities - food, shelter, water - the latter is without doubt the easiest to commoditize. Why learn how to purify water on our own, when there are companies (Coca-Cola's Dasani, Pepsi's Aquafina, etc.) that are offering to do it for us? Sure, it might cost anywhere from $1.25 (gas station) to $6.50 (professional sporting event), but can you really put a price on convenience? I sure can't. That's what the big corporations are for.
So, finally, I had made it past the store minimum for credit purchases. I could enjoy my random assortment of drinks and food with a clear conscience, knowing that not only did I satisfy my desire for cold coffee (which, mind you, was available at home, leftover from my roommate's morning brew), I also managed to help out our ailing economy when it's needing me most.
And no, your thank you's are not necessary. I know you are thinking it. And, in turn, I am thinking up one big "You're welcome."
Side note: awkward guy who was sitting behind me just left. I think he got agitated by the seeming lack of direction in this post, and, that I stopped writing about him. That selfish bastard.
Having been here now for a good hour (you could say I'm "reporting live"), I have managed to observe a good number of interesting things.
For starters, there's this guy sitting a couple tables behind me, facing my back, also on his laptop. I am 95% sure he has been watching my erratic internet-surfing habits, and is probably watching me write this about him. It's really awkward. (HI!!!!! <-- message for him/you, [you meaning the guy]).
Anyway. So I ordered my standard large iced coffee, with cream only to make two equally unfortunate realizations almost simultaneously. 1) I had only $1 in my pocket (the shots of Jim Beam from last night are likely to blame for this). 2) there is a $5 minimum on credit purchases. My coffee rang in at a whopping $1.99 ($2.14 with tax).
Talk about a pickle. Grudgingly, I supplemented my order with a piece of blueberry coffee cake. As the barista readied the cake square (I regretfully declined the option to have it warmed up), I had my fingers, arms, legs and toes all crossed, hoping my order would now eclipse the $5 mark.
No dice. $4.83. Damn you independent, non-Starbucks coffeeshop and your affordable prices and friendly, neighborhood appeal! Why is your heart so gosh darn apparent? You and your chalkboard menus and Sharpie marker-written display case price tags! And free wireless internet connection?! Corporatize, will you? After all, this is America.
Even though the girl behind the counter insisted that it was "close enough," I felt obliged to add another item to the order to ensure that I reached the posted minimum. As an honest citizen and, more importantly with today's economy, customer, it was my duty to obey the store's rules. And buy more.
So, I threw on a bottle of water as well. Bottled water - now there's a patriotic and economically-responsible item. Is there a better example of brilliance in terms of commercialism? Of the three human survival priorities - food, shelter, water - the latter is without doubt the easiest to commoditize. Why learn how to purify water on our own, when there are companies (Coca-Cola's Dasani, Pepsi's Aquafina, etc.) that are offering to do it for us? Sure, it might cost anywhere from $1.25 (gas station) to $6.50 (professional sporting event), but can you really put a price on convenience? I sure can't. That's what the big corporations are for.
So, finally, I had made it past the store minimum for credit purchases. I could enjoy my random assortment of drinks and food with a clear conscience, knowing that not only did I satisfy my desire for cold coffee (which, mind you, was available at home, leftover from my roommate's morning brew), I also managed to help out our ailing economy when it's needing me most.
And no, your thank you's are not necessary. I know you are thinking it. And, in turn, I am thinking up one big "You're welcome."
Side note: awkward guy who was sitting behind me just left. I think he got agitated by the seeming lack of direction in this post, and, that I stopped writing about him. That selfish bastard.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Lightning
It is late. And I am tired. This became particularly apparent to me moments ago, when I honestly sat and thought for a good 30 seconds what the title of this post should be, and the best I could come up with is this. Lightning.
Now this post-naming process is one that you, as the reader, are not otherwise privy to. Normally, you just read the title and get crackin' on the content. But tonight I thought I might get the ball rolling with that quick anecdote. To break the ice, so to speak.
As the deep and intellectually-stimulating title suggests, I am about to talk about a topic that rates in my top 5 of Most Favorite things in the World. I'm serious here. (the other 4 can be a future post)
Now I know it is well past midnight, and I am - for some reason - still awake. While listening to some music in bed (Fruit Bats are
dominating my iTunes as of late), I heard what I mistakenly, and frighteningly, thought to be a person banging on our front door.
Taking off my headphones, I tiptoed to the front door, and then out back, to learn the rumbling noise to be of a distant and rapidly approaching thunder storm. As mentioned, lightning is one of those things in life that entertain, mystify and just flat out cheer me up to no end.
As I stood on the back deck of my house, facing the westward sky I watched the lightning grow closer and more massive with each strike. It was one of those moments, like in the movie Twister, where the air is eerily calm aside from the cool breeze that is slowly building. The wind is all you can hear in between each roll of thunder. The sky is a black onyx in between each lightning flash.
I was reminded of those summer nights as a young kid when my dad would pull us out of bed and round us up on the screened-in porch at our house in PA to watch lightning storms. I think this tradition is likely where my obsession with them stems from. The smell of the summer rain showers, the tremors that you feel even in your stomach from the passing thunder, the futile efforts to calculate how far away the storm was by counting the time in between lightning and its thunderous shadow.
It was from this same porch that I used to post up, camera in hand, and wait for that perfect National Geographic-esque photo of a ginormous lightning bolt dissecting the midnight sky. Too many times, I was too astounded by the enormity and magnificence of the lightning to remember to click a picture.
What's funny to me now, is how quickly I am reminded of home by such a geographically-neuter occurrence. I'm sure I have witnessed similar storms in a wide variety of locations (instantly, I can think of: Tallahassee, FL; Orlando, FL; Albuquerque, NM; Nashville, TN; Philadelphia, PA; Montego Bay, Jamaica; etc.).
What's even funnier is my childish attraction to it all. Like an infant discovering its foot, I am endlessly enthralled by the concept of visible energy streaking across the sky. I can admit it. The fact I am able to write this right now is a feat in and of itself. I was forced to cut deals with myself to even pull myself away from the porch, bargaining that "after the next one I'll go in...." That turns into "after the next one", and then the next one, etc.
Luckily, Mother Nature took care of me and played the trump card: rain. So now it's off to bed for this guy.
Goodnight yall.
Now this post-naming process is one that you, as the reader, are not otherwise privy to. Normally, you just read the title and get crackin' on the content. But tonight I thought I might get the ball rolling with that quick anecdote. To break the ice, so to speak.
As the deep and intellectually-stimulating title suggests, I am about to talk about a topic that rates in my top 5 of Most Favorite things in the World. I'm serious here. (the other 4 can be a future post)
Now I know it is well past midnight, and I am - for some reason - still awake. While listening to some music in bed (Fruit Bats are
dominating my iTunes as of late), I heard what I mistakenly, and frighteningly, thought to be a person banging on our front door.Taking off my headphones, I tiptoed to the front door, and then out back, to learn the rumbling noise to be of a distant and rapidly approaching thunder storm. As mentioned, lightning is one of those things in life that entertain, mystify and just flat out cheer me up to no end.
As I stood on the back deck of my house, facing the westward sky I watched the lightning grow closer and more massive with each strike. It was one of those moments, like in the movie Twister, where the air is eerily calm aside from the cool breeze that is slowly building. The wind is all you can hear in between each roll of thunder. The sky is a black onyx in between each lightning flash.
I was reminded of those summer nights as a young kid when my dad would pull us out of bed and round us up on the screened-in porch at our house in PA to watch lightning storms. I think this tradition is likely where my obsession with them stems from. The smell of the summer rain showers, the tremors that you feel even in your stomach from the passing thunder, the futile efforts to calculate how far away the storm was by counting the time in between lightning and its thunderous shadow.
It was from this same porch that I used to post up, camera in hand, and wait for that perfect National Geographic-esque photo of a ginormous lightning bolt dissecting the midnight sky. Too many times, I was too astounded by the enormity and magnificence of the lightning to remember to click a picture.What's funny to me now, is how quickly I am reminded of home by such a geographically-neuter occurrence. I'm sure I have witnessed similar storms in a wide variety of locations (instantly, I can think of: Tallahassee, FL; Orlando, FL; Albuquerque, NM; Nashville, TN; Philadelphia, PA; Montego Bay, Jamaica; etc.).
What's even funnier is my childish attraction to it all. Like an infant discovering its foot, I am endlessly enthralled by the concept of visible energy streaking across the sky. I can admit it. The fact I am able to write this right now is a feat in and of itself. I was forced to cut deals with myself to even pull myself away from the porch, bargaining that "after the next one I'll go in...." That turns into "after the next one", and then the next one, etc.
Luckily, Mother Nature took care of me and played the trump card: rain. So now it's off to bed for this guy.
Goodnight yall.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Picture Time
Very recently, I have found myself with a good deal of extra time on my hands. Without getting into the particulars, I am endeavoring to invest this free time into some constructive hobbies. For instance, I have been spending more time writing music, writing on this here weblog, maybe do a little reading, and finally getting back into the photography thing as well.
And so, ideally once or twice a week, I am going to combine two of those activities in the above list and post some recent photos on here. If there is a story behind any of them, I will put it out there as well.
So, for the inaugural photo-post.... (drumroll)
(Yankee Candle top turned into an ash tray on our back deck)
(my guitar on my wall)
(incense burning)
And so, ideally once or twice a week, I am going to combine two of those activities in the above list and post some recent photos on here. If there is a story behind any of them, I will put it out there as well.
So, for the inaugural photo-post.... (drumroll)
(Yankee Candle top turned into an ash tray on our back deck)
(my guitar on my wall)
(incense burning)That's all for today. I'll have some more up later this week.
Friday, July 18, 2008
The Pluot
While at the friendly neighborhood Giant grocery store yesterday with some friends, we happened upon one particularly friendly and outgoing employee whilst gallivanting around in the produce section. As my friend and I discussed the age-old peaches-versus-nectarines argument (I've been on a huge nectarine kick as of late), this employee interrupted asking if we had ever laid taste upon the pluot, admittedly his favorite fruit.
The pluot? Was this some sort of joke?
Yes, the pluot. And no, no joke. In the spirit of unnatural fruit collaborations and alterations (a la Oceanspray's cherry-flavored craisins, or those genetically-altered giant tomatoes, or, even, the mythical and yet-to-be-seen bananaberry), the pluot is the offspring of a plum and an apricot. In fact, the name "pluot" is even a registered trademark of Zaiger Genetics.
What's interesting is that the plum-apricot marriage goes by many names. For example:
- 75% plum / 25% apricot = Pluot
- 50% plum / 50% apricot = Plumcot
- 25% plum / 75% apricot = Aprium
In fact, some pluots are reported to resemble dinosaur eggs (go figure, right?), and so in many circles they are referred to as such.
I'll admit, I was a bit skeptical of this whole pluot business... While I've never been a huge fan of either apricots or plums, when the friendly Giant employee offered me one of these suckers to try out, I couldn't help but take a bite. And then another. And then another.
These babies were delicious. The texture of a nectarine with the inside coloring of a ruby-red grapefruit. Not too sweet, and not sour at all. I was convinced. The only way the situation could have improved would have been if the guy gave me a free sample of some napkins. I had pluot juice running all down my hands and chin. Yummmm.
So there you have it. Just when we thought that nature had given us all we needed in terms of fruits and vegetables, some guy named Floyd Zaiger (dubbed the "Albert Einstein of Stonefruit") came along and taught us that Mother Nature just wasn't good enough.
So hats off to you, Floyd. And work on that bananberry. Please.
The pluot? Was this some sort of joke?
Yes, the pluot. And no, no joke. In the spirit of unnatural fruit collaborations and alterations (a la Oceanspray's cherry-flavored craisins, or those genetically-altered giant tomatoes, or, even, the mythical and yet-to-be-seen bananaberry), the pluot is the offspring of a plum and an apricot. In fact, the name "pluot" is even a registered trademark of Zaiger Genetics.
What's interesting is that the plum-apricot marriage goes by many names. For example:
- 75% plum / 25% apricot = Pluot
- 50% plum / 50% apricot = Plumcot
- 25% plum / 75% apricot = Aprium
In fact, some pluots are reported to resemble dinosaur eggs (go figure, right?), and so in many circles they are referred to as such.
I'll admit, I was a bit skeptical of this whole pluot business... While I've never been a huge fan of either apricots or plums, when the friendly Giant employee offered me one of these suckers to try out, I couldn't help but take a bite. And then another. And then another.
These babies were delicious. The texture of a nectarine with the inside coloring of a ruby-red grapefruit. Not too sweet, and not sour at all. I was convinced. The only way the situation could have improved would have been if the guy gave me a free sample of some napkins. I had pluot juice running all down my hands and chin. Yummmm.
So there you have it. Just when we thought that nature had given us all we needed in terms of fruits and vegetables, some guy named Floyd Zaiger (dubbed the "Albert Einstein of Stonefruit") came along and taught us that Mother Nature just wasn't good enough.
So hats off to you, Floyd. And work on that bananberry. Please.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Adult Swim
No, not the Cartoon Network's finest line of programming (for those of us over the age of 7). I'm talking about the real deal, the original, the defining moment of adulthood - the public pool's lifeguard-sanctioned Adult Swim.
I realize this is quite the random topic to address. So what? Today, while visiting my sister and her two little ones, we embarked on an afternoon at the swimming pool in her neighborhood development. Along with my mom, who was also visiting from PA, the five of us strolled into the gated oasis with as the hot hot heat pouring down on us.
In between the screams and shouting of what appeared to be an endless number of toddlers, I heard the faint shrill of the lifeguard's whistle, followed by the two words that for a long time in my life brought chills to my insides, and tears to my eyes...
Adult Swim.
This was quite the moment. For the past 4 or 5 years, I have been lucky enough to enjoy the luxuries of private pools at friends' houses, or even the coveted guess past at the local country clubs. For these reasons, I imagine, I have been quite detached from the emotional distress caused by the party-pooping meanness of those lifeguards who - I assumed at the time - had the sole purpose of raining on the parade of every small child splish-splashing around in the pool, making us exit and sit alongside the deck with our feet in the water for 15, sometimes 20, minutes at a time. All so a bunch of old people could swim laps or stand waist- or chest-high and talk about things that they were most likely talking about just moments before in the comfort of their lawn chairs.
Didn't they know how much fun we were having? Of course they did, and that is why they were, as mentioned, a bunch of cold-hearted meanies. The lifeguards, that is.
Well that all changed today. With that whistle, I was instantly liberated from a pool filled with ball-wielding, diving ring-retrieving, foam noodle floating, Energizer-battery-using kids, as I found myself embracing the serenity of the overly-chlorinated pool water as it shimmered under the hot sun. It was glorious.
Instantly, it all made sense. The years of anguish and hatred for those red bathing-suit donning Baywatch-wannabe-lifeguards was immediately transformed into loving acceptance, and, commendation for their having the presence of mind to keep it real for us older crowd.
Yes, I am only 23. But dammit, I am an adult.
I realize this is quite the random topic to address. So what? Today, while visiting my sister and her two little ones, we embarked on an afternoon at the swimming pool in her neighborhood development. Along with my mom, who was also visiting from PA, the five of us strolled into the gated oasis with as the hot hot heat pouring down on us.
In between the screams and shouting of what appeared to be an endless number of toddlers, I heard the faint shrill of the lifeguard's whistle, followed by the two words that for a long time in my life brought chills to my insides, and tears to my eyes...
Adult Swim.
This was quite the moment. For the past 4 or 5 years, I have been lucky enough to enjoy the luxuries of private pools at friends' houses, or even the coveted guess past at the local country clubs. For these reasons, I imagine, I have been quite detached from the emotional distress caused by the party-pooping meanness of those lifeguards who - I assumed at the time - had the sole purpose of raining on the parade of every small child splish-splashing around in the pool, making us exit and sit alongside the deck with our feet in the water for 15, sometimes 20, minutes at a time. All so a bunch of old people could swim laps or stand waist- or chest-high and talk about things that they were most likely talking about just moments before in the comfort of their lawn chairs.
Didn't they know how much fun we were having? Of course they did, and that is why they were, as mentioned, a bunch of cold-hearted meanies. The lifeguards, that is.
Well that all changed today. With that whistle, I was instantly liberated from a pool filled with ball-wielding, diving ring-retrieving, foam noodle floating, Energizer-battery-using kids, as I found myself embracing the serenity of the overly-chlorinated pool water as it shimmered under the hot sun. It was glorious.
Instantly, it all made sense. The years of anguish and hatred for those red bathing-suit donning Baywatch-wannabe-lifeguards was immediately transformed into loving acceptance, and, commendation for their having the presence of mind to keep it real for us older crowd.
Yes, I am only 23. But dammit, I am an adult.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Confessions of a Mustacheer
As only someone who has been within 5 feet of me in the past month can tell you, I have been growing a mustache. In case you missed what should be a blatantly obvious hint, I use the term "growing" as a technicality, as this small garden on my upper lip has failed yet to become the amazonian rain forest that I had hoped for, if not expected.
So there. I've said it.
The criticism - as I am sure you can imagine - has been plentiful. Even at work, where this all started when I managed to challenge a sizable portion of my coworkers to a mustache growing competition. You would think they would commend the cultivation and encourage in order for a more competitive contest. (Note: Judging will take place tomorrow. I will update with the results.)
Also, I visited with some old college buddies over the weekend in New York, and even they were less-than-supportive of my ragged lip-warmer. "Not again, Mike," they warned. "Didn't you learn your lesson last time?"
Last time, you see, was what I still view as an almost-successful run at a quality mustache. Most did not share in my optimism. (It should be mentioned, however, that I did manage to garner the endorsement of my brother's band. But, as you can see, their opinions aren't exactly expected to be any different.)
So now, it's my turn to respond. I have heard your grumblings and criticisms and all around pessimistic jabberings, and instead of my usual "Oh just you wait, ha ha ha" sarcastic brush-off, I am just going to come right out with it.
Seriously. Do you think these things just happen? Did the Great Wall of China show up over night? Was Manute Bol born that tall? Was Michael Jackson always white?
No. These things take time. (Yes, I know I was given a week and a half handicap headstart at work, but you know what I mean.)
It's simple, really. Somehow my body got confused along the way and forgot that it was 23 years old. What am I supposed to do about that? I am powerless. Best I can do is just work with what I got. If I have to put up with these shenanigans, then you will too.
So please, realize that I am very much aware of the fact that the patch of hair camping out beneath my nose is a weak excuse for a mustache. I get it. In fact, I am faced with this every time I look in a mirror, store window, computer screen, extremely polished wooden tabletop, or upside down spoon.
Personally, I am dedicated to the fact that this could maybe, possibly, hopefully be a freakin' sweet mustache. I will continue to battle and push forward in cultivating it and helping it to achieve its fullest potential without hindrance or interference. After all, the Grow must go on.
*** Update - due to a combination of the fierceness of my mustache, and the fact that everyone else dropped out and shaved prior to judging (Sallies, all of them!), I was crowned victor of the first annual - and likely last ever - office mustache-growing contest! Huzzah! ***
So there. I've said it.
The criticism - as I am sure you can imagine - has been plentiful. Even at work, where this all started when I managed to challenge a sizable portion of my coworkers to a mustache growing competition. You would think they would commend the cultivation and encourage in order for a more competitive contest. (Note: Judging will take place tomorrow. I will update with the results.)
Also, I visited with some old college buddies over the weekend in New York, and even they were less-than-supportive of my ragged lip-warmer. "Not again, Mike," they warned. "Didn't you learn your lesson last time?"
Last time, you see, was what I still view as an almost-successful run at a quality mustache. Most did not share in my optimism. (It should be mentioned, however, that I did manage to garner the endorsement of my brother's band. But, as you can see, their opinions aren't exactly expected to be any different.)
So now, it's my turn to respond. I have heard your grumblings and criticisms and all around pessimistic jabberings, and instead of my usual "Oh just you wait, ha ha ha" sarcastic brush-off, I am just going to come right out with it.
Seriously. Do you think these things just happen? Did the Great Wall of China show up over night? Was Manute Bol born that tall? Was Michael Jackson always white?
No. These things take time. (Yes, I know I was given a week and a half handicap headstart at work, but you know what I mean.)
It's simple, really. Somehow my body got confused along the way and forgot that it was 23 years old. What am I supposed to do about that? I am powerless. Best I can do is just work with what I got. If I have to put up with these shenanigans, then you will too.
So please, realize that I am very much aware of the fact that the patch of hair camping out beneath my nose is a weak excuse for a mustache. I get it. In fact, I am faced with this every time I look in a mirror, store window, computer screen, extremely polished wooden tabletop, or upside down spoon.
Personally, I am dedicated to the fact that this could maybe, possibly, hopefully be a freakin' sweet mustache. I will continue to battle and push forward in cultivating it and helping it to achieve its fullest potential without hindrance or interference. After all, the Grow must go on.
*** Update - due to a combination of the fierceness of my mustache, and the fact that everyone else dropped out and shaved prior to judging (Sallies, all of them!), I was crowned victor of the first annual - and likely last ever - office mustache-growing contest! Huzzah! ***
Monday, May 12, 2008
Habits - the Good kind
Yesterday, I came across a recent New York Times headline that peaked my interest. There it was, number 15 on the NYT's Most-Emailed articles top 25. Unboxed: Can You Become a Creature of New Habits? This topic hit somewhat home to me. As someone who has darn-near mastered the art of "I want to do this, but I'll start later", fostering new habits has been a goal for me for some time now. (I swear I've been doing my push-ups in the morning).
Written by Janet Rae-Dupree, the article dives immediately into it, citing research and studies that have "discovered that when we consciously develop new habits, we create parallel synaptic paths, and even entirely new brain cells, that can jump our trains of thought onto new, innovative tracks." Long story short, thinking outside of our daily routine can stimulate creativity. How cool is that?
Rather than fight to suppress what we may deem "bad" habits, the article contends that creating new habits will result in the creation of new thought tracks in your brain which will oftentimes run parallel with the more procedural and subconscious routines that are ingrained in our psyche and ultimately bypass them.
Quoting M.J. Ryan, author of the 2006 book "This Year I Will...", the article states: “This breaks the major rule in the American belief system — that anyone can do anything. That’s a lie that we have perpetuated, and it fosters mediocrity. Knowing what you’re good at and doing even more of it creates excellence.”
Further, Ryan describes the positive effects that creating new habits has on our mental and physical health: "It turns out that unless we continue to learn new things, which challenges our
brains to create new pathways, they literally begin to atrophy, which may result in dementia, Alzheimer’s and other brain diseases. Continuously stretching ourselves will even help us lose weight, according to one study. Researchers who asked folks to do something different every day — listen to a new radio station, for instance — found that they lost and kept off weight. No one is sure why, but scientists speculate that getting out of routines makes us more aware in general."
While I have never taken one psychology class in my life, I have always found the human psyche vastly intriguing. This just furthers this opinion.
I recommend not only checking this article out, but also that you challenge yourself to do what it says. Identify that thing in your life you wish you did more, or at all. Truly dedicate yourself to following through with it. And best of all, enjoy it!
Comments welcome: Got a suggestion of a new habit or activity to adopt? Any personal reaction to the article? Let's hear it...
Written by Janet Rae-Dupree, the article dives immediately into it, citing research and studies that have "discovered that when we consciously develop new habits, we create parallel synaptic paths, and even entirely new brain cells, that can jump our trains of thought onto new, innovative tracks." Long story short, thinking outside of our daily routine can stimulate creativity. How cool is that? Rather than fight to suppress what we may deem "bad" habits, the article contends that creating new habits will result in the creation of new thought tracks in your brain which will oftentimes run parallel with the more procedural and subconscious routines that are ingrained in our psyche and ultimately bypass them.
Quoting M.J. Ryan, author of the 2006 book "This Year I Will...", the article states: “This breaks the major rule in the American belief system — that anyone can do anything. That’s a lie that we have perpetuated, and it fosters mediocrity. Knowing what you’re good at and doing even more of it creates excellence.”
Further, Ryan describes the positive effects that creating new habits has on our mental and physical health: "It turns out that unless we continue to learn new things, which challenges our
brains to create new pathways, they literally begin to atrophy, which may result in dementia, Alzheimer’s and other brain diseases. Continuously stretching ourselves will even help us lose weight, according to one study. Researchers who asked folks to do something different every day — listen to a new radio station, for instance — found that they lost and kept off weight. No one is sure why, but scientists speculate that getting out of routines makes us more aware in general." While I have never taken one psychology class in my life, I have always found the human psyche vastly intriguing. This just furthers this opinion.
I recommend not only checking this article out, but also that you challenge yourself to do what it says. Identify that thing in your life you wish you did more, or at all. Truly dedicate yourself to following through with it. And best of all, enjoy it!
Comments welcome: Got a suggestion of a new habit or activity to adopt? Any personal reaction to the article? Let's hear it...
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Tall Former NBA Basketball Players that Have Oddly Come Up in Conversation Recently
I do not think it is humanly possible to explain the content of this post any further than the title of the post has done already.
So.
....
#00 - Robert Parrish
#11 - Manute Bol
(ironically standing with Mugsy Bogues, and inexplicably wearing a suave fedora and holding quite possibly the boxiest bass guitar ever, connected to an amp 1/2 the size of dear ol' Mugsy, and, is that a small cartoon hippopotamus playing the drums in the corner?)
(added bonus - Funniest Song I've ever heard - Ballad of Manute Bol)
#76 - Shawn Bradley
#55 - Dikembe Mutombo
(hmm, lots of Sixers...)
#11 - Yao Ming
#77 - George Muresan
Finally, I somehow stumbled upon this, kindness of the folks at NBA Giants :
It is comforting to know that someone else has taken the time to think about and discuss this topic. As I had said in the title, the above tall former NBA players (and one current, I now realize..) have all come up in conversations that I have had with several different people over the past week or so.
Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did.
So.
....
#00 - Robert Parrish
#11 - Manute Bol(ironically standing with Mugsy Bogues, and inexplicably wearing a suave fedora and holding quite possibly the boxiest bass guitar ever, connected to an amp 1/2 the size of dear ol' Mugsy, and, is that a small cartoon hippopotamus playing the drums in the corner?)
(added bonus - Funniest Song I've ever heard - Ballad of Manute Bol)
#76 - Shawn Bradley
#55 - Dikembe Mutombo(hmm, lots of Sixers...)
#11 - Yao Ming
#77 - George MuresanFinally, I somehow stumbled upon this, kindness of the folks at NBA Giants :
It should be pointed out that over 90 percent of all NBA players in the modern league era are listed by their heights with shoes on. However, all NBA players have the option of being listed by either their height with shoes, or without shoes. In the cases of all 5 NBA giants above, they were listed by height without shoes.
Chuck Nevitt, Yao Ming, and Shawn Bradley, all chose to be listed by their barefoot heights. Nevitt would have been listed at 7'6" with shoes, Yao at 7'7" with shoes, and Bradley at 7'7" with shoes, had they opted to be listed by the NBA at their height with shoes on.
Bol and Muresan chose to be listed at their heights with shoes on. So Bol, who measured at 7'6 3/4" barefoot when he entered the NBA was listed at 7'7", his height with shoes, rounded down. Muresan was 7'6 1/2" when he entered the NBA, so he was then listed at 7'7", his height with shoes, rounded down. Bol grew another 1/4" to 7'7" even barefoot, and Muresan grew another 1/2" to 7'7" even barefoot as well.
Thus, their heights with shoes on, then should have been updated to 7'8" by the NBA. However, their heights were simply never updated by the NBA. So they too ended up being listed at their barefoot heights. Many people incorrectly believe that the heights for these 5 above players are their heights with shoes on, since that is how the vast majority of NBA players are listed. But in the cases of the 5 NBA giants above, they actually were/are listed by their barefoot heights.
It is comforting to know that someone else has taken the time to think about and discuss this topic. As I had said in the title, the above tall former NBA players (and one current, I now realize..) have all come up in conversations that I have had with several different people over the past week or so.
Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Stick it to me
I love this time of year.
Why now?
Here’s an extended metaphor:
It’s January. Two days ago, the temperature was in the 20’s. Yesterday was just as bad. Then, all of a sudden, you wake up to a beautifully sunny day. Clear skies. 70 degrees. Sun is shining. Birds are chirping. Bees are trying to have sex with them (at least as my understanding goes).
In that moment, all you can think about is summer. No matter how far away it might be, it is all that is on your mind. You smell the beach air. Taste the lemonade. Feel the sun warm on your face. For all intents and purposes, at that moment, it is summer.
Alright. Metaphor ended. So why am I loving this time of year?
Because it is primary season.
Now, to be honest, I am not any sort of political pundit. Hell, I’ve really only voted once in my life. (Stupid Green Party registration, can’t vote in the stupid primaries.)
What cracks me up is the lengths to which people go in campaigning for their candidate of choice. The annoying, all-up-in-your-grill pamphleteering. The “deep”, oftentimes alcohol-induced late night political debates that result in someone’s feelings getting hurt. The buttons, shirts, headbands, dog leashes, hot-air balloons, billboards, beer-coozies, candidate-shaped cookies, etc. etc. etc.
It’s nuts.
What I want to focus on here, though, is the bumper sticker. (Here is where the metaphor comes into play)
All of this campaigning and candidate touting (or defaming), it is primetime season for political bumper stickers. And as far as my senses are concerned, all I can smell, taste, hear and feel is the hilarity I am bound to experience come next year, when all of the electioneering is complete, and that ’98 Accord drives past, covered in Ron Paul or Rudy Giuliani stickers.
It’s great. Really. I cannot wait.
The best part is that even after their fave candidate loses, they keep those babies up. Sure, they could cover that Kerry sticker up with one bragging about their child's academic or athletic achievements, or maybe a Phish decal. But no, he sticks to his guns. And his sticker.
Yes, few things amaze me as much as the phenomenon of the bumper sticker. Not just political ones either. Music groups. Social thoughts. Sports teams. Calvin peeing on (more) things (than R. Kelly).
The bumper sticker is just so timeless. So genuine.
“Wearing your heart on your sleeve” for motor vehicles?
You bet.
Why now?
Here’s an extended metaphor:
It’s January. Two days ago, the temperature was in the 20’s. Yesterday was just as bad. Then, all of a sudden, you wake up to a beautifully sunny day. Clear skies. 70 degrees. Sun is shining. Birds are chirping. Bees are trying to have sex with them (at least as my understanding goes).
In that moment, all you can think about is summer. No matter how far away it might be, it is all that is on your mind. You smell the beach air. Taste the lemonade. Feel the sun warm on your face. For all intents and purposes, at that moment, it is summer.
Alright. Metaphor ended. So why am I loving this time of year?
Because it is primary season.
Now, to be honest, I am not any sort of political pundit. Hell, I’ve really only voted once in my life. (Stupid Green Party registration, can’t vote in the stupid primaries.)
What cracks me up is the lengths to which people go in campaigning for their candidate of choice. The annoying, all-up-in-your-grill pamphleteering. The “deep”, oftentimes alcohol-induced late night political debates that result in someone’s feelings getting hurt. The buttons, shirts, headbands, dog leashes, hot-air balloons, billboards, beer-coozies, candidate-shaped cookies, etc. etc. etc.
It’s nuts.
What I want to focus on here, though, is the bumper sticker. (Here is where the metaphor comes into play)
All of this campaigning and candidate touting (or defaming), it is primetime season for political bumper stickers. And as far as my senses are concerned, all I can smell, taste, hear and feel is the hilarity I am bound to experience come next year, when all of the electioneering is complete, and that ’98 Accord drives past, covered in Ron Paul or Rudy Giuliani stickers.
It’s great. Really. I cannot wait.
The best part is that even after their fave candidate loses, they keep those babies up. Sure, they could cover that Kerry sticker up with one bragging about their child's academic or athletic achievements, or maybe a Phish decal. But no, he sticks to his guns. And his sticker.
Yes, few things amaze me as much as the phenomenon of the bumper sticker. Not just political ones either. Music groups. Social thoughts. Sports teams. Calvin peeing on (more) things (than R. Kelly).
The bumper sticker is just so timeless. So genuine.
“Wearing your heart on your sleeve” for motor vehicles?
You bet.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
An Epiphany
I have amazing news.
Like, this totally put so many questions - and fears - to rest.
Years of uncertainty were instantly forgotten, as I slowly took a virtual step into an Era of Elluminescence. I don't know if that is a word, but it should be, for it is the only word that can fully describe the joyousness and life that now rushes through my entire inner being.
For today I relay to you, the black veil of confusion and the fog of doubt have been lifted and dispersed, respectively.
Yesterday, while in the middle of one of what I like to call my internet "blackouts" (during which I aimlessly, and quite inexplicably, wander through the twisted halls of the interweb and eventually find myself in some corner so weird and impossible to understand, that I wonder in sheer amazement how many hyperlinks I fell victim to in order to arrive at this bizarre location.)
Alright. So this has been quite dramatic so far. I'll just cut to the chase.
According to YoJoe.com (G.I. Joe enthusiast website):
In the G.I.Joe episode Sins of Our Fathers, Cobra Commander evokes a monster that dwelled in the ruins beneath Destro's ancestral home. Destro and G.I.Joe team-up and Destro uses an ancient chant to lure the monster away. Destro is voiced by actor Arthur Burghardt, Dialtone is voiced by Hank Garrett.
- Listen to it normally (.MP3) [103K]
One of the scares of the 1980s was the "subliminal message" scare - where individuals were convinced that there were occult messages hidden in rock music, commercials, etc. Even cartoons. This subliminal message can be found when listening to Destro's chant backwards.
You put it so plain and elegantly.
"Anybody listening to this backwards for a secret occult message is a big... Dweeb."
Wow. Talk about a HUGE weight being lifted off your mind. I mean, seriously. The man speaks the truth here. You hear that, all you dweebs out there, conspiring to make us do things that we otherwise wouldn't do? Stop messing with our routines.
Oh, now what was that? Why was I on a G.I. Joe website? Oh that's not important. And it has nothing to do with my G.I. Joe P.J.'s or Sergeant Slaughter Wrestling Buddy. And of course nothing to do with my vintage figurines collection, most of which are still contained in their original packaging. (EBay, here I come...)
What is important is this: we no longer need to worry about our multimedia sources piggy-backing occult, hidden messages anymore. (Hooray!) Cold War be damned.
Thank you, "Arthur Burghardt" for your bravery and thought leadership on this issue that has plagued us for over 25 years.
Can I get a slow clap?
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Why I hate Tom Cruise
So this has bothered me for a long time now. Loonngggg time.
I think it's safe to say that I am not the only person who - while growing up - had a laundry list of ambitions, goals, dreams. You know, some kids wanted to be firefighters. Others rockstars.
As for me, well, I had what my mom called an "imagination" (and what most doctors today called "A.D.D"). Since adolescence, I have had more ideas of what I could be than Bob Dylan has had albums.
How then, you might be wondering, does any of this have anything to do with why I hate Tom Cruise?
Well, it's quite simple actually. You see, on that list of aspirations, I would venture to say that at least a good 87% of them (+/- 3.5%) have been actualized in a movie by a character played by none other than Mr. Scientology himself, Tom F-ing Cruise.
With the help of one of my favorite websites, the Internet Movie Database, I have reviewed Mr. Cruise's resume and will share with you all now just how thwarted I have been (note: I am as of yet not sure who exactly the "you" I just referred to really is, but, in the longshot chance that someone actually does read this, then, I mean "Youuuuuu").
Drum roll please....
A Chronological Listing of How Many Times Tom Cruise has beat me to the Punch:
- 1983 - Street Tough - The Outsiders - Tom played Greaser Steve Randle in this film adaptation of S.E. Hinton's masterpiece. Me loves to rumble...
- 1983 - Amateur Pimp - Risky Business - who wouldn't want to be a 19-yr-old P.I.M.P.?
- 1986 - Air Force pilot - Top Gun - Maverick is a hero of mine. I own this on DVD. (Added bonus - busting out "You've Lost that Loving Feeling" in the middle of a bar. I would kill for that kind of self-confidence.)
- 1986 - Pool Shark - The Color of Money - Not only does Vince kick ass on the pool table, but he's cool enough to wear a shirt with only his name on it in plain white lettering. Arrogance is Awesomeness.
- 1988 - Hip Bartender - Cocktail - Gotta love the bottle-tossing, womanizing charm of this bartender.
- 1992 - First generation Irish-American - Far and Away - This is just a shout out to my Mc heritage. Potatoes and beer are two favorites.
- 1992 - Someone who yells at Jack Nicholson - A Few Good Men - This also is a mesh of a couple dreams - to be in the military, to be a lawyer (which is obviously coming next on the list), and to be in a starring role alongside Kevin Bacon
- 1993 - Lawyer - The Firm - Realizing the law school will never happen for me, I am representing myself in a speeding ticket challenge in the next few weeks. I'm studying Mitch McDeere's courtroom suavity all week in preparation.
- 1994 - Vampire - Interview with a Vampire - C'mon... No one can convince me that sleeping all day and slurpin' down some type AB by night isn't an attractive lifestyle.
- 1996, 2000, & 2006 - Secret Agent Man - Mission: Impossible 1, 2, & 3 - Ethan Hunt had me at the opening rock climbing sequence of the original. Who is James Bond?
- 1996 - Sports Agent - Jerry Maguire - Show me the money. Period.
- 2001 - Involved with Penelope Cruz - Vanilla Sky - Minus the whole facial disfigurement part. And near-fatal car accident. But as weird as this movie is at times, I will always and forever be in love with Penelope Cruz.
- 2003 - Samurai Ninja - The Last Samurai - Alright, so maybe Tom wasn't an actual ninja in this, but he was closer than I will ever be.
- 2007 - Politician - Lions for Lambs - I'll be honest, I have not seen this one yet. However, politician was a goal of mine for a while. I think it ended somewhere around the time I realized that it was the tobacco industry, and not politicians, that ran the government.
So there you have it. 16 reasons why I hate Tom Cruise.
If I had to sum it all up and choose one, I think that it would have to be Pool Shark. Once I am super good at pool, I'll have enough street credit to be a street tough; bartenders will reward me for my stellar games with free rounds; Penelope Cruz will flock to me; Jack Nicholson will call me, begging for me to yell at him; I'll still be Irish; and, by default, I will be a Secret Agent-Samurai-Vampire-Air Force Pilot-Senator who is busy cutting deals for sports stars, all the while proving that Pimpin' IS easy.
Obviously.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
The economics of victory
Over the Christmas holiday, I found myself with some extra time on my hands - a fact my family would strongly argue with due to my overall lack of presence in the house with them. Regardless, there I was. Bored even.
As I aimlessly surfed the interweb, as I prefer to call it, I stumbled upon - believe it or not - an embedded advertisement that I actually clicked on! (Damn you Facebook ads)
Hmm, I thought. I like to take pictures.
So it was settled. I'd enter. And enter I did. My submission:
"Virtuoso"
So there I am, taking down my daily dose of self-indulgence, and expecting absolutely nothing to come from it (aside from the probability of having just signed myself up for a host of unsolicited emails).
With that, I closed up the macbook and headed out the door to do who knows what.
A week goes by.
Just last week, then, I receive an email while at work alerting me that, and I quote:
After thoroughly reviewing and discussing your photograph, I am pleased to inform you that our
Selection Committee has advanced your contest entry, "Virtuoso," to semi-finalist in the
International Open Amateur Photography Contest.
Now how a-bout that... Just when I had decided to expect nothing in return, the kind folks at Picture.com blow me out of the water with this.
My first inclination, obviously, is what can I win?
(And here's where it gets fun)
After a few bolded statements, throwing all sorts of numbers with ridiculous odds to actually win them, comes the steak and potatoes of the whole email:
And that’s not all! In celebration of your unique talent, we also wish to publish your photograph in our forthcoming anthology series . . .
Endless Journeys will be a classic, coffee-table quality hardbound volume that is printed on fine-milled paper specifically selected to faithfully reproduce the unique texture and character of your photograph.
In short, I was being awarded with the opportunity of a liftetime, to purchase a large book with lots of pictures that somehow equates into the euphoric-sounding world of Endless Journeys, where, as Jay Farrar from Son Volt puts it, "It's the search, not the find."
Right.
A couple of paragraphs and one click on a hyperlink later, and I'm seeing dollar signs. $69.99.
After reading this, I promptly closed the email up. I was going to wait it out. See what's next. After all, they did boast that "no purchase was necessary".
A couple days later, and I receive another email from the Picture.com crew. Turns out, I was being nominated by the International Society of Photographers to be a "Distinguished Member."
AKA, Basic Membership = $60, 1-year Distinguished Membership = $149, 2-year Distinguished Membership = $249.
Did I mention:
So, now, let's say I'm a sucker for 24-karat gold pins and special members-only decals, yet have unresolved commitment issues, so I choose the 1-year Distinguished Member option.
That's $149, + the $69.99 for the 'coffee-table quality hardbound volume', featuring my photo, a small fish in a large pond.
Whoa.
Then, two days later, with the same resilience as the mustache, they were back. And the offerings got shinier:
Now what man can turn down all that glitz and exclamation-pointed phrases starting with the word "New"?
This guy. Right here. He can, and did.
2007 Published Photographer Award Pin - $19.95
Commemorative Bronze Editor's Choice Medallion - $49.95 (pin free if you buy this)
2007 Editor's Choice Commemorative Silver Watch - $119.00 (pin and medallion free if you buy this)
"Just saying No" - priceless
So, to recap my savings.:
$149.00 + $69.99 + $119.00 (best value) = $337.99 (plus shipping & handling, duh.)
Did I mention, "no purchase necessary"?
And there you have it. The economics of victory are this: In order to get the shiny, glitzy, flashy, and otherwise useless things in this world, all you gotta do is submit something to an online contest. Poetry, photography, origami, whatever the case is. They'll be knocking on your virtual door in no time.
[As a side note, here is the url for the pin/medallion/watch combo package. It doesn't appear to be applicant-specific. Do me a favor, and wear all three "Editor's Choice"-emblazoned decorations proudly. For both of us. For all of us.]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)