November 14, 2011

There will be a happy hour on Wednesday, November 30th at the Field House for The Harvey Forsyth Memorial Fund. More details to follow.

word

pansophy [pan-suh-fee] n. universal wisdom or knowledge

birthday

Claude Monet (1840), Aaron Copland (1900), Joseph McCarthy (1908), Brian Keith (1921), McLean Stevenson (1927), P.J. O’Rourke (1947), Prince Charles (1948), Condoleezza Rice (1954), Yanni (1954), D. B. Sweeney (1961), Laura San Giacomo (1962), Patrick Warburton (1964), Josh Duhamel (1972)

standpoint

I only posted once last week and there was a lot going but none more important than the whole Penn State thing.

Christ. What a fucking mess.

And I’ve got a million thoughts swirling in my head about what’s happened but I’m going to hold back. I’ve got it on good authority there’s lots more details to surface this upcoming week, details that “will sicken the public like never before.” Apparently, Jerry Sandusky is a highly disturbed individual and Penn State used all the powers at its disposal (and still may be) to protect its good name.

quotation

Humor’s a weapon if you want to make it one. ↔ Bob Newhart

tune

What the world needs is more songs like Aloe Blacc‘s “Green Lights.”

gallimaufry

→ Even The Onion couldn’t properly joke about the Penn State scandal.

→ I think Bill Hader might be one of the funniest people on the planet. Seriously, click on this link and watch the skit. I love it when he says, “Oh, this lady…”

→ Ruben Amaro Jr. is doing his best to keep the Phillies viable. Welcome to Philadelphia, Jonathan Papelbon.

05.04.11 – a wednesday

word

ambit [am-bit] n. 1. circumference; circuit 2. boundary; limit 3. a sphere of operation or influence; range; scope: the ambit of such an action

birthday

Horace Mann (1796), Audrey Hepburn (1929), Paul Gleason (1939), Pia Zadora (1954), Randy Travis (1959), Will Arnett (1970)

standpoint

I understand things. Some individuals who think they know me might not share that opinion but those individuals
are flat out wrong.

But, like a lot of you out there, I encounter certain people, situations, etc., and I’m forced to my hands up in the air, mutter one profanity or another, and admit that I just don’t get it.

For instance, and I know I’m drilling the death of Osama bin Laden into the ground, but why in the world is the White House (as of the time I’m writing these words) deliberating the release of photos taken after bin Laden was shot or when they dropped his sorry ass into the ocean? Human beings need proof. Unless we actually see the dude’s bullet-riddled cranium, it’ll only be a matter of days until everyone starts making up stories about how he’s still alive. And that’s way worse than exposing us to some gruesome snapshots.

In addition, why, if the Navy SEALs’ only objective was to kill bin Laden, would it matter if he was unarmed when they busted into his room? He could’ve had a bazooka resting on his shoulder, the outcome would’ve been the same.

Also, I don’t get how anyone could think that the original Die Hard isn’t a comedy as well as an action movie? Or, how anyone can drive anywhere without getting into a car accident since, by my estimation, about 90% of licensed drivers need to be retested? Or, why everyone doesn’t have a gmail account? Or, why so many people disagreed with a portion of one of my recent posts in which I asserted that the fennec fox is possibly the cutest animal on the planet? (Seriously, folks, what in the hell is wrong with you?)

quotation

There is no cure for birth and death, save to enjoy the interval. ↔ George Santayana

tune

Free Energy is a band that’s kind of from Philadelphia and I can’t decide whether I like them or find them annoying. But I do like this song, “Something In Common.”

gallimaufry

This dude should go straight to jail. No trial. Just incarceration until he learns to behave himself.

→ Admittedly, this is a little simple but still nonetheless true.

→ Any Phillies fans out there who still have negative shit to say about Cole Hamels need to check out last night’s game. My favorite part, however, was when Jayson Werth took off his helmet and tipped it to the crowd. Classy move.

03.24.11 – a thursday

word

unctuous [uhngk-choo-uhs] adj. 1. characterized by excessive piousness or moral fervor, especially in an affected manner; excessively smooth, suave or smug 2. of the nature of or characteristic of an unguent or ointment; oily; greasy 3. having an oily or soapy feel, as certain minerals

birthday

Harry Houdini (1874), Joseph Barbera (1911), Gorgeous George (1915), Lawrence Ferlinghetti (1919), Norman Fell (1924), Steve McQueen (1930), Nick Lowe (1949), Tommy Hilfiger (1951), Louie Anderson (1953), Robert Carradine (1954), Kelly LeBrock (1960), Star Jones (1962), Lara Flynn Boyle (1970), Megyn Price (1971), Alyson Hannigan (1974)

standpoint

Today, I’m continuing what I like to call My Favorite Music Of All-Time. That’s right. Even if it doesn’t particularly apply for this post, I have a feeling you’ll look past it and appreciate what’s going on here.

Yesterday, I touched on the fact that I have two iPods. The first one is a gigantic clunky thing, it’s screen illegible since the night the Philadelphia Phillies won the World Series a few years back. See, I was in the parking lot of the ballpark the night history was being made.  Philadelphia erupted as Harry Kalas called Brad Lidge’s final stike and mayhem ensued. And, Buckley, my little orange tabby cat was not going to sit still while millions celebrated.

Cats are smarter than most dogs. Also, cats are smarter than most humans. Buckley is the exception. You could teach a kangaroo to do algebra before you could teach Buckley not to not put his nose in the flame from a candle. But one thing the dimwit has is heart, and lots of it. There isn’t a soul alive who, within five minutes of exposure to Buckley, doesn’t want to kidnap the little bastard and take him home.

And I tell you that to explain the following. The Phillies had won it all. Philadelphia was teeming at the edges. It was electric. And Buckley was not immune to the pulse of the celebration. I have no other way to explain why in the world the track shelving in my room would suddenly appear new to him, or why he would jump to the fourth tier of that shelving to attack a plate with a burnt-out candle on it, a plate that he would cause to careen off that fourth shelf and land squarely on my iPod, charging in its dock, resting with a false sense of security, unaware of the bullshit Buckley was up to.

That night, I got home earlier than most in the city, I suppose. I was high-fived out and, despite my many shortcomings, tipping over cars and burglarizing electronic stores just ain’t my thing. So I walked through the front door, trudged up the stairs and stumbled into my bedroom with a smile on my face.

The smile lasted roughly three seconds. There was a broken plate on the ground. Next to it, was an iPod dock in two pieces. And, inches away, almost at the foot of the bed was my iPod, holder of close t0 8,000 songs, face down, silver side up.

Out loud I said, “What the fuck is this?” And then I saw Buckley sitting on the bed. Even though he wasn’t capable of understanding much, the look in his eyes, the tightness in his back, the little fucker knew he did something wrong.

I picked up the iPod. The screen was (and still is) fractured in nine different places. I said a bunch of words I would never say in front of my Mom-Mom. I was furious. My hands were literally shaking. And I turned to Buckley and, even though I never had nor would I ever cause him physical harm, he braced himself for what was coming. The only thing I could think to do was to put him in the closet. So that’s where he went. And before you condemn me for whatever reason, Buckley’s bed was in the closet as were his toys and most of Kate’s makeup brushes. For the next fifteen minutes, I looked at my iPod, pushed all of the buttons and slowly realized it was beyond repair.

But it wasn’t. I hooked it up to the speakers and kept pushing the up button. Music came out. I connected it to my laptop and, lo and behold, there was my entire music library. The damn thing still worked.

I reached into the closet and scooped up Buckley. I held him in front of my face and apologized. He’d all ready moved on.

To this day, I can’t see what’s playing on my iPod and the battery lasts about nine whole minutes but if it’s plugged in it still plays all of those almost 8.000 songs. And yesterday, in keeping with the whole music theme of this week’s posts, I decided to try to listen to as many of them as possible with the intention of finding Six Good Songs In A Row.

Here is how it all shook out.

First

“Birdhouse In Your Soul” – They Might Be Giants

Second

“Sweet Pain” – Blues Traveler

Third

“Everywhere” – Billy Bragg

Fourth

“Nobody Weird Like Me” – Red Hot Chili Peppers

Fifth

“That Says It All” – Duncan Sheik

Sixth

“Turn On Me” – The Shins

quotation

The next person to honk at me THE SECOND the fucking light turns green, is going to win a very special prize. Good luck, everyone! FYI, I was NOT driving while tweeting. I don’t do that. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to hold my crack pipe and fifth of jack. ↔ Kerri Kenney

tune

This was the seventh song. “Satisfied” by Squeeze. Call me all the names you want. I definitely like this song. Sorry.

gallimaufry

No gallimaufry today. Don’t pry. Just accept it.