Boy, this job thing really gets in the way of goofing off. I keep having bloggy ideas, only to get caught up in work, come home, make dinner, and then fall right asleep. Just not a lot of time to make fun of anonymous people on the internet. So, here are abbreviated versions of all of the posts you missed out on. Only 50% less funny. And 75% less interesting.
CONVENTIONS
I am proud that I made it through both political conventions without watching a single second of either. Look, I don't go out of my way to watch a commercials. And that's what a convention is. It's insulting that it is covered as a news event. Nothing newsworthy has happened at a convention in my lifetime. It is meaningless political theatre. However, it did lead to one brilliant moment, Jon Stewart's takedown of political bloviating in the wake of Palin's nomination.
The GOP doesn't hold a monopoly on blatant lying. Pretty much every political shill who shows up on TV is nothing more than a hack who is selling us a product. Do not believe them. And they deserve to be mocked and then shunned from civilized society.
MUDHONEY
Saw Mudhoney at the Grenada this weekend. Let's be honest, I freaking love Mudhoney. When I was 16, I was perhaps a bigger fan of Mudhoney than I have ever been of anything in my life. Seeing them old and gray I thought would be somewhat depressing, but they still rocked pretty hard. And it was kind of reassuring.
See, while all of the counterculture bands of the 1960s were selling toothpaste and cars within a decade. The counterculture bands of my youth are still, well, counterculture. Mudhoney is still cool. They aren't selling cars, they are still making very loud, very dirty, and frankly, very funny songs. Who cares if they are pushing 50?
DRIVING
I was on Haskell, a one way street, when there was a car headed straight towards me. Which is odd. But at no point did it strike me as odd until after the car passed me. I merely pulled into the center land and let him pass on the left, or his right, or whatever. The point is, I didn't even slow down. It didn't register that this guy might kill me until after the moment has passed.
Which means I totally suck at self-preservation.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Hip Hop Punks
Emily brought me along to see Nas and Talib Kwali on Tuesday. Now, I'm not a big fan of hip hop, not because I think it stinks, but because it simply doesn't speak to me. Hey, I'm not the audience for Yo Gabba Gabba either, but I'm not really the guy to cast value judgments over its quality.
Now, the show had everything you could want, even ending in a fight that only failed to be a knife fight because the guy dropped his knife.
Though it wasn't my scene, I had a great time, got into the show, and a thought occurred to me as the night rolled along: this show was more punk rock than most punk shows I've been to. While punk has become more and more commercial and punk-by-numbers, it's become infinitely less interesting. It's safe and stale and it's just the same thing over and over again.
And maybe this was the same thing over and over again for hip hop fans. But I doubt it. Not many shows have the live microphone tossed into the crowd so anyone there could rap along. And that's just fun. But it also had a sense of anarchy, of spontaneity, of actually being dangerous... and I find that irresistible.
Now, the show had everything you could want, even ending in a fight that only failed to be a knife fight because the guy dropped his knife.
Though it wasn't my scene, I had a great time, got into the show, and a thought occurred to me as the night rolled along: this show was more punk rock than most punk shows I've been to. While punk has become more and more commercial and punk-by-numbers, it's become infinitely less interesting. It's safe and stale and it's just the same thing over and over again.
And maybe this was the same thing over and over again for hip hop fans. But I doubt it. Not many shows have the live microphone tossed into the crowd so anyone there could rap along. And that's just fun. But it also had a sense of anarchy, of spontaneity, of actually being dangerous... and I find that irresistible.
Monday, August 25, 2008
PC Cometh
I noticed from Osler's blog that PC has started. I would like to give all of the new PC students some words of advice as someone who survived the experience.
But I'm too busy gut laughing since I never, ever, ever have to do that again. So sorry kids, you're on your own.
But I'm too busy gut laughing since I never, ever, ever have to do that again. So sorry kids, you're on your own.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Captains of Industry or Robber Barons
I’ve just finished reading Meet You In Hell, a biography of Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick. It’s a great book, and I recommend it to anyone with a passing interest in the history of the Gilded Age.
Most of the book is dedicated to the Battle of Homestead, which is perhaps the bloodiest episode in American labor history. And it’s a great read full of drama, rich characters, and well, a boatload of violence. It’s amazing this sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore. Not because I think labor conditions are so bad, but because we live in a violent culture, yet we don’t have these sort of armed confrontations between labor and capital anymore.
But what fascinated me about the book was the study of its too central protagonists: Frick and Carnegie. Both were ruthless and not more than a little bit greedy. They were also both brilliant and driven men, who really were self-made men.
Carnegie tried to rationalize his darker side away. Everything he did was for the benefit of others, who he claimed to love so much. And then he felt so guilty of the millions he made, that he spent the last years of his life giving his fortune away, the standard of philanthropy which stands today. The Homestead workers probably would rather have gotten a higher wage than get the library, but whatever.
Frick, on the other hand, almost reveled in his dark side. He made no excuses. He was a ruthless man and he didn’t lose any sleep over the dozens of strikers who died by his orders. Which is remarkable in its own way, but in the end, I end up admiring Frick more for his unflinching honesty. He had no illusions that he was a ruthless, greedy man and he would crush anyone who cost him so much as a nickel.
Which is why, nearing death, when Carnegie tried to reconcile with his former partner and now bitter enemy, Frick refused to meet with Carnegie and make things right. He told the messenger:
“I’ll meet Carnegie in hell, where surely we both are going.”
They just don’t make them like that anymore.
Most of the book is dedicated to the Battle of Homestead, which is perhaps the bloodiest episode in American labor history. And it’s a great read full of drama, rich characters, and well, a boatload of violence. It’s amazing this sort of thing doesn’t happen anymore. Not because I think labor conditions are so bad, but because we live in a violent culture, yet we don’t have these sort of armed confrontations between labor and capital anymore.
But what fascinated me about the book was the study of its too central protagonists: Frick and Carnegie. Both were ruthless and not more than a little bit greedy. They were also both brilliant and driven men, who really were self-made men.
Carnegie tried to rationalize his darker side away. Everything he did was for the benefit of others, who he claimed to love so much. And then he felt so guilty of the millions he made, that he spent the last years of his life giving his fortune away, the standard of philanthropy which stands today. The Homestead workers probably would rather have gotten a higher wage than get the library, but whatever.
Frick, on the other hand, almost reveled in his dark side. He made no excuses. He was a ruthless man and he didn’t lose any sleep over the dozens of strikers who died by his orders. Which is remarkable in its own way, but in the end, I end up admiring Frick more for his unflinching honesty. He had no illusions that he was a ruthless, greedy man and he would crush anyone who cost him so much as a nickel.
Which is why, nearing death, when Carnegie tried to reconcile with his former partner and now bitter enemy, Frick refused to meet with Carnegie and make things right. He told the messenger:
“I’ll meet Carnegie in hell, where surely we both are going.”
They just don’t make them like that anymore.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Losing
I’m an Olympics junkie. I love the whole thing, mainly because, as many of you know, I am the King of Obscure Sports. I’m not a big track and field guy, but once every four years, I can certainly tune in and get caught up in the biggest Sporting Event in the World.
And the reason I love the Olympics can be explained by two people: Usain Bolt and Lolo Jones.
Bolt became the first guy to break the 100 and 200 meter world records in the same Olympics. Take that, Michael Phelps. And his 100 meter run was nothing short of spectacular. Not only did he pull up in the last 20 meters, he ran with one shoe untied, and his prerace meal was Chicken McNuggets.*
*Editor’s note: Not made up. I’m dead serious. He ate McDonald’s before the biggest race of his life. How can you not love this guy?
But the greatness of Bolt’s achievements don’t resonate with me like the failure of Lolo Jones. Jones is the greatest hurdler in the world. She dominates the race and she’s the World Champion. And this was her chance to win a gold medal. And, just two hurdles away from her being introduced for the rest of her life as “Olympic gold medalist Lolo Jones”, she hit the hurdle and stumbled her way to seventh place.
Jones crumbled to the track and just cried. She’s 27, and track is not exactly a sport that is forgiving on an athlete as they age. She may not even qualify for the next Olympics, and if she does, she likely won’t be the favorite she was this time around. This was, essentially, her whole career in one race. And it went up in smoke. And she knew it.
Bolt is great. He’s a lot of fun. I’ll remember him when I think back as one of the all-time great Olympians. But, to be honest, I’ll treasure Lolo Jones more. Sometimes failure is just as noble as victory. I will never run as fast as Usain bolt, but I can relate to Lolo Jones. She came so close to her dream, only to have it snatched away. And for that, she is my favorite Olympian in these Games.
And the reason I love the Olympics can be explained by two people: Usain Bolt and Lolo Jones.
Bolt became the first guy to break the 100 and 200 meter world records in the same Olympics. Take that, Michael Phelps. And his 100 meter run was nothing short of spectacular. Not only did he pull up in the last 20 meters, he ran with one shoe untied, and his prerace meal was Chicken McNuggets.*
*Editor’s note: Not made up. I’m dead serious. He ate McDonald’s before the biggest race of his life. How can you not love this guy?
But the greatness of Bolt’s achievements don’t resonate with me like the failure of Lolo Jones. Jones is the greatest hurdler in the world. She dominates the race and she’s the World Champion. And this was her chance to win a gold medal. And, just two hurdles away from her being introduced for the rest of her life as “Olympic gold medalist Lolo Jones”, she hit the hurdle and stumbled her way to seventh place.
Jones crumbled to the track and just cried. She’s 27, and track is not exactly a sport that is forgiving on an athlete as they age. She may not even qualify for the next Olympics, and if she does, she likely won’t be the favorite she was this time around. This was, essentially, her whole career in one race. And it went up in smoke. And she knew it.
Bolt is great. He’s a lot of fun. I’ll remember him when I think back as one of the all-time great Olympians. But, to be honest, I’ll treasure Lolo Jones more. Sometimes failure is just as noble as victory. I will never run as fast as Usain bolt, but I can relate to Lolo Jones. She came so close to her dream, only to have it snatched away. And for that, she is my favorite Olympian in these Games.
Monday, August 18, 2008
LSU Football and Memories
Cross posted on And The Valley Shook!, an LSU blog on which I am a contributor
I have an LSU class ring which I don’t ever wear. I’m not much one for jewelry, but I always put it on for my birthday, which is in a few hours. It used to my dad’s class ring, and he gave it to me for my birthday back when I was a student at LSU. The ring even came with a convenient story, as the ring was sold to my dad my none other than NFL Hall of Famer, LSU great, and well, the greatest fullback of all time, Jim Taylor.
Apparently, my dad and Taylor were casual friends since they played all sorts of sports against one another in high school. According to my mom, Taylor also had a college job selling class rings, and he sold my dad his. So I always called it my Jim Taylor ring.
It’s easy to get caught up in the big business of college football and get lost in it. The coaches are mercenary. The players are only in it for themselves. The boosters are corrupt. Recruiting is sort of creepy. Television has ruined everything. Pick your complaint.
But it’s also a game that passed on through family bonds. I grew up in Maryland, which meant I didn’t grow up going to games in Death Valley. In fact, college football barely made a dent in the sports landscape when I was a kid. But my parents were LSU fans, and they would go to almost any length to catch a game. We didn’t have a cable, so we were always going over to some neighbor who had ESPN so we could catch the occasional Saturday night game. But back then, most games weren’t on TV. So my dad would fiddle with the dials on the old Panasonic radio, trying to catch the broadcast on an AM band that managed to crackle through from Louisiana. Sometimes this meant crawling on to the roof to listen to a game. We’d huddle around the tiny radio on a cold November night, trying to catch the action through waves of static.
I still have the radio. I don’t ever use it, as every LSU game is now on TV on one of the million cable channels out there. There’s no need for me to crawl onto my roof to try and catch a clear channel signal. Hell, I don’t even know if clear channels exist anymore. But I can’t bring myself to throw it out.
I remember those games and the sound of my dad’s voice cheering on the Tigers. I remember him teaching me to sing “Hey! Fightin’ Tigers!” I remember him teaching me about all of those past greats. I remember him describing Pregame, though I wouldn’t ever see it until I finally came to LSU as a student myself. By then, the torch of fanaticism had passed. I remember it all like it was yesterday.
Ten years ago, LSU hadn’t won a national title since 1958. They hadn’t won an SEC title since 1986. And of the last ten years, seven of them had been losing seasons. It was the nadir of LSU football. The next ten years, of course, have been maybe the ten most successful years in the program’s history. My dad would have enjoyed that. But he missed out on it because he died ten years ago. We buried him on my birthday. Of all things he missed out on, I doubt LSU football ranks really high. Then again, some of my fondest memories involving him also involve the Tigers. If I close my eyes, I’m still on that roof, listening to that radio, clutching that hot cocoa for its warmth. Listening to the game. Listening to those cheers.
Since it’s my birthday, I’m wearing my class ring. But it’s not a Jim Taylor ring. It’s an Oran R. Baker ring.
I have an LSU class ring which I don’t ever wear. I’m not much one for jewelry, but I always put it on for my birthday, which is in a few hours. It used to my dad’s class ring, and he gave it to me for my birthday back when I was a student at LSU. The ring even came with a convenient story, as the ring was sold to my dad my none other than NFL Hall of Famer, LSU great, and well, the greatest fullback of all time, Jim Taylor.
Apparently, my dad and Taylor were casual friends since they played all sorts of sports against one another in high school. According to my mom, Taylor also had a college job selling class rings, and he sold my dad his. So I always called it my Jim Taylor ring.
It’s easy to get caught up in the big business of college football and get lost in it. The coaches are mercenary. The players are only in it for themselves. The boosters are corrupt. Recruiting is sort of creepy. Television has ruined everything. Pick your complaint.
But it’s also a game that passed on through family bonds. I grew up in Maryland, which meant I didn’t grow up going to games in Death Valley. In fact, college football barely made a dent in the sports landscape when I was a kid. But my parents were LSU fans, and they would go to almost any length to catch a game. We didn’t have a cable, so we were always going over to some neighbor who had ESPN so we could catch the occasional Saturday night game. But back then, most games weren’t on TV. So my dad would fiddle with the dials on the old Panasonic radio, trying to catch the broadcast on an AM band that managed to crackle through from Louisiana. Sometimes this meant crawling on to the roof to listen to a game. We’d huddle around the tiny radio on a cold November night, trying to catch the action through waves of static.
I still have the radio. I don’t ever use it, as every LSU game is now on TV on one of the million cable channels out there. There’s no need for me to crawl onto my roof to try and catch a clear channel signal. Hell, I don’t even know if clear channels exist anymore. But I can’t bring myself to throw it out.
I remember those games and the sound of my dad’s voice cheering on the Tigers. I remember him teaching me to sing “Hey! Fightin’ Tigers!” I remember him teaching me about all of those past greats. I remember him describing Pregame, though I wouldn’t ever see it until I finally came to LSU as a student myself. By then, the torch of fanaticism had passed. I remember it all like it was yesterday.
Ten years ago, LSU hadn’t won a national title since 1958. They hadn’t won an SEC title since 1986. And of the last ten years, seven of them had been losing seasons. It was the nadir of LSU football. The next ten years, of course, have been maybe the ten most successful years in the program’s history. My dad would have enjoyed that. But he missed out on it because he died ten years ago. We buried him on my birthday. Of all things he missed out on, I doubt LSU football ranks really high. Then again, some of my fondest memories involving him also involve the Tigers. If I close my eyes, I’m still on that roof, listening to that radio, clutching that hot cocoa for its warmth. Listening to the game. Listening to those cheers.
Since it’s my birthday, I’m wearing my class ring. But it’s not a Jim Taylor ring. It’s an Oran R. Baker ring.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Olympic Objectivity
Michael Phelps won 8 gold medals as NBC set an Olympic record for Most times Camera Cut to An Athlete’s Mom. We get it. Mom’s proud of her son, the Olympic champion. In other news, the water in the pool is wet.
OK, I have legitimately enjoyed Phelps’ dominance, and him staking a claim for Greatest Olympian Ever*. But that has not been the reason to watch the Olympics. No, the real reason has been to catch a glimpse of the barely intelligible rantings of Bela Karolyi.
*The Unofficial Rankings:
1. Carl Lewis – gold medals in four consecutive Olympics
2. Jesse Owens – made Hitler look dumber than usual
3. Bjorn Daehlie – cross country skier with 8 golds, 12 total medals, and his name is Bjorn.
4. Ray Ewry – 10 events, 10 golds. Suck on that. And his Olympic record for standing broad jump still stands, maybe because the event was discontinued in 1930.
5. Larissa Latynina – 18 medals, 9 of them gold. The Soviets could do some gymnastics
Anyway, some people have criticized Bela for, how shall we put this, openly rooting for the US team. It’s not so much commentary as some crazy guy cheering. He’s like an out of control Little League parent, only on the Olympic level.
What’s great about this is that it exposes the central lie in all sports broadcasting and most news broadcasting: the myth of objectivity. OF COURSE the NBC announcers are rooting for the Americans. We’re American and our rooting interest is in our fellow countrymen. Why else would they show us the US men’s solo all-around in gymnastics when they never even cracked the top 10? Any semblance of objectivity would have cut the Americans so fast it would make your head spin. But NBC stuck with them, not because they are evil or bad, but because, get this, Americans like watching Americans.
OK, I did watch the Italy-Netherlands water polo match this morning, but I’m a freak. Most people don’t care.
It’s the same with local sports. That old adage “There’s no cheering in the press box” is simply ridiculous. The only reason the Dallas Morning News reporter is in the box is to cover the Cowboys. And get this, he’s a fan of the Cowboys and wants them to do well. Why pretend that he’s not? It’s silly. And it means it’s all based on a lie. If a guy can’t even be honest enough to say he’s a Cowboys fan, why should I trust him at all?
News reporting is the same thing. We know the reporters have their own opinion. We know some of them prefer one candidate over another. And for a reporter to come out and claim they are 100% objective is insulting to all of our intelligence. Of course they have bias. Everyone has bias. But the way to deal with this bias is not to pretend it doesn’t exist, but to admit it and confront it.
There’s a reason FOX News is popular. It’s because they are so ridiculously biased and so refreshingly honest about it, that it seems much more honest. I think they take the model too far and allow themselves to simply mouth talking points, but nobody’s perfect. Being honest about your bias doesn’t mean you also have to give up critical thinking.
The news media wonders why we don’t trust them. It’s hard to trust someone whose entire business model is based on a lie. And not even a good one.
So you go, Bela. Root your ass off. Who would have thought it? You’re the most honest guy on TV.
OK, I have legitimately enjoyed Phelps’ dominance, and him staking a claim for Greatest Olympian Ever*. But that has not been the reason to watch the Olympics. No, the real reason has been to catch a glimpse of the barely intelligible rantings of Bela Karolyi.
*The Unofficial Rankings:
1. Carl Lewis – gold medals in four consecutive Olympics
2. Jesse Owens – made Hitler look dumber than usual
3. Bjorn Daehlie – cross country skier with 8 golds, 12 total medals, and his name is Bjorn.
4. Ray Ewry – 10 events, 10 golds. Suck on that. And his Olympic record for standing broad jump still stands, maybe because the event was discontinued in 1930.
5. Larissa Latynina – 18 medals, 9 of them gold. The Soviets could do some gymnastics
Anyway, some people have criticized Bela for, how shall we put this, openly rooting for the US team. It’s not so much commentary as some crazy guy cheering. He’s like an out of control Little League parent, only on the Olympic level.
What’s great about this is that it exposes the central lie in all sports broadcasting and most news broadcasting: the myth of objectivity. OF COURSE the NBC announcers are rooting for the Americans. We’re American and our rooting interest is in our fellow countrymen. Why else would they show us the US men’s solo all-around in gymnastics when they never even cracked the top 10? Any semblance of objectivity would have cut the Americans so fast it would make your head spin. But NBC stuck with them, not because they are evil or bad, but because, get this, Americans like watching Americans.
OK, I did watch the Italy-Netherlands water polo match this morning, but I’m a freak. Most people don’t care.
It’s the same with local sports. That old adage “There’s no cheering in the press box” is simply ridiculous. The only reason the Dallas Morning News reporter is in the box is to cover the Cowboys. And get this, he’s a fan of the Cowboys and wants them to do well. Why pretend that he’s not? It’s silly. And it means it’s all based on a lie. If a guy can’t even be honest enough to say he’s a Cowboys fan, why should I trust him at all?
News reporting is the same thing. We know the reporters have their own opinion. We know some of them prefer one candidate over another. And for a reporter to come out and claim they are 100% objective is insulting to all of our intelligence. Of course they have bias. Everyone has bias. But the way to deal with this bias is not to pretend it doesn’t exist, but to admit it and confront it.
There’s a reason FOX News is popular. It’s because they are so ridiculously biased and so refreshingly honest about it, that it seems much more honest. I think they take the model too far and allow themselves to simply mouth talking points, but nobody’s perfect. Being honest about your bias doesn’t mean you also have to give up critical thinking.
The news media wonders why we don’t trust them. It’s hard to trust someone whose entire business model is based on a lie. And not even a good one.
So you go, Bela. Root your ass off. Who would have thought it? You’re the most honest guy on TV.
Friday, August 15, 2008
A Slight Return
Apparently, I have a fanbase. Not much of one, but enough people have been checking this space and getting irritate by the sheer lack of updates. Because no one can bring the funny like law school funny.
So, after an extended vacation in which I droned on for a long time about the Tour de France on another blog And LSU for yet another blog (that’s right, my dork powers are slowly spreading across the interwebs, eventually I’ll be showing up doing guest columns on music blogs on why your favorite band sucks), I am back. I’m doing some housecleaning around here, cleaning out cobwebs, and I’m certainly disinfecting some of blogger which has gone unused for awhile. The mold in here is sort of scary.
Which begs the question: why no updates? Does Poseur think he’s too good for you? Has he been too busy? Has he found other interests? And why is he referring to himself in third person? Doesn’t he realize he sounds like a pompous ass at best and an absolute moron at worst when he does that?*
*The answers: I’ve been trying to adjust to working life. No. Yes. No, unless tennis counts. Because it’s Poseur’s blog and Poseur makes his own rules. Absolutely.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to watch an obscene amount of Olympic coverage. Did you know you could watch team handball online? And that the brackets for table tennis are absolutely incomprehensible? Or that judo’s scoring system is almost impossible to explain? Yeah. Me neither. Of course I wouldn’t watch obscure sports on the internet. What kind of no-life loser do you think I am?
Oh. Right. Nevermind then. Ooo! Fencing! Gotta go.
So, after an extended vacation in which I droned on for a long time about the Tour de France on another blog And LSU for yet another blog (that’s right, my dork powers are slowly spreading across the interwebs, eventually I’ll be showing up doing guest columns on music blogs on why your favorite band sucks), I am back. I’m doing some housecleaning around here, cleaning out cobwebs, and I’m certainly disinfecting some of blogger which has gone unused for awhile. The mold in here is sort of scary.
Which begs the question: why no updates? Does Poseur think he’s too good for you? Has he been too busy? Has he found other interests? And why is he referring to himself in third person? Doesn’t he realize he sounds like a pompous ass at best and an absolute moron at worst when he does that?*
*The answers: I’ve been trying to adjust to working life. No. Yes. No, unless tennis counts. Because it’s Poseur’s blog and Poseur makes his own rules. Absolutely.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to watch an obscene amount of Olympic coverage. Did you know you could watch team handball online? And that the brackets for table tennis are absolutely incomprehensible? Or that judo’s scoring system is almost impossible to explain? Yeah. Me neither. Of course I wouldn’t watch obscure sports on the internet. What kind of no-life loser do you think I am?
Oh. Right. Nevermind then. Ooo! Fencing! Gotta go.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Goonies Are Good Enough
I've had The Goonies DVD sitting on top of my TV for about a month and I've never found the time to watch it. So last night, while trying to unwind from a particuarly stressful day at work (in which no one threatened to gut me like a fish - in fact, everyone was quite nice), I popped it in.
Then I watched it again with the Commentary Track on. While Sean Astin looks a lot different and I can't believe Corey Feldman was ever that young... Josh Brolin looks exactly the same. Does he sleep in some sort of oxygen tent? Does he hang out with Dick Clark? Because he looks exactly like he did twenty years ago, only now with facial hair.
The movie? Still awesome.
Then I watched it again with the Commentary Track on. While Sean Astin looks a lot different and I can't believe Corey Feldman was ever that young... Josh Brolin looks exactly the same. Does he sleep in some sort of oxygen tent? Does he hang out with Dick Clark? Because he looks exactly like he did twenty years ago, only now with facial hair.
The movie? Still awesome.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Carlin Dead at 71.
I’ve been busy with this whole work thing so I’ve been unable to really keep y’all up to your eyebrows in goofing-off-at-work content. For this, I am sorry. But I’d rather not get fired since I sort of like my job. Actually, I really like my job. And I especially like getting paid and my nice Uptown apartment. So drafting that will comes before drafting a blog post.
Though I do appreciate when y’all ask if I’m dead or not. While I am not dead, George Carlin is.
I take my stand-up comedy very seriously, and George Carlin is one of the undeniable greats. He had an impeccable understanding of language and fought his entire life against euphemisms, as they are an assault on truth and honesty. His bit on how the term “shell-shock” became “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder” isn’t one of his most famous, but it is one of my favorites. He hated how we stripped the words of all of their meaning to make ourselves more comfortable. PTSD sounds like another BS disorder a shrink has invented to justify their rates. Shell shock sounds exactly like what it is.
His greatness didn’t just lie in funny observations, but he attached meaning to those observations. David Cross has a comment in which he dismissed most comedians as “funny in a who gives a shit kind of way.” Carlin’s comedy meant something. He used it to barely mask his outrage at the way those in power brazenly lie to us through the manipulation of language. It was a losing battle, but most fights worth having are.
Though I do appreciate when y’all ask if I’m dead or not. While I am not dead, George Carlin is.
I take my stand-up comedy very seriously, and George Carlin is one of the undeniable greats. He had an impeccable understanding of language and fought his entire life against euphemisms, as they are an assault on truth and honesty. His bit on how the term “shell-shock” became “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder” isn’t one of his most famous, but it is one of my favorites. He hated how we stripped the words of all of their meaning to make ourselves more comfortable. PTSD sounds like another BS disorder a shrink has invented to justify their rates. Shell shock sounds exactly like what it is.
His greatness didn’t just lie in funny observations, but he attached meaning to those observations. David Cross has a comment in which he dismissed most comedians as “funny in a who gives a shit kind of way.” Carlin’s comedy meant something. He used it to barely mask his outrage at the way those in power brazenly lie to us through the manipulation of language. It was a losing battle, but most fights worth having are.
Monday, June 16, 2008
First Time In Court
I'm scheduled for my first hearing this Friday. It's not on my case, it is on Lindsay's case. So, she has offered me some words of encouragement along the lines of "If you screw this up, I will gut you like a fish."
I'm feeling pretty good about this. What could go wrong?
I'm feeling pretty good about this. What could go wrong?
Friday, June 13, 2008
Hey Hon
Jim turned to me today and told me that we've been friends for 21 years. So our friendship is now legally allowed to drink.
I'm in Maryland for his wedding right now, which means I've eaten about three crabcakes in a 48 hour period. Got to get while the getting is good. We went to downtown Baltimore today and some of the same stuff is there, and in other ways it's a completely different city. You can't go home again and all that.
I was driving through the valley between Howard and Baltimore County, and my radio (as always) went out because the stone blocks the radio signal. It's the same thing that happened every time I've driven through that valley over the past 15 years. And it felt, albeit briefly, just like home.
I'm in Maryland for his wedding right now, which means I've eaten about three crabcakes in a 48 hour period. Got to get while the getting is good. We went to downtown Baltimore today and some of the same stuff is there, and in other ways it's a completely different city. You can't go home again and all that.
I was driving through the valley between Howard and Baltimore County, and my radio (as always) went out because the stone blocks the radio signal. It's the same thing that happened every time I've driven through that valley over the past 15 years. And it felt, albeit briefly, just like home.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Soccer. Yeah, Soccer.
I love the Olympics. I really do. Who am I kidding? I love almost all sporting events. But here's what I don't love about the Olympics: all of that brotherhood crap. I hate soft focus profiles. I hate that it's supposed to be about something other than winning. Which to me, as a sports fan, is kind of insulting. What makes the Olympics great is the best athletes in the world competing on the biggest stage. It's about winning.
During the Olympics, my favorite events tend to be the "smaller" events. Becuase the networks just throw, say, team handball on at 1:20 AM with an announcing duo consisting of some novice too nervous to blow this gig to have some annoying schtick and one former player or coach to explain the game. And it's great. Because for that one and half hours or whatever, there's nothing bigger than the team handball game between Ukraine and Austria. It's great.
Which brings me to my love of international soccer. Sure, there's a little bit of that sportsmanship and bringing the world together crap for the advertisers, but mainly it's just about the game. Even better, some of the teams (countries) absolutely hate each other. Seriously, ask an Englishman sometime about their nation's proud soccer history against Spain.
Don't forget to duck. And then bring up Argentina.
Or enjoy the Swiss and the Turks getting into a fight after their game today. that's right, Euro 2008 has managed to get the SWISS riled up.
So I've been watching lots of Euro 2008. And it is a lot of fun. If nothing else, it's great to watch teams struggle against their own identity to lose in almost the same way every time.
Then again, every so often, a team like Greece wins the thing. And no one sees it coming. Or the Netherlands comes in and beats the ever-livin' snot out of Italy. And you start to believe maybe this is the time they finally will put it all together.
Or maybe it's just Lucy setting up the football for Charlie Brown one more time.
During the Olympics, my favorite events tend to be the "smaller" events. Becuase the networks just throw, say, team handball on at 1:20 AM with an announcing duo consisting of some novice too nervous to blow this gig to have some annoying schtick and one former player or coach to explain the game. And it's great. Because for that one and half hours or whatever, there's nothing bigger than the team handball game between Ukraine and Austria. It's great.
Which brings me to my love of international soccer. Sure, there's a little bit of that sportsmanship and bringing the world together crap for the advertisers, but mainly it's just about the game. Even better, some of the teams (countries) absolutely hate each other. Seriously, ask an Englishman sometime about their nation's proud soccer history against Spain.
Don't forget to duck. And then bring up Argentina.
Or enjoy the Swiss and the Turks getting into a fight after their game today. that's right, Euro 2008 has managed to get the SWISS riled up.
So I've been watching lots of Euro 2008. And it is a lot of fun. If nothing else, it's great to watch teams struggle against their own identity to lose in almost the same way every time.
Then again, every so often, a team like Greece wins the thing. And no one sees it coming. Or the Netherlands comes in and beats the ever-livin' snot out of Italy. And you start to believe maybe this is the time they finally will put it all together.
Or maybe it's just Lucy setting up the football for Charlie Brown one more time.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Back To the Blog
I'm not dead. So if you had me in your death pool, I'm sorrry that it didn't pay off for you. But I'm not promising I won't drop dead over the next week or so. In the time I've been off, I've been working at our new LSU blog on SB Nation, which is an actual site with advertisers and everything. That's right, I am a national syndicated dork.
I promised stories from Wichita, but now it's been so long it feels like my trip didn't even happen. It's like I watched a movie of us going to Kansas. but a promise is a promise, and here is a quick list of things I learned in Kansas.
- Wichita State is home of the Shockers. It never stops being funny. Trust us, because we drove that joke into the ground.
- When you have a chance to drink beer at a place called Emerson Bigguns, you should do so. I had a Guiness the size of my head. and let's be honest, my head is abnormally large.
- Apparently, doubling down on an 11 is NOT sound blackjack strategy. Because I lost on that. A lot. So much that i really thought about killing our dealer.
- We cut Dustin off. Not from alcohol, but from Red Bull.
- Really, it was a beautiful wedding. Idyllic setting, and even the chorus of bullfrogs made it more memorable. OK, we arrived right as the procession was beginning, so if anyone marred it, it was us. But it wasn't our fault there was a hole in the road. Swear to God, a hole in the road.
- Oklahoma is a truly empty and boring state. However, it does have casinos and really cheap prices at their liquor stores. So its not all bad.
- Wichita quickly grows on you. It is now one of my favorite small cities. It's like stepping into a timewarp. It's the kind of place where you canget into a good natured argument over whether Superman is a Kansan considering he is both an alien and, well, fictional.
I promised stories from Wichita, but now it's been so long it feels like my trip didn't even happen. It's like I watched a movie of us going to Kansas. but a promise is a promise, and here is a quick list of things I learned in Kansas.
- Wichita State is home of the Shockers. It never stops being funny. Trust us, because we drove that joke into the ground.
- When you have a chance to drink beer at a place called Emerson Bigguns, you should do so. I had a Guiness the size of my head. and let's be honest, my head is abnormally large.
- Apparently, doubling down on an 11 is NOT sound blackjack strategy. Because I lost on that. A lot. So much that i really thought about killing our dealer.
- We cut Dustin off. Not from alcohol, but from Red Bull.
- Really, it was a beautiful wedding. Idyllic setting, and even the chorus of bullfrogs made it more memorable. OK, we arrived right as the procession was beginning, so if anyone marred it, it was us. But it wasn't our fault there was a hole in the road. Swear to God, a hole in the road.
- Oklahoma is a truly empty and boring state. However, it does have casinos and really cheap prices at their liquor stores. So its not all bad.
- Wichita quickly grows on you. It is now one of my favorite small cities. It's like stepping into a timewarp. It's the kind of place where you canget into a good natured argument over whether Superman is a Kansan considering he is both an alien and, well, fictional.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Gone Fishin'
OK, the blog is on vacation for the next few days. Not that I am, but I’ll be out of contact with my beloved computer. I swear, when I get back, I’ll have tales of a trip to Wichita, which was more fun than Kansas had any right to be. I drank a beer from a mug the size of my head. OK, two.. three. Dammit. Four. You got me, okay?
Who knows how my CLE will go. Hopefully, I’ll learn something cool.
Who knows how my CLE will go. Hopefully, I’ll learn something cool.
Friday, May 23, 2008
List of Eight: Kansas
I’m going to Kansas this weekend because what better way to celebrate Memorial Day than going to a state that makes you want to kill yourself? Kansas is one of those big rectangle states in the middle of the country we Easterners refer to as “flyover country”. It’s not that I don’t like Middle America, it’s that I really don’t know anything about it. In fact, here is a complete list of things I know about Kansas:
1. The whole Bleeding Kansas thing before the Civil War. It had something to do with slave states and free states, and John Brown getting his biblical rage on.
2. Bill James is from there. So is Rob Neyer. So, really, the two leading baseball stat dorks are from Kansas. Maybe there’s something to that. Sifting through the play by play logs of the May 14, 1897 Louisville Colonels – Cleveland Spiders tilt doesn’t seem so boring when your other option is hanging out in, well, Kansas.
3. Kansas State University is located in Manhattan, Kansas. It’s called the Little Apple. I do think that’s cool.
4. Kansas City is in Missouri. Even a city named after the state wants nothing to do with it.
5. I’ve never met anyone who hates KU’s basketball team more than our former Editor of Law Review. Now, I have some bad feeling towards them for the whole Lester Earl debacle (complex LSU recruiting scandal and you don’t care so I’ll spare you the details), but that was mainly Roy Williams and he’s now in UNC. And besides, now KU fans hate Roy Williams, too.
6. Operation Ivy recorded a live album in Kansas, one of the most bizarre choices for a ska-punk band. I think eight people were in the crowd.
7. In Cold Blood. Good book.
8. The mascot for Wichita State is the Shockers. Which is pretty funny, if your mind is in the gutter. They also had the decency to lose to LSU in the College World Series championship game on two separate occasions. So, thanks.
1. The whole Bleeding Kansas thing before the Civil War. It had something to do with slave states and free states, and John Brown getting his biblical rage on.
2. Bill James is from there. So is Rob Neyer. So, really, the two leading baseball stat dorks are from Kansas. Maybe there’s something to that. Sifting through the play by play logs of the May 14, 1897 Louisville Colonels – Cleveland Spiders tilt doesn’t seem so boring when your other option is hanging out in, well, Kansas.
3. Kansas State University is located in Manhattan, Kansas. It’s called the Little Apple. I do think that’s cool.
4. Kansas City is in Missouri. Even a city named after the state wants nothing to do with it.
5. I’ve never met anyone who hates KU’s basketball team more than our former Editor of Law Review. Now, I have some bad feeling towards them for the whole Lester Earl debacle (complex LSU recruiting scandal and you don’t care so I’ll spare you the details), but that was mainly Roy Williams and he’s now in UNC. And besides, now KU fans hate Roy Williams, too.
6. Operation Ivy recorded a live album in Kansas, one of the most bizarre choices for a ska-punk band. I think eight people were in the crowd.
7. In Cold Blood. Good book.
8. The mascot for Wichita State is the Shockers. Which is pretty funny, if your mind is in the gutter. They also had the decency to lose to LSU in the College World Series championship game on two separate occasions. So, thanks.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Used To Could
Our office got new phone systems today. They are the sort of phones that will wake you up and cook you breakfast if you punch in the right code. I mean, they are pretty darn impressive. So they called us into a one hour meeting to explain to us how to use a phone. I think I have the basics down.
In the middle of a meeting explaining to us the wonders of picking up a phone and calling someone, the sales rep used the phrase “Well, you used to could.” She stopped herself, and then proceeded to use the “Used to Could” phrase again. Now, I’m no snob*, but am I wrong for immediately tuning out of the meeting as soon as this phrase was uttered?
ED NOTE – This is blatant lie.
In the middle of a meeting explaining to us the wonders of picking up a phone and calling someone, the sales rep used the phrase “Well, you used to could.” She stopped herself, and then proceeded to use the “Used to Could” phrase again. Now, I’m no snob*, but am I wrong for immediately tuning out of the meeting as soon as this phrase was uttered?
ED NOTE – This is blatant lie.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
The Worst Song Ever. Really.
A bunch of scientists surveyed music fans to try and find what elements they liked in songs. Using the results of the survey, they recorded "The Most Wanted Song". To call it awful is to be too charitable. It's so bad that it makes you want to drive a Q-Tip through your eardrum. Though when the Tom Waits sounding guy shows up to sing a verse, the song moves from atrocious to merely bad. It is of course one of the funniest things you will ever hear.
Using the same survey results, the scientists had previously recorded "The Most Unwanted Song". While I'm not gonna run out to buy the CD, the song ain't half bad. It's not half good either. It's just so freakishly bizarre that I can't help listen to it. Who doesn't love opera rap?
Using the same survey results, the scientists had previously recorded "The Most Unwanted Song". While I'm not gonna run out to buy the CD, the song ain't half bad. It's not half good either. It's just so freakishly bizarre that I can't help listen to it. Who doesn't love opera rap?
Monday, May 19, 2008
Weddings and Horse Racing
I spent the weekend at Erin and Wink’s wedding in beautiful Horseshoe Bay. I’ll spare you the particulars but it really was an impossibly beautiful wedding. There were times I felt like I crashed a movie set of a wedding scene. It was that perfect. When talking to the groom, after the usual congratulations and such, the talk turned to sports because, well, we’re guys and that’s all we’re capable of talking about intelligently (except other select topics like action movies and beer).
Anyway, it was Preakness Saturday, a big day for Marylanders such as myself not because we love horse racing (which I kind of do), but because it’s a day we all have fine memories of. Memories so fine I cannot discuss them in a public forum until the statute of limitations expires. It’s a day which usually centers on gambling and drinking, two skill sets I possess.
So Wink and I talked a little about the ponies and it dawned on both of us that Big Brown, the winner of the first two legs of the Triple Crown, might have the best life of any professional athlete on the planet. I would trade places with that horse in a second.
Essentially, he’s a teenager. He’s got a good portion of his life ahead of him, and let’s face it, if he wins Belmont and becomes the first Triple Crown winner since 1978, he’s probably never going to race competitively again. OK, maybe he’ll show up for the Breeder’s Cup, but this is pretty much it. That will mean, his pro career will be only six or seven races. That’s it. Big Brown will have put in seven days work in his life, and still a teenager, retire to his next life of getting busy with the mares.
Big Brown’s stud fee is already millions upon millions of dollars. He’s far more valuable as a stud than as a racehorse, especially if he wins Belmont, so only a moron would ever run him again and risk the millions of dollars he would lose if he got injured. So Big Brown is about to become a gigolo. There are NBA players who would kill for Big Brown’s lot in life. Some of them (I’m looking at you Shawn Kemp), did it for no additional fee.
My stud fee is somewhere around $20. The lesson here is that I’m nowhere near as valuable as a horse. But we already knew that.
Anyway, it was Preakness Saturday, a big day for Marylanders such as myself not because we love horse racing (which I kind of do), but because it’s a day we all have fine memories of. Memories so fine I cannot discuss them in a public forum until the statute of limitations expires. It’s a day which usually centers on gambling and drinking, two skill sets I possess.
So Wink and I talked a little about the ponies and it dawned on both of us that Big Brown, the winner of the first two legs of the Triple Crown, might have the best life of any professional athlete on the planet. I would trade places with that horse in a second.
Essentially, he’s a teenager. He’s got a good portion of his life ahead of him, and let’s face it, if he wins Belmont and becomes the first Triple Crown winner since 1978, he’s probably never going to race competitively again. OK, maybe he’ll show up for the Breeder’s Cup, but this is pretty much it. That will mean, his pro career will be only six or seven races. That’s it. Big Brown will have put in seven days work in his life, and still a teenager, retire to his next life of getting busy with the mares.
Big Brown’s stud fee is already millions upon millions of dollars. He’s far more valuable as a stud than as a racehorse, especially if he wins Belmont, so only a moron would ever run him again and risk the millions of dollars he would lose if he got injured. So Big Brown is about to become a gigolo. There are NBA players who would kill for Big Brown’s lot in life. Some of them (I’m looking at you Shawn Kemp), did it for no additional fee.
My stud fee is somewhere around $20. The lesson here is that I’m nowhere near as valuable as a horse. But we already knew that.
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