12.16.09 – A Wednesday

WORD

captious [kap-shuhs] adj.1. apt to notice and make much of trivial faults or defects; faultfinding; difficult to please 2. proceeding from a faultfinding or caviling disposition: He could never praise without adding a captious remark 3. apt or designed to ensnare or perplex, esp. in argument: captious questions

BIRTHDAY

Catherine of Aragon (1485), Ludwig van Beethoven (1770), Jane Austen (1775), George Santayana (1863), Sir Noël Coward (1899), Margaret Mead (1901), Billy Gibbons (1949), Bill Hicks (1961), William “The Refrigerator” Perry (1962), Benjamin Bratt (1963), Paul van Dyk (1971)

STANDPOINT

About 80% of the people I know are married with children, working the archetypal American work week. Of that 80%, probably 95% seem quizzically amused when I respond with disdain toward things like early morning phone calls, early morning obligations and mostly anything at all involving the early morning. And, just so we’re on the same page, I define “early morning” as any time before 10am.

You see, I’m a bartender. And my hours are different from most. I go to work an hour or two before the rest of the world is calling it a day and, most days, I climb into bed only a few hours before everyone else’s alarm clocks blast them out of sleep.

It’s not like I haven’t spent chunks of my life getting up early. I have. But, simply, I’ve rejected it as something I’m unwilling to participate in. And that doesn’t sit well with most because they’ve trouble grasping a scenario in which a grown man wakes up at 11am on a Wednesday morning. Logically, such a man must be doing something terribly wrong with his life. Why else would he be asleep instead of being “responsible?”

And it’s pretty interesting and hilarious because, regardless of race, religion or class status, most everyone who wakes when it’s still dark, gets the kids off to school before heading out themselves to their more traditional 9 to 5 job, all increduously shake their heads and roll their collective eyes when they find out someone their own age is not doing the exact same thing.

But what’s truly wrong with choosing an alternative lifestyle? Being single and childless in your mid-thirties can hardly be classifid as a crime against humanity. It’s perfectly acceptable to be a little selfish in the pursuit of personal happiness. There’s no sin in allowing yourself to be as free from responsibility and restraints as possible. Nothing dishonest about wanting to be convivial and well-rested.

There’s more of us out there than I’m pretty sure most of you realize. And one day, we might just wake up before noon and get organized in an attempt to remind society that, hey, we’re people too. We’ll covince “acceptable” folks we’re not all that bad and, yes, we can conduct ourselves properly at dinner parties and other customary affairs.

Mark my words. There’ll come a time when we walk freely among the rest of civilized society. Granted, it’ll be early afternoon after we’ve checked our email and gotten a little something to eat. But, we’ll be there all the same. Can’t wait!

QUOTATION

Slums may well be breeding grounds of crime, but middle class suburbs are incubators of apathy and delirium. → Cyril Connolly

TUNE

The other night, I was in my second favorite bed and couldn’t sleep. So I listened to Cake’s Motorcade of Generosity about five times before eventually dozing off. I really like “Ruby Sees All.”

GALLIMAUFRY

→ Not really happy to see Cliff Lee traded from the Philadelphia Phillies, but apparently Ruben Amaro Jr. worked out some magical deal in acquiring Roy Halladay and a few blue-chip prospects in a three-way trade with the Toronto Blue Jays and Seattle Mariners.

→ While I write this, I’m struggling with which kind of Facebook status annoys me more. Those in which people, who are more than a few years away from turning 40, wonder publicly about when they “got old,” or those in which people try to convince their friends on the virtue of being a Republican/Democrat/Whatever. More on this, I think, in tomorrow’s post.

→ For the record, from here on out, I’m going to be updating this blog three times a week. That’s just the how I’m rollin’. I’m fully aware it will render this blog not exactly “daily,” but we’re all going to keep a stiff upper lip here.

No New Post Today

Sorry, Joe.

12.14.09 – A Monday

Last Friday night, my Uncle Joe died unexpectedly. He was probably the most affable and good-natured guy you’d have the good fortune to come across. Of my five brothers and sisters, I was probably the least close to Joe, and I’m pretty sure I was the only one who’d never gone to visit him at his home in Maryland. And I’m equally sure I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. Just kind of figured he’d be around to hang out with. Life is ruthlessly unpredictable, folks. Get out there and grab what you can from it. 

This post is dedicated to Uncle Joe. 

WORD

nonpareil [non-puh-rel] adj. 1. having no equal; peerless ∞ n. 2. a person or thing having no equal 3. a small pellet of colored sugar for decorating candy, cake, and cookies 4. a flat, round, bite-sized piece of chocolate covered with this sugar

BIRTHDAY

Nostradamus (1503), Spike Jones (1911), Lee Remick (1935), Patty Duke (1946), Michael Ovitz (1946), Beth Orton (1970)

STANDPOINT

Last week I commented on Allen Iverson’s return to the Philadelphia 76ers.

For the record, I like Allen Iverson. I always have. Even when, in 2002, he threw his naked wife out of their house in Gladwyne, where I grew up. Lots and lots of things happened as a result of A.I.’s actions, including causing me to be over two hours late for some family function due to the fact every TV news van in the country was trying to get into probably the least traffic-friendly town you can imagine.  

In any case, the return of Allen Iverson has left me with mixed emotions. I’m glad he’s back, but as I stated last week, I’m curious as to why everyone else is.

Philadelphia has a history of taking young, talented athletes and making them regret they ever played their respective sport. The Philadelphia Phillies‘ Mike Schmidt was deemed the best third baseman in history. Eric Lindros had a career for the Philadelphia Flyers that placed him, for much of it, in the same company as Gordie Howe, Mario Lemieux and Wayne Gretzky. On any other team in the NFL, Philadelphia Eagles‘ quarterback Donovan McNabb would be credited for being one of the best at his position in the past decade. Allen Iverson, in his first stint with the 76ers, was a diminutive individual, usually scoring more than double the points of the giants he played against.

And where did it get them? Schmidt retired as a Phillie but left here so damaged it took him almost a decade to return to the fans who booed much harder when he didn’t get the job done as they cheered when he did. Lindros’ story is much more complicated but, even with all the drama and concussions, he’s still a fringe candidate for the debate of who’s the best player in NHL history, even Bobby Clarke thinks so. McNabb still manages to come to work every Sunday and play for a bunch of worthless fans who’ve forgotten the likes of Bobby Hoying, Bubby Brister and Rodney Peete. And Iverson was one of the best in the NBA, while playing for a team that seemed content to let him try to win a championship all by himself.

Which begs the question, why would anyone come play in Philadelphia, a city where even those days when probably capable of better, and those days when you don’t live up to expectations there’s a million people leading the charge for your head? Don’t believe me? This past Phillies-Yankees World Series, I forget which game it was. I was at a bar and Phillies’ slugger Ryan Howard was striking out. A lot. And one of the morons sitting around me said, “Man, would you look at this fuckin’ bum on the goddamn television?” Yeah, genius, I was looking at the TV. At Ryan Howard. A guy who’s managed to hit 220 homers and knock in 635 runs in just five seasons. But Howard, and the rest of the Phillies, didn’t win this past World Series like they did the year before. And so, for that, Howard’s a bum. Just like every other professional athlete in Philadelphia sports’ history who didn’t give their fans the misplaced, instant gratification for which they feel erroneously entitled.

QUOTATION

 This and nothing else is the desperately sought and tragically fragile writer’s process: in his imagination, he sees made-up people doing things–sees clearly–and in the act of wondering what they will do next, he sees what they will do next, and all this he writes down in the best, most accurate words he can find, understanding even as he writes that he may have to find better words later, and that a change in the words may mean a sharpening or deepening of the vision, the fictive dream or vision becoming more and more lucid, until reality, by comparison, seems cold, tedious, and dead. → John Gardner

TUNE

I normally have something poignant to say about the song I’m sharing with you. But today I don’t. Listen to “HEERS” by Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin. It’s good. And that’s that.

GALLIMAUFRY

→ Listen up, country! The people of Houston get it. So why can’t the rest of you clowns fall in line? Annise Parker will become the city’s first openly gay mayor, making Houston the biggest city ever to do so. Is it safe to say it’s pretty fucked up when Texans are breaking new ground?

→ Tiger Woods, most likely after reading my post last Friday, has announced, “After much soul searching, I have decided to take an indefinite break from professional golf.” In what many are considering the understatement of a lifetime, Woods furthered with, “I need to focus my attention on being a better husband, father, and person.” You think?

→ OK. Let me get this straight. Donte Stallworth drunkenly drives over, and kills, a guy a few months back and gets 30 fucking days in jail. Meanwhile, New Jersey resident John Wilson is facing up to 20 years for growing 17 marijuana plants for his own personal use to treat his multiple sclerosis. I don’t drink and drive because I’m hesitant to put my life and the lives of others in jeopardy. I do, however, occassionally smoke pot in the privacy of my own home which, until now, seemed relatively innocuous. I guess I had it all backwards and turned upside-down. How naive of me.

12.11.09 – A Friday

WORD

mortify [mawr-tuh-fahy] v. (used w/ object) 1. to humiliate or shame, as by injury to one’s pride or self-respect 2. to subjugate (the body, passions, etc.) by abstinence, ascetic discipline, or self-inflicted suffering 3. Pathology. to affect with gangrene or necrosis ∞ v. (used w/o object) 4. to practice mortification or disciplinary austerities 5. Pathology. to undergo mortification; become gangrened or necrosed

Note: I am giving the definition of “mortify” because it has been brought to my attention it’s used wrong pretty much all of the time. I have to admit, I learned something new today.

BIRTHDAY

John Labatt (1838), Carlo Ponti (1912), Big Mama Thornton (1926), Rita Moreno (1931), McCoy Tyner (1938), Donna Mills (1942), John Kerry (1943), Brenda Lee (1944), Teri Garr (1947), Bess Armstrong (1953), Jermaine Jackson (1954), Nikki Sixx (1958), Jon Brion (1963), Mo’Nique (1967), Mos Def (1973)

STANDPOINT

This Tiger Woods scandal. Christ.

Thousands of unanswerable questions seem to be flooding the news hourly. None are getting answered.

The facts (maybe) are: (a) At 2am the morning after Thanksgiving, Tiger got into his car and drove into a fire hydrant and then a tree, both within walking distance of his home. (b) His wife reportedly saved him by smashing one of the back windows with a golf club. (c) Tiger didn’t really want to talk about the whole thing, instead he took to dodging police inquiries and issuing vague statements on his website. (d) At least a dozen women jumped out of the woodwork, feeling the sudden urge to tell the world about their sexual misconduct with Woods. (e) Tiger’s mother-in-law was admitted to the hospital with stomach pains that probably had something to do with her son-in-law sleeping with lots of women who were not her daughter. (f) Tiger Woods’ life, no matter how this all plays out, is fucked.

And that sucks for him but he was having sex with hostesses, waitresses and porn stars. Difficult to feel bad for the guy. Difficult, but not implausible. I mean, getting caught for one transgression must be a pretty shitty ordeal. But to get caught having mulitple affairs with at least ten different women within the span of several days? Well, I’m not even sure Bill Clinton could shuck and jive his way clear of something like that.

There is one question, however, I would like answered: Whatever Tiger has done or not done, what’s the difference? How’s it going to change my life?

Sure, it’s interesting to bemoan the current state of a society which seems to (a) shrug its collective shoulders when yet another of its heroes are found to be flawed, and (b) be running out of respectable authority figures and celebrities. We’ve adapted a very another-one-bites-the-dust mentality. Everyone’s rather concerned but no one wholly cares.

There are those overly curious about a situation in which a man who seemingly had everything he could ever want, managed to blunder this bad. People are demanding the truth, soapboxing on the notion we all deserve to know. As usual, the American people want to get down to the bottom of a situation in the interest of mainly being able to say, “I hate my life, but I imagine I’d rather be me than Tiger right now.” It’s always amazed me how determined people are to reveal how fucked up everyone else is.

It’s not like any of it matters.  Woods is under absolutely no obligation to disclose more than he wants. He’s not a politician. He’s broken no laws. In reality, he could pack all ten women he’s been sleeping with into his Cadillac and drive into ten trees. Unless, he’s charged with some sort of crime, he doesn’t have to justify anything. Oh. In addition, he’s also the first billion-dollar athlete, so if O.J. Simpson can kill two people and amble freely out of an actual courtroom, Woods’ gigantic gobs of money will guarantee a night of careless driving and a few years of bad decisions won’t stop him from ambling equally free out the courtroom of public opinion.

Plus, in a few months, possibly a few weeks, everyone will have moved on to the next thing. And I don’t blame it on short memory. Everyone says that and it’s bullshit. The real reason everyone’ll forget about this by the next time Woods steps onto some nationally-televised first tee is once the outrage lessens a bit, most people will start making excuses for Tiger Woods because the execrable things he’s done to his undeserving family will have grown far less significant than the idea of a PGA season without Tiger Woods.

Note: During my research and reading for the above rant, I encountered this piece. As far as I’m concerned, Tiger Woods can do whatever the hell he wants. As long as Glenn Beck is around, everyone else gets a pass.

QUOTATION

The typical gambler might not really understand the probabilistic nuances of the wheel or the dice, but such things seem a bit more tractable than, say, trying to raise a child in this lunatic society of ours. → Arthur S. Reber

TUNE

 Yesterday, I hit up my favorite music store, Main Street Music in Manayunk. (One of the best music shops of all-time, by the way. If you can get there, I highly recommend it.) Anyway, I bought a couple albums. One of them was People Are Soft by local Philadelphia band, The Swimmers. I like the whole album a lot. Go buy it and support your local music scene. Favorite track so far? “Nervous Wreck.”

GALLIMAUFRY

→ For all of out there who wish you could get rid of Facebook forever, there’s now an option. Seppukoo.com is ready to assist you with your virtual suicide. Click here to see how it works.

→ There’s many arguments I can tolerate listening to, no matter how completely wrong they are. But I refuse to hear anyone out who’s not entirely convinced Ted Knight didn’t steal the show in Caddyshack. I know. There are argument to be made for Chevy Chase, Bill Murray and Rodney Dangerfield. But without Judge Smails (link is a small collection of wavs), it would’ve been a lesser film. Still good. Just not as good.  

→ Do you desire with all your heart to have a chihuahua? All you have to do is get on a plane to California, where the little dogs have become an essential purse accessory to the likes of Paris Hilton, Miley Cyrus and a slew of other people who don’t really matter. Animal shelters across the state are reporting chihuahuas make up close to 30% of its inhabitants. Seems even idiots are capable of grasping the notion that, after they take it out of their purse, the dog wants to do all kinds of annoying crap like eat and be taken for a walk.

12.08.09 – A Tuesday

WORD

phlegmatic [fleg-mat-ik] adj. 1. not easily excited to action or display of emotion; apathetic; sluggish 2. self-possessed, calm, or composed 3. of the nature of or abounding in the humor phlegm

BIRTHDAY

Horace (65 BC), Mary Queen of Scots (1542), William C. Durant (1861), Diego Rivera (1886), Sammy Davis Jr. (1925), Jimmy Smith (1925), Flip Wilson (1933), David Carradine (1936), Jim Morrison (1943), Gregg Allman (1947), Gérard Blanc (1947), Bill Bryson (1951), Kim Basinger (1953), Roy Firestone (1953), Sam Kinison (1953), Ann Coulter (1961), Greg Howe (1963), Teri Hatcher (1964), Sinéad O’Connor (1966), Dominic Monaghan (1976)

STANDPOINT

Last night, I watched Allen Iverson’s triumphant return to the Philadelphia 76ers. OK. Well. I watched about 15 minutes of it until I turned on the ultimately disappointing Flyers-Canadiens game.

But, arguably, I watched the most important part of the Sixers-Nuggets game: the introductory hoopla. Philadelphia, a city that three years ago was collectively shoving Iverson out of town, welcomed him home like no one ever wanted him to go anywhere.

The Wachovia Center was sold-out for a basketball game for the first time this year. Actually, the entire crowd last night almost doubled the total sum of the first eight home games. The starting lineup announcements were conducted in a way a 5-15 team, under any other circumstances, could never gotten away with. After being introduced, Iverson ran out to the 76ers logo at half-court, kneeled down and kissed it. (The crowd cheered like that was totally normal.) 

Iverson seemed truly happy. And I, for one, was truly happy for him. I never disliked the guy. I was always in his corner and have been a huge supporter of his return to Philadelphia.

I’ve had about 349 conversations about Iverson since he left town. Each and every time, I was told I was wrong. He was a poison. He was a selfish player. He was a thug. He had to go.

While I never subscribed the above statements, I always granted them creedence. I figured everyone hated Iverson because he was an asshole. Also, I was pretty sure I liked him for the same exact reason.

What I’m having trouble digesting is why,all of a sudden, everyone gives a shit about (a) the Sixers, and (b) Iverson himself.

I need to collect my thoughts on this one. TO BE CONTINUED.

In the meantime, what’s your take?  

QUOTATION

I used to be friends with Miles Davis. He didn’t like many folks. I lived across the street from him. He would call me up sometimes — “I got some fish I wanna cook up for ya.” I went up there, and he was on a couch, looking out the window. He was just rapt. I said, “What’re you watching, Miles?” He said, “The traffic. Where are all these motherfuckers goin’?” → Rip Torn

TUNE

In the interest of getting to know someone better, I’ve recently been exposed to more Belle and Sebastian. I was told by that someone “Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying” is the band’s best song. Turned out to be the truth.

GALLIMAUFRY

→ After being complete cocks about music piracy and crying about how much money they were losing, it turns out the major record labels (Warner, Sony BMG, EMI and Universal) have been doing a little looting of their own. Justice? Maybe. Well, probably.   

→ While I’m of the opinion most people are complete dolts and unknowingly ruining society, there’s an awful, evil flipside. It appears there are enough smart individuals out there doing what they can to not be outdone by the morons. Case in point? This whole Miranda nonsense in The Supreme Court.

→ While I love to point out the inane crap dominating the media these days, I have an actual pleasure when I read some genuinely good news. Drunk driving deaths in the US are, statistically, on a downward turn. Good job, nitwits. I’m pleased some of you might be coming to your senses.

12.07.09 – A Monday

WORD

popinjay [pop-in-jey] n. 1. a person given to vain, pretentious displays and empty chatter; coxcomb; fop 2. British Dialect. a woodpecker, esp. the green woodpecker 3. Archaic. the figure of a parrot usually fixed on a pole and used as a target in archery and gun shooting 4. Archaic. a parrot

BIRTHDAY

Richard Sears (1863), Louis Prima (1910), Eli Wallach (1915), Ted Knight (1923), Noam Chomsky (1928), Ellen Burstyn (1932), Harry Chapin (1942), Johnny Bench (1947), Tom Waits (1949), Priscilla Barnes (1955), Larry Bird (1956), Tim Butler (1958), Rick Rude (1958), Peter Laviolette (1964), C. Thomas Howell (1966), Terrell Owens (1973), Damien Rice (1973)

STANDPOINT

Today, instead of spouting off about this thing or that, I’m putting the ball in your court.

I’ve been considering a particular scenario. I’ve proposed it to a few of my close friends and they all agree it’s an interesting situation to ponder. So I thought I’d offer it all of you.

Here it is: Due to some kind of crazy set of circumstances, you find yourself in a room with nine strangers. A man (or woman) enters the room and delivers the following set of instructions:

1. Everyone in the room will be granted five picks. Each pick will be a particular music act you can completely remove from the face of the Earth, including any memory of their existence.

2. However, there’s a possibility one of the other nine in the room could choose to obliterate a music act you hold near and dear. So, instead of using all your picks to erase music acts you despise, you’re free to use some, or all, of them to protect music acts you feel you can’t live without.

Here’s what I’m wondering: When confronted with this kind of choice, do you opt to banish or preserve? Would you see to it you never again hear the music you hate the most? Or would you safeguard the music you love the most?

Think about it. I’m still unsure of what I’d do.

QUOTATION

I think you should be a child for as long as you can. I have been successful for 74 years being able to do that. Don’t rush into adulthood, it isn’t all that much fun. → Bob Newhart

TUNE

 So this past Saturday night, I’m hanging out with my kind of people, meaning a bunch of people who know a lot about good music. I was playing some stuff off of my iTunes and Pete Townshend’s “Let My Love Open The Door” comes on. All present agreed it was a solid tune. I agreed but asked everyone how they felt about the slow version – “Let My Love Open The Door (E. Cola Mix)” – off the Grosse Pointe Blank soundtrack. No one had heard it before. Which I thought was weird but not altogether impossible. There’s a shitload of music out there.

GALLIMAUFRY

→ Dude. When it comes to hockey, I’m all for a guy dropping the gloves and participating in a little hand-to-hand combat to try to motivate his team. But Philadelphia Flyers’ winger, Daniel Carcillo, experienced a severe lack of judgement when he almost knocked out Washington Capitals’ winger, Matt Bradley, late in the first period. It was awfully stupid because (a) Bradley had barely shook off his gloves (if he did at all) before Carcillo popped him, (b) it was the first game for new Flyers’ coach Peter Laviolette (who’s probably half-heartedly celebrating his birthday today), and (c) he gave the Capitals an unheard of nine-minute power play that turned a close game into a 8-2 loss for his team. He’s been suspended for four games and with the Flyers currently in a mid-season freefall, I wouldn’t be surprised if we’d seen the last of “Car-Bomb.”

→ Looking for a new blog to follow? (Don’t answer that. I know you are.) Check out PhilaLawyer.net. Also, I’ve just started reading his book, Happy Hour Is For Amateurs. And you should, too.

→ Tonight, at 10pm, I’ll be watching the new TNT “serious comedy” Men of a Certain Age. Ray Romano, Scott Bakula and Andre Braugher. Yep, that’s pretty much all I need to become intrigued. Sad? No, not at all.  

12.03.09 – A Thursday

WORD

votary [voh-tuh-ree] n. 1. a person who is bound by solemn religious vows, as a monk or a nun 2. an adherent of a religion or cult; a worshiper of a particular deity or sacred personage 3. a person who is devoted or addicted to some subject or pursuit: a votary of jazz 4. a devoted follower or admirer ∞ adj. 5. consecrated by a vow 6. of or pertaining to a vow

BIRTHDAY

George B. McClellan (1826), Joseph Conrad (1857), Andy Williams (1927), Ozzy Osbourne (1948), Mickey Thomas (1949), Daryl Hannah (1960), Julianne Moore (1960), Katarina Witt (1965), Brendan Fraser (1968), Montell Jordan (1968), Holly Marie Combs (1973)

STANDPOINT

“As disappointed as we are today, let’s get up tomorrow and redouble our efforts.” Those were the words issued yesterday by New York Governor David Paterson in response to his state’s senate voting down a same-sex marriage bill.

Good for Paterson. See? Some people out there get it. Well, I think most do.

Proponents of same-sex marriage always play the same old broken record. Mainly, they speak of (a) the idea that marriage should be an agreement between one man and one woman and (b) the deterioration of  “traditional values.”

First, geniuses, how much success have us heterosexuals had at preserving the sacred institution of marriage? Everyone loves to say over 50% of marriages fail but that’s inaccurate. It’s really 41% for first marriages, 60% for second marriages and 73% for third marriages. So, as usual, the statitistics we’re presented with are twisted. Still, 41% is a lot. Almost half.

What I want to know is, if close to half of these heterosexual marriages are failing, how is it valid to argue letting same-sex partners marry would make it any worse? The truth is, it wouldn’t.

And this whole “traditional values” nonsense is just that – nonsense. The world is changing and, while there may be many out there who still hold to these “traditional values,” the problem is most of have figured out these traditions hold very little value.

Most of us want same-sex marriage. Those who don’t, however, hold more power in our fucked, unfixable political structure. Because most of us in support of same-sex marriage have realized participating in the political process is about as futile as attempting to swim to Greenland.   

Here’s the deal, people. Stop trying to block same-sex marriage. It’s embarrassing anyone really even is against it in the first place. And, please, don’t give me some half-assed argument that you don’t want the gay community raising children. Have you seen the kids out there lately? How in the world could anyone do worse than the bang up job all of us heterosexuals have been doing?

Frankly, it’s not even possible.

QUOTATION

I don’t gamble, because winning a hundred dollars doesn’t give me great pleasure. But losing a hundred dollars pisses me off. → Alex Trebek

TUNE

Lately, I’ve been rediscovering the music of The Smiths. It’s likely I’m covering no new ground when I make the following statement: those songs were really quite great. It’s hard to pick a favorite, though, but while I sit here writing this I’m listening to “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out.” 

GALLIMAUFRY

→ Allen Iverson is coming back to the people who love/hate him the most. The iconic guard has signed a one-year, non-guaranteed contract wth the Philadelphia 76ers, the team that traded him three years ago after an entertaining (putting it mildly) 10-year stint. I always liked A.I. so I’m happy to see him back.

→ Liam Gallagher, formerly of the band Oasis, is starting a new band. The roster? Well, everyone else that was in Oasis. Except his brother, Noel Gallagher, who left the band in August. If those two put as much energy into making music as they do publicly fighting with each other, it’s possible they could create some of the best music of all-time. Liam has not announced the name of the new band, but it won’t be Oasis.

→ Meredith Baxter, the mom from 1980s TV sitcom Family Ties, has announced she’s a lesbian. For some reason, the media seems to think it’s important we know.

No New Post Today

Man, it feels like I’ve been writing a ton of these non-posts lately, but I’m sure most of you will find your way to forgive me.

I do promise, however, that there will be posts the next two days. No way around it. I’ve given you my word.

11.30.09 – A Monday

WORD

outlier [out-lahy-er] n. 1. a person or thing that lies outside 2. a person residing outside the place of his or her business, duty, etc 3. Geology. a part of a formation left detached through the removal of surrounding parts by erosion

BIRTHDAY

Jonathan Swift (1667), Mark Twain (1835), Lord Frederick Cavendish (1836), Richard Crenna (1926), Robert Guillaume (1927), Dick Clark (1929), G. Gordon Liddy (1930), Abbie Hoffman (1936), Ridley Scott (1937), Terrence Malick (1943), David Mamet (1947), Mandy Patinkin (1952), Billy Idol (1955), Bo Jackson (1962), Ben Stiller (1965), Clay Aiken (1978), Gael García Bernal (1978)

STANDPOINT

Several years ago, when the reality-television craze began kicking its ugly way into our living rooms, I boldly declared, “This won’t last. It’s a fad. It’ll go away.”

Man, was I wrong.

It has lasted. It’s not a fad. And it refuses to go away. As a matter of fact, it’s continuing to grow. From what I can tell, it’s also making society as a whole dumber. So, of course, that fascinates me.

First off, let me say I don’t think all reality-television is bad. Some of it’s actually worthwhile. Top Chef, The Amazing Race, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Those are some I’ve watched without becoming agitated. And that’s inasmuch as those shows are chronicling individuals doing things I can’t (or won’t) do.

For example, Top Chef. I’ve worked in the restaurtant business for almost two decades, in both the front- and back-of-the-house. I’m no chef, but I know my way around a kitchen. Basically, I can make food people like, but not necessarily rave about. So, when I watch Top Chef, I’m entertained because I’m watching individuals do something I can’t, something I find extraordinary. To me, that’s interesting.

In contrast, when I view programs like Big Brother, The Real World, or The Real Housewives of Atlanta, all I see are a group of unexceptional individuals supposedly living lives we’re expected to perceive as somehow “real.” But it’s not at all. Just a collection of nitwits trying to outsmart one another while simultaneously positioning themselves for more camera time.

From the little I’ve seen of Big Brother, it’s never failed to confuse me. Besides the participants, none of which I feed redeemable, and the events, few of which aren’t orchestrated, being actual, what the fuck is so real about it? The answer is exactly none of it. Everyone in the house has a motive. The producers stage events that, without prodding, would never come about. All the footage gets edited to death so the true sequence is lost. To me, that’s uninteresting.

What truly sucks about all of this is that I’m apparently squarely in the minority. I’m relatively sure most of us find things capable of bothering us daily. Also, I was under the impression watching television was supposed to be fun and less bothersome than our daily routines.

If I’m wrong about all this, I’ll accept it. But, before you start popping off on how I’m completely wrong about reality television, I need you to answer the following question: If these shows are so enjoyable, why is it every single conversation I’ve ever heard about them is basically a discussion on which character is more annoying and why?

QUOTATION

This is what politics is to me: Somebody tells you all the trees on your street have a disease. One side says give them food and water and everything will be fine. One side says chop them down and burn them so they don’t infect another street. That’s politics. And I’m going, Who says they’re diseased? And how does this sickness manifest itself? And is this outside of a natural cycle? And who said this again? And when were they on the street? But we just have people who shout, “Chop it down and burn it” or “Give it food and water,” and there’s your two choices. Sorry, I’m not a believer. → John Malkovich

TUNE

MewithoutYou is a band from Philadelphia. That’s here. In Pennsylvania. I’ve heard them mentioned from time-to-time, and I think I may have seen the band live once but that might be entirely untrue. In any case, I was recently introduced to the video for “The Fox, The Crow and The Cookie,” and, to put it mildly, it’s pretty fuckin’ great. The song is solid but the whole concept and execution of the video is pretty unique and remarkable.  

CALLIMAUFRY

→ OK, so the whole Tiger Woods car accident thing. I have two questions. (1) Where was Woods going at 2:25am, the morning after Thanksgiving. (2) Why did the wife, after hearing the accident, decide to head out to investigate with a golf club? Woods is going to live to golf another day. He’s fine and that’s great. Truly. Still, everyone’s going to want to discover what really went down. The truth is no one besides Woods and his wife are ever going to know what happened. And, so far, it appears they’re not going to tell. Sadly, for everyone who’s dying to know, it’s bound to become one of those events marked for countless decades of endless speculation. When you’re a billionnaire, you can crash your car and not be expected to give some valid explanation.

→ Rush Limbaugh is America’s most influential conservative. Still, who cares?

→ No post tomorrow. If you’ve a problem with that, you’ll need to get in line behind my good friend Joe Taylor, who I’ve started affectionately calling “Boss-Man.” OK, I only did it once, but I plan on doing it again real soon.

11.25.09 – A Wednesday

WORD

sang-froid [Fr. sahN-fRwA] n.  coolness of mind; calmness; composure: They committed the robbery with complete sang-froid

BIRTHDAY

Andrew Carnegie (1835), Eddie Shore (1902), Joe DiMaggio (1914), Percy Sledge (1941), Ben Stein (1944), John Larroquette (1947), Amy Grant (1960), John F. Kennedy Jr. (1960), Mark Lanegan (1964), Christina Applegate (1971), Donovan McNabb (1976), Dolla (1987)

STANDPOINT

One of my greatest friends is Joe. I’ve mentioned him before. He’s someone special.

And he’s also kind of this blog’s watchdog. When I miss a day (or three), or post something subpar, Joe’s the first one to let me know, whether through a scathing comment on a particular post, a verbal tirade on GMail chat, or an obscenity-laden phone call. Most of these responses center on his annoyance with the fact I call this the daily euneJeune, and I’m not exactly stringent about the whole “daily” thing.

I love it. Because it comes from Joe and he’s one of the few people out there in the world who knows me very well, and wants to be my friend anyway.

Also, Joe and I have two things in common: (a) We’re able to drink more alcohol than any two people at any bar anywhere, and (b) We’re most likely the funniest people you’ll ever meet. And, no, the alcohol has nothing to do with why we think we’re a goddam riot. Although it doesn’t hurt.

In any case, Joe and I have this routine of exchanging late night texts, mainly because each of us know the other is most likely awake and not sober. 99% of the texts’ subject material has to do with movie quotes. And of that 99%, probably 98% deal directly with the obscure black comedy, Clifford, starring Charles Grodin and Martin Short.

As a tribute to my friend Joe, I offer the following video clip.

 

QUOTATION

I think we dream so we don’t have to be apart so long.  If we’re in each other’s dreams, we can play together all night. → Bill Watterson

TUNE

I’ve always loved the lyrics and music of Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale.” It came on yesterday at the perfect time. And, so, I now share it with you.

GALLIMAUFRY

→ As we all knew it would, Antarctica has declared war on New Zealand. Tired of living in the shadow of its more “tourist-friendly” neighbor, the frozen wasteland has launched hundreds of icebergs in a desperate attempt to get some headlines. Some experts are saying it’s not an attack at all and probably has something to do with global warming. Other experts are saying there’s too much ice in Antarctica and it’s natural to jettison some of the dead weight. The same experts also suggested people get off global warming’s back. However, all the experts agree the iceberg assault will have little effect on New Zealand, prompting a disheartened Antarctica to go back to the drawing board.

→ Finally, MTV makes a show I would actually watch  – about a squad of young Italian summertime renters at the Jersey shore – cleverly titled “Jersey Shore,” and wouldn’t you know it? There’s a group of Italian-Americans that wants to block it. Of course.

→ No new posts until Monday. What with the holiday and all. Also, be careful out there tonight. It’s the biggest bar night of the year. And drunk idiots make it suck pretty hard. Just take the following advice: Make sure to drive fast and take chances. OK. It’s not really advice.