My dad has this vintage tandem bike in his garage that he's looking to sell.
(this is not the bike, but the same model...thanks youtube!)
Pretty sweet, huh? I'm attempting to help him sell it (he lives off the grid) was looking at it over the weekend. While it needs some cleaning and mild adjustments, it seems to still be in pretty good shape. It's a "vintage" bike, circa late 60's-early 70's and yes, I rode this as a youngster.
Point in fact, we grew up riding this bike all over town. What they don't tell you is that nobody really rides a tandem. I mean, most folks might try it once or twice, say on a vacation or on a dare...but as a usual mode of transport? You don't ride a tandem to work...or to work out for that matter.
It does get a lot of attention. It was like riding one of those turn-of-the-century bikes with the giant wheel. Everyone looked at you like the circus was in town when you rode by. They really do have an yesteryear feel to them.
One of my all-time favorite movies is The Quiet Man. There is a scene where John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara jump on a tandem bike and escape the watchful eye of their chaperone. It seemed romantic and daring and probably kept me on that bike longer than had I not wished on my 9th birthday to be transported into that film for a day (something akin to Brigadoon.)
As I was pretty young at the time, I got stuck riding in back which had it's good points - not pedaling if my sibling cheesed me off - and it's bad points - no steering ability equaled no control - which led to being cheesed off, which led to no pedaling. It was quite the vicious circle.
Ours hasn't been ridden in ages and really, it's a bit sad when a bike doesn't get ridden. It's like when you look at an abandoned swingset in someone's backyard. It has all this potential to give someone a bit of joy, but it just sits, untouched and motionless.
So, it's for sale.
In that vein, I've been going online to suss out a fair asking price for a vintage tandem. I've checked out a vintage bike forum (they are more about trading than selling) and I finally had an excuse to go on Craig's List . Honest. I've never tooled around on it before.
Not too much there regarding vintage bike enthusiaists, but I fell prey to the siren's call of odd and weird postings...the ones that I've always heard of, but had never witnessed.
Looking for a Cooking Buddy (Chicago, IL)
My partner is an excellent cook but he doesn't have the patience to teach me and I'm not allowed in his kitchen. I really want to learn how to cook and it would be great if I can meet someone once a week and have cooking sessions, nice chats, and start a friendship. Someone who also enjoys a good mystery, foreign movies, short walks, nice wines, and needlework.
What does foreign film and needlework have to do with learning how to cook? Why do I suspect that Craig's List has become the Men's Rest Stop Bathroom for the "aughts"?
Oy. Fuck it.
Anybody want to buy a bike?
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
open bar
Who likes KARAOKE? (hand raised)
Who likes COCKTAILS? (BOTH HANDS RAISED!!)
WNEP is hosting a night of song and suds this Wednesday, August 27th at The Spot on Broadway. $15 gets you all the karaoke action you can handle without setting yourself on fire! And did we mention? Open bar from 8:30pm - 10:00pm!
Sure it's a school night. Yeah, you have that presentation the next morning...but this is your night to get your groove on, baby! Step out ofthat shower and show us what your mama gave you! Rock out to "Forever inBlue Jeans" the way Neil Diamond could only dream of kicking it!
Or sit back, relax and listen to the WNEPeeps croon out a lyric or two. Come on out and mingle with the folks of WNEP. A portion of your $15 cover charge goes into our coffers which goes towards our upcoming productions!
- Want to know what WNEP's working on next?
- Longing to ask about something that's stuck in your brain since you sawMetaluna and the Amazing Science of the Mind Revue?
This is your chance, brother!
The Spot on Broadway - 4437 N Broadway St
Wednesday, August 27th
$15 cover gets you OPEN BAR from 8:30pm - 10:00pm!
Hope to see you there!
Friday, August 15, 2008
auf wiedersehen
Two more nights of Metaluna...and then...she's a'history.
I'll miss her.
I'll miss her.
Friday, Aug 15 at 8pm
Saturday Aug 16 at 8pm - CLOSING NIGHT!
Metaluna and the Amazing Science of the Mind
A Red Orchid Theatre - 1531 N Wells St
Tickets: $15 (Thu); $20 (Fri/Sat)
Call 773.661.3195 for reservations or go to Brown Paper Tickets
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
fickle fortune
It's my birfdaye.
I was born on Wednesday, August 13th in the year of our lord 1969. For reals.
This ode has been stuck in my head for a few days now. There are many variations of "Monday's Child" - the fortune telling rhyme of old - but this is the version I grew up with.
Monday's child is fair of face.
Tuesday's child is full of grace.
Wednesday's child is full of woe.
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving.
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
While I currently am not full of woe, there are times when I am one with the woe. Until last year, I thought I was born on a Saturday (which also blows...who wants to be told as a child that they'll have to spend their life working hard? I call bullshit, Anon!)
Still, I love words that are considered "olde timey" and not used often in the general vernacular of today. Which means that while I think this poem should have it's ass kicked, I also secretly love that I am linked to "woe." Especially in this case, since I embrace the hyperbolic like Lenny loved his rabbit.
I am not sad. I am not depressed. I am full of woe.
Deal with it.
Okay. I just sat here and tried to think of a way of wittily squeezing the use of "calamity" in this post. It's one of my favorite words. Calamity. If I had to name a town or if I ever got a companion for Olive, I would name it/he/she, Calamity.
Wait. That's not true. If it was a town, I would name it Calamity. If it was another dog, I would name it Elia Frumpkin. If it was a blue goldfish, I would name it Calamity...or Monroe. And if it was a pygmy hedgehog, I would name it Pai Mei. Because, Pai Mei has much to teach and will kick your ass if provoked.
And if anyone ever gave me a pygmy hedgehog for my birfdaye?...well, after Olive killed it, I would send them a heartfelt, tear-stained thank you card with poloriods of the bloody remains.
Note to self: pen rap lyric that contains, "...like Lenny loved his rabbit."
I was born on Wednesday, August 13th in the year of our lord 1969. For reals.
This ode has been stuck in my head for a few days now. There are many variations of "Monday's Child" - the fortune telling rhyme of old - but this is the version I grew up with.
Monday's child is fair of face.
Tuesday's child is full of grace.
Wednesday's child is full of woe.
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving.
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
While I currently am not full of woe, there are times when I am one with the woe. Until last year, I thought I was born on a Saturday (which also blows...who wants to be told as a child that they'll have to spend their life working hard? I call bullshit, Anon!)
Still, I love words that are considered "olde timey" and not used often in the general vernacular of today. Which means that while I think this poem should have it's ass kicked, I also secretly love that I am linked to "woe." Especially in this case, since I embrace the hyperbolic like Lenny loved his rabbit.
I am not sad. I am not depressed. I am full of woe.
Deal with it.
Okay. I just sat here and tried to think of a way of wittily squeezing the use of "calamity" in this post. It's one of my favorite words. Calamity. If I had to name a town or if I ever got a companion for Olive, I would name it/he/she, Calamity.
Wait. That's not true. If it was a town, I would name it Calamity. If it was another dog, I would name it Elia Frumpkin. If it was a blue goldfish, I would name it Calamity...or Monroe. And if it was a pygmy hedgehog, I would name it Pai Mei. Because, Pai Mei has much to teach and will kick your ass if provoked.
And if anyone ever gave me a pygmy hedgehog for my birfdaye?...well, after Olive killed it, I would send them a heartfelt, tear-stained thank you card with poloriods of the bloody remains.
Note to self: pen rap lyric that contains, "...like Lenny loved his rabbit."
Monday, August 11, 2008
surprise
My family came to see Metaluna this weekend.
- My father, who's nearly blind in the one good eye he has left.
- His sister/my sweet (and only) aunt, who is a firm believer that foul language is never funny and that songs should not be written about your father's kidney cancer...no matter how healing (and humorous) it might be.
- Her two daughters/my cousins, who are more into Gray's Anatomy than August Osage County....in fact, I'm pretty sure they've never even heard of Tracy Letts, much less AOC.
I was fairly sure they would politely sit through it, tell me I was "wonderful" ...and then we'd silently agree to never speak of it again.
I was completely wrong. They really loved it. My aunt and cousins were the most reactive, engaged and vocal audience members of the evening. Metaluna is an enigma of a play. It's challenging and crazy and makes no sense for the majority of the show. And my role comes very late in the show, which I try to let folks know, so they can relax and enjoy the play without wondering when the hell I'm showing up.
They was very impressed by the entire cast and the commitment and intensity each actor brought to their role. The ladies were very excited to meet Joe (the playwright.) As fortune would favor me, they sat in the front row, directly across from where I am "placed" on stage. (I'm wheeled in on an antique wheelchair and there I sit for the remaining 25 minutes of the show.) Fortunately, since I really am blind without my glasses, it was easier than I thought to stay focused on the play, even though they were mere inches away from me.
One cousin, after seeing the show, was a bit annoyed with me, "Why is this the first time I've see you perform?!" To be honest, they never seemed that interested (both exist in that suburban sphere of kids, soccer, etc.) ...and I'm long past the point of trying to twist the arms of friends and family to see me onstage.*
The best part of the evening was when, as she handed me a bouquet of flowers, my cousin said, "We probably should have gotten you something different. These flowers aren't very dada." Dude. That made my night.
I'm embarrassed that I gave them so little credit.
Anyway, I'm glad I was wrong. Metaluna is a show that I'm immensely proud to be a part of and am extremely thankful that my family came out to share it with me.
I'm also thankful that afterwards, Joe drank two beers, which somehow led to this grand show-stopper:
Ah, yes. We theater folk are so incredibly elitist. If only folks knew how often backstage banter is comprised of who farted, things we read/watched on the news/youtube/itunes, how gross a spit valve is, who grabbed whose balls, glue guns, how much caffiene one consumed, old tv commercials and sandwiches.
Now dance, monkeys. Dance.
Three shows left. Holla back.
*Except you, Miro. You've got three chances left to see it.
- My father, who's nearly blind in the one good eye he has left.
- His sister/my sweet (and only) aunt, who is a firm believer that foul language is never funny and that songs should not be written about your father's kidney cancer...no matter how healing (and humorous) it might be.
- Her two daughters/my cousins, who are more into Gray's Anatomy than August Osage County....in fact, I'm pretty sure they've never even heard of Tracy Letts, much less AOC.
I was fairly sure they would politely sit through it, tell me I was "wonderful" ...and then we'd silently agree to never speak of it again.
I was completely wrong. They really loved it. My aunt and cousins were the most reactive, engaged and vocal audience members of the evening. Metaluna is an enigma of a play. It's challenging and crazy and makes no sense for the majority of the show. And my role comes very late in the show, which I try to let folks know, so they can relax and enjoy the play without wondering when the hell I'm showing up.
They was very impressed by the entire cast and the commitment and intensity each actor brought to their role. The ladies were very excited to meet Joe (the playwright.) As fortune would favor me, they sat in the front row, directly across from where I am "placed" on stage. (I'm wheeled in on an antique wheelchair and there I sit for the remaining 25 minutes of the show.) Fortunately, since I really am blind without my glasses, it was easier than I thought to stay focused on the play, even though they were mere inches away from me.
One cousin, after seeing the show, was a bit annoyed with me, "Why is this the first time I've see you perform?!" To be honest, they never seemed that interested (both exist in that suburban sphere of kids, soccer, etc.) ...and I'm long past the point of trying to twist the arms of friends and family to see me onstage.*
The best part of the evening was when, as she handed me a bouquet of flowers, my cousin said, "We probably should have gotten you something different. These flowers aren't very dada." Dude. That made my night.
I'm embarrassed that I gave them so little credit.
Anyway, I'm glad I was wrong. Metaluna is a show that I'm immensely proud to be a part of and am extremely thankful that my family came out to share it with me.
I'm also thankful that afterwards, Joe drank two beers, which somehow led to this grand show-stopper:
Ah, yes. We theater folk are so incredibly elitist. If only folks knew how often backstage banter is comprised of who farted, things we read/watched on the news/youtube/itunes, how gross a spit valve is, who grabbed whose balls, glue guns, how much caffiene one consumed, old tv commercials and sandwiches.
Now dance, monkeys. Dance.
Three shows left. Holla back.
*Except you, Miro. You've got three chances left to see it.
Friday, August 8, 2008
buzz
100 years war
I've been meaning to post about the Cubs sweep of Milwaukee last week...but I've been too high from the sheer joy of it. And the last two games against Houston? It's was like watching Lupus catch that fly ball! You just want to jump up and down with glee! 69-46! Such. Lovely. Numbers.
Here's the odd thing though. Normally, I would be sharing all the ups and downs of the season with my grandmother Wanda. I can hear telling me how good her boys were today...and how those lousy bums need to learn how to field already! Her voice is like a song that gets stuck in your head. It fades in and out, but it's constantly swimming around in there.
Wanda passed away just over 3 years ago and in her absence I've been calling my Pop (her son) to commiserate and celebrate accordingly. It's not the same. First off, my Pop is more a Bears fan than a Cubs fan. Sure, you can be both, but in this case, I think he'd end our season early, if it meant getting to football season faster.
Also, I don't know which my father is more frustrated with, my support of Obama (he's for McCain and still can't figure how he raised "such a freaking liberal")...or for my complete and utter optimism for the Cubs going all the way this season.
Instead of enjoying what a phenonmenal year it continues to be, he watches games and reports back to me with nothing but contempt and the assurity that they are going to blow it out their old wazoos....any day now. It's like he won't allow himself be hopeful on any level.
Just you watch. They'll blow it yet.
In a way, I think my Pop has taken a lot of hits in the past few years - his health, his ability to work and care for himself and in general, just being a bit lonely. Because of these things, he really doesn't want to have any more hopes dashed. I can't blame him, but I wish he could just allow himself to enjoy the moment.
More importantly, he's totally killing my buzz, yo.
Go Cubs! Kick some Cardinal ASS this weekend! For Wanda, kids. For Wanda.
There are only SIX peformances of Metaluna left! That's the thing about short runs...they are muthascratchin'...short! I'm going to enjoy every minute left of these folks...even with this stupid sinus cold that will not jump ship.
If you haven't seen it, you only have a few more chances:
Tonight! Friday, Aug 8 - 8:00pm
Saturday, Aug 9 - 8:00pm
Sunday, Aug 10 - 7:00pm
Thursday, Aug 14 - 8:00pm
Friday, Aug 15 - 8:00pm
Saturday, Aug 15 - 8:00pm - CLOSING NIGHT
I've been meaning to post about the Cubs sweep of Milwaukee last week...but I've been too high from the sheer joy of it. And the last two games against Houston? It's was like watching Lupus catch that fly ball! You just want to jump up and down with glee! 69-46! Such. Lovely. Numbers.
Here's the odd thing though. Normally, I would be sharing all the ups and downs of the season with my grandmother Wanda. I can hear telling me how good her boys were today...and how those lousy bums need to learn how to field already! Her voice is like a song that gets stuck in your head. It fades in and out, but it's constantly swimming around in there.
Wanda passed away just over 3 years ago and in her absence I've been calling my Pop (her son) to commiserate and celebrate accordingly. It's not the same. First off, my Pop is more a Bears fan than a Cubs fan. Sure, you can be both, but in this case, I think he'd end our season early, if it meant getting to football season faster.
Also, I don't know which my father is more frustrated with, my support of Obama (he's for McCain and still can't figure how he raised "such a freaking liberal")...or for my complete and utter optimism for the Cubs going all the way this season.
Instead of enjoying what a phenonmenal year it continues to be, he watches games and reports back to me with nothing but contempt and the assurity that they are going to blow it out their old wazoos....any day now. It's like he won't allow himself be hopeful on any level.
Just you watch. They'll blow it yet.
In a way, I think my Pop has taken a lot of hits in the past few years - his health, his ability to work and care for himself and in general, just being a bit lonely. Because of these things, he really doesn't want to have any more hopes dashed. I can't blame him, but I wish he could just allow himself to enjoy the moment.
More importantly, he's totally killing my buzz, yo.
Go Cubs! Kick some Cardinal ASS this weekend! For Wanda, kids. For Wanda.
There are only SIX peformances of Metaluna left! That's the thing about short runs...they are muthascratchin'...short! I'm going to enjoy every minute left of these folks...even with this stupid sinus cold that will not jump ship.
If you haven't seen it, you only have a few more chances:
Tonight! Friday, Aug 8 - 8:00pm
Saturday, Aug 9 - 8:00pm
Sunday, Aug 10 - 7:00pm
Thursday, Aug 14 - 8:00pm
Friday, Aug 15 - 8:00pm
Saturday, Aug 15 - 8:00pm - CLOSING NIGHT
I'm gonna miss these fools and foolishness.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
bah-orde
I'm having a hard time concentrating today. Still on those antihistamines...and to be honest, I need a break from a project I'm working on. A friend sent one of those emails where - instead of them telling you 20 thing about themselves, you had to fill in the blank and return it. Ah...time killers, how we adore thee!
Odd. I seem to be at a loss on my friend's eye color. Pah! And when did we meet/became friends? Seriously? Haven't you just always been there? In that corner? Sipping your cocktail?
The best question was the following: If you and I were stranded on a deserted island, what is one thing that I would bring?
The best response was from Sir Dennis who wrote back: [You would bring] the entire script of some god awful movie (....hmmm.....what would that movie be.......well I will let you bring it and surprise me) so we could turn it into a hip hop new broadway musical. I think you can take shit and turn it into gold!!! I want to be there to reap the harvest.
Well, I don't know about you, but I heard a gauntlet drop.
[execute difficulty level 3 hip hop stance]
Here is my Top 10 List (Letterman style) of Scripts to turn into the Hottest Hip Hop Musical to Ever Hit Broadway:
10. TREMORS
If Phantom can have that huge chandellier crashing into the stage, we can have giant worms lunging out of it (and performing as a breakdancing chorus line)
9. MEN AT WORK
The catch? We get a different B or C list celebrity to play the "dead politician" each week.
8. OUTRAGEOUS FORTUNE
But only if WE star in it. Me in Bette's role, Sir Dennis in Shelly Long's.
7. TO EACH HIS OWN
My fav Olivia De Haviland flick. Set in WWI, she throws down a one-night stand with an aviator (who I believe is later tragically killed), has his illigitimate baby for which she devises a scheme to "adopt" while still protecting her family's good name. Scheme backfires and she spends her entire life forced to watch another family in town raise him and later, send him off to WW II. I can hear the beatbox even now....
6. THE OUTSIDERS
The entire cast made up of trannies and cross dressers. With the exception of Ralph Macchio reprising his role as Johnny! "Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold."*
5. WEDDING BELL BLUES
This will be waaaaaay bigger than Mamma Mia. A rallying cry for all the 30/40-something women who remain single and/or get dumped at the alter/knocked up by their lout of a boyfriend. There's even a sub-plot on "trapping a rich man into marriage...or having an abortion!" Plus, it's set in VEGAS! VEGAS!!!
4. SIX PACK
Cashing in on all the NASCAR lovers - and with six raggamuffins in this, it will be the next Annie!!
3. LITTLE DARLINGS
Who doesn't want to hear a musical about pre-teens gettin' it on at camp? Also, we'll have Kristy MacNichol in a cameo role as the camp counselor.
2. VAMP
Four words. Singing. Dancing. Vampire. Strippers.
And my number one script to turn into the hottest hip hop musical to ever hit broadway.........
1. RED DAWN
I'm pitching it as The Breakfast Club meets Les Miz!
Okay. Back to the grind I go.
*Confession. "Stay Gold" - the theme to The Outsiders was voted by my HS class to be our "class song." Granted, we voted for it our freshman year..and what 14 year old in 1983 wasn't completely rocking out to this Stevie Wonder classic? Uh. Well. It seems like the thing to do at the time. (Oh, and you'll want to click to the the youtube vid. It's even more painful and sacchrine than I remember. "Life is but a twinkling of an eye...Yet filled with sorrow and compassion...") Yeah. I think we all just wantedEmilio Estevez Matt Dillon C.Thomas Howell to make out with us. And this was the next best thing. Word.
Odd. I seem to be at a loss on my friend's eye color. Pah! And when did we meet/became friends? Seriously? Haven't you just always been there? In that corner? Sipping your cocktail?
The best question was the following: If you and I were stranded on a deserted island, what is one thing that I would bring?
The best response was from Sir Dennis who wrote back: [You would bring] the entire script of some god awful movie (....hmmm.....what would that movie be.......well I will let you bring it and surprise me) so we could turn it into a hip hop new broadway musical. I think you can take shit and turn it into gold!!! I want to be there to reap the harvest.
Well, I don't know about you, but I heard a gauntlet drop.
[execute difficulty level 3 hip hop stance]
Here is my Top 10 List (Letterman style) of Scripts to turn into the Hottest Hip Hop Musical to Ever Hit Broadway:
10. TREMORS
If Phantom can have that huge chandellier crashing into the stage, we can have giant worms lunging out of it (and performing as a breakdancing chorus line)
9. MEN AT WORK
The catch? We get a different B or C list celebrity to play the "dead politician" each week.
8. OUTRAGEOUS FORTUNE
But only if WE star in it. Me in Bette's role, Sir Dennis in Shelly Long's.
7. TO EACH HIS OWN
My fav Olivia De Haviland flick. Set in WWI, she throws down a one-night stand with an aviator (who I believe is later tragically killed), has his illigitimate baby for which she devises a scheme to "adopt" while still protecting her family's good name. Scheme backfires and she spends her entire life forced to watch another family in town raise him and later, send him off to WW II. I can hear the beatbox even now....
6. THE OUTSIDERS
The entire cast made up of trannies and cross dressers. With the exception of Ralph Macchio reprising his role as Johnny! "Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold."*
5. WEDDING BELL BLUES
This will be waaaaaay bigger than Mamma Mia. A rallying cry for all the 30/40-something women who remain single and/or get dumped at the alter/knocked up by their lout of a boyfriend. There's even a sub-plot on "trapping a rich man into marriage...or having an abortion!" Plus, it's set in VEGAS! VEGAS!!!
4. SIX PACK
Cashing in on all the NASCAR lovers - and with six raggamuffins in this, it will be the next Annie!!
3. LITTLE DARLINGS
Who doesn't want to hear a musical about pre-teens gettin' it on at camp? Also, we'll have Kristy MacNichol in a cameo role as the camp counselor.
2. VAMP
Four words. Singing. Dancing. Vampire. Strippers.
And my number one script to turn into the hottest hip hop musical to ever hit broadway.........
1. RED DAWN
I'm pitching it as The Breakfast Club meets Les Miz!
Okay. Back to the grind I go.
*Confession. "Stay Gold" - the theme to The Outsiders was voted by my HS class to be our "class song." Granted, we voted for it our freshman year..and what 14 year old in 1983 wasn't completely rocking out to this Stevie Wonder classic? Uh. Well. It seems like the thing to do at the time. (Oh, and you'll want to click to the the youtube vid. It's even more painful and sacchrine than I remember. "Life is but a twinkling of an eye...Yet filled with sorrow and compassion...") Yeah. I think we all just wanted
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
this wards off spells
If I didn't know better, I'd think this was straight out of The Chappelle Show.
I mean, that "amateur sketch"? Genius.
Thanks to dooce for this gem. That, my friend, is journalism at it's finest.
I mean, that "amateur sketch"? Genius.
Thanks to dooce for this gem. That, my friend, is journalism at it's finest.
Friday, August 1, 2008
shooting blancs
There is very little improvisation in Metaluna. Joe Janes wrote a fantastic script...but as most actors are wont to do (even Joe), a line or two gets added here and there - especially when the direction is for there to be hub-bub or some emotional reaction from the other actors/ensemble.
Our man Tiger, played my Michael Johnson, often leaves the audience cracking up with such gems as, "That was awful. Your mother should be ashamed for birthing you." And, "That was terrible. I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and kill your mother before she birthed you. And then I would kill myself."
It's in the delivery, I swear.
But last night, I had some co-workers in the audience (who totally dug the show) and near the very top of the show, they heard someone exclaim, "Good day to you, sir. I said GOOD DAY."
Now, that line is not in the script and I was a bit preoccupied last night back stage, so I'm not sure who dropped that gem. But that line (as well as being classic comic gold) has been a staple of our shop talk at work. So, when said co-workers heard it, they peed a little with joy and then embraced the rest of the show wholeheartedly.
Of course, that's all I've heard around the office today. When pressed as to where this quote came from, we've been racking our brains and searching the internets.
This is my presentation.
While the phrase, "Good day, sir. I said GOOD DAY!" has been used in many films and tv shows over the years, including NewsRadio, the Simpsons, Seinfeld, King of the Hill, and That 70s Show, Tootsie and Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory…I believe I have found the source of it's original parsing.
I present, Mr. Foghorn Leghorn, circa 1946.
http://www.barbneal.com/wav/ltunes/foghorn/fogleg32.wav
http://www.barbneal.com/wav/ltunes/foghorn/fogleg21.wav
http://www.barbneal.com/wav/ltunes/foghorn/fogleg65.wav
Yeah..I can' t find a wav file of him actually saying it…but I'm 99.9% sure that he was the first one. At least as far back as my little pea-brain can recall.
In other news...there are only 10 performances of Metaluna left to be had!
Don't be the last on your block to see it!
Our man Tiger, played my Michael Johnson, often leaves the audience cracking up with such gems as, "That was awful. Your mother should be ashamed for birthing you." And, "That was terrible. I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and kill your mother before she birthed you. And then I would kill myself."
It's in the delivery, I swear.
But last night, I had some co-workers in the audience (who totally dug the show) and near the very top of the show, they heard someone exclaim, "Good day to you, sir. I said GOOD DAY."
Now, that line is not in the script and I was a bit preoccupied last night back stage, so I'm not sure who dropped that gem. But that line (as well as being classic comic gold) has been a staple of our shop talk at work. So, when said co-workers heard it, they peed a little with joy and then embraced the rest of the show wholeheartedly.
Of course, that's all I've heard around the office today. When pressed as to where this quote came from, we've been racking our brains and searching the internets.
This is my presentation.
While the phrase, "Good day, sir. I said GOOD DAY!" has been used in many films and tv shows over the years, including NewsRadio, the Simpsons, Seinfeld, King of the Hill, and That 70s Show, Tootsie and Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory…I believe I have found the source of it's original parsing.
I present, Mr. Foghorn Leghorn, circa 1946.
http://www.barbneal.com/wav/ltunes/foghorn/fogleg32.wav
http://www.barbneal.com/wav/ltunes/foghorn/fogleg21.wav
http://www.barbneal.com/wav/ltunes/foghorn/fogleg65.wav
Yeah..I can' t find a wav file of him actually saying it…but I'm 99.9% sure that he was the first one. At least as far back as my little pea-brain can recall.
In other news...there are only 10 performances of Metaluna left to be had!
Don't be the last on your block to see it!
Monday, July 28, 2008
tie me up
Working with a small non-profit theater, you do what you can to turn a dime into a dollar.
Along with presenting a kick-ass theatrical experience, we offer the chance to buy a one-of-a-kind (extremely affordable) piece of art/handy dandy dada souvenier. It gives the audience a chance to take a small piece of "dada" home with them, and isn't a bad calling card for WNEP...all while raising a few bucks to suppliment our production costs.
Dada Ties. (man, I wish I had a picture of them to give you an idea of how marvelous they are...Brownie...D-Ray...a little help?) And they are a steal at $10 a pop.
Basically, we create take your standard tie. (Obtained from a thrift store)
We add things to them. (words, bits of paper, random objects)
We deconstruct them. (Cut them, burn them, shred them, etc.)
We take found objects and turn them into wearable (or displayable) three dimensional dada poems.
While WNEP is largely influenced by equal parts dadaism and improv, I, unlike some of my counterparts, while inspired by dada, do not consider myself a "dadaist." That said, it was an enormous compliment from Jen when this weekend, after surveying my latest Dada Tie, called me a "savant" when it comes to these creations.
Here are some descriptions of the abstractions I've created recently.
Pigs and Babies I (a series) : a completely henious greenish tie which I covered with tiny (think dollhouse tiny or smaller) pigs. SOLD.
Wearable Pet: A rubber koi fish floating mid-way on a blueish/grayish tie...at the bottom, various iridescient buttons. SOLD.
Pigs and Babies II : a completely henious gray tie which I covered with tiny (think dollhouse tiny or smaller) babies. Lisa said it looked like a fertility tie. SOLD.
Telegram: Vintage inspired postcard pieces cut out and "sewn" to gray and gold tie. At the bottom was the "message." Available as of 7/28.
Vurds, Vurds and more Vurds I (a series): Blue and red striped tie, with a big, black rubber fly sewn on, with the words, "Go Back." Available as of 7/28.
Madonna/Whore Cliche I (a series): Vintage inspired postcard pieces cut out and "sewn" to deconstructed tie. A lusty woman looks as though she is escaping or climbing out of the tie. Higher on the tie is a cross with a plastic lusty woman being crucified on it. SOLD
Madonna/Whore Cliche II (a series): Vintage inspired postcard pieces cut out and "sewn" to deconstructed tie. An angry woman looks as though she is escaping or climbing out of the tie. Higher on the tie is a cross with a plastic lusty woman being crucified on it. Available as of 7/28.
Metal/Mettle: About a dozen or so small oddly shaped keys sewn to a maroon tie. In the midst is a small picture of a frame of art. Available as of 7/28.
Life Is...: Vintage inspired postcard pieces cut out and "sewn" to deconstructed tie. An frighted man looks as though he is escaping or climbing out of the tie. He was missing a foot in the image, so I added a giant foot. Above him reads, "Life. Is. Here." SOLD
Vurds, Vurds and more Vurds II: A rosary is attached to a tie. Vintage inspired postcard pieces cut out and "sewn" to tie. A woman whispers into a man's ear and looks cautiously to her right. Next to them are letters that spell out "Moist." SOLD (I think.)
Eureka: A black and gray and red gorgeous tie with a b&w illustration of a man (circa 1920/30) crying from the shoulders up - sewn to tie. I took a small piece of fake hair and gave him a three dimensional chin-beard. Overhead, a small, burnt out light bulb. Underneath, in german, Krieg ist Hölle. Translation: War is Hell. SOLD (honestly, I think this one was my favorite and part of me wishes I had bought it for myself.)
Bolo: Folks were joking about a bolo tie one night, so I made an attempt at a dada version of a bolo tie. It's braided from the twine that is used during the show (if you've seen the show, think about the "life-sized marionette." The twine that is cut to release the marionette is what I used to create this bolo tie.)
I'm sure there are a couple others that are escaping my brain...
And, I'm not the only tie maker Many of the other cast/crew are creating ties too.
Jen's are utterly badass. Dude. She burns holes in them and shit. They are 10x more badass than mine. Joel created a couple that are subtle genius. He took two ties, cut out a matching peice from each in the shape of a jigsaw puzzle peice and then sewed them onto each opposing tie. (I believe they both sold!) Erin made one that another cast member snapped up before the citizenry even had a chance to peep at it! Mary Jo...man, she spent the most time on hers...she deconstructed two ties and then sewed them back together by hand...they look awesome and she must have spent hours putting those together.
While I do some work on the ties at home, I mainly try to work on them when I'm backstage. during the performance. I have a few smallish walk-ons early in the first act, then help a couple times with props issues, but for the most part, I have a lot of free time until I go on late in the second act. In a way, it keeps me listening even more to what's happening onstage. Part of it is being inspired by the play itself. Part of it is an odd obessession to inhale as much dada as I can during this brief run.
Normally, I try to complete one tie per show...At Sunday's show, I brought two partially finished ties (which I finished prior to starting the show) and then finished three more ties (two in the first act, one in the second.) Mainly, I've figured out my m.o. in creating these, and spend less time judging my decisions and more time just creating them.
Honestly, I don't expect to ever be that prolific again. One tie a show is plenty.
Along with presenting a kick-ass theatrical experience, we offer the chance to buy a one-of-a-kind (extremely affordable) piece of art/handy dandy dada souvenier. It gives the audience a chance to take a small piece of "dada" home with them, and isn't a bad calling card for WNEP...all while raising a few bucks to suppliment our production costs.
Dada Ties. (man, I wish I had a picture of them to give you an idea of how marvelous they are...Brownie...D-Ray...a little help?) And they are a steal at $10 a pop.
Basically, we create take your standard tie. (Obtained from a thrift store)
We add things to them. (words, bits of paper, random objects)
We deconstruct them. (Cut them, burn them, shred them, etc.)
We take found objects and turn them into wearable (or displayable) three dimensional dada poems.
While WNEP is largely influenced by equal parts dadaism and improv, I, unlike some of my counterparts, while inspired by dada, do not consider myself a "dadaist." That said, it was an enormous compliment from Jen when this weekend, after surveying my latest Dada Tie, called me a "savant" when it comes to these creations.
Here are some descriptions of the abstractions I've created recently.
Pigs and Babies I (a series) : a completely henious greenish tie which I covered with tiny (think dollhouse tiny or smaller) pigs. SOLD.
Wearable Pet: A rubber koi fish floating mid-way on a blueish/grayish tie...at the bottom, various iridescient buttons. SOLD.
Pigs and Babies II : a completely henious gray tie which I covered with tiny (think dollhouse tiny or smaller) babies. Lisa said it looked like a fertility tie. SOLD.
Telegram: Vintage inspired postcard pieces cut out and "sewn" to gray and gold tie. At the bottom was the "message." Available as of 7/28.
Vurds, Vurds and more Vurds I (a series): Blue and red striped tie, with a big, black rubber fly sewn on, with the words, "Go Back." Available as of 7/28.
Madonna/Whore Cliche I (a series): Vintage inspired postcard pieces cut out and "sewn" to deconstructed tie. A lusty woman looks as though she is escaping or climbing out of the tie. Higher on the tie is a cross with a plastic lusty woman being crucified on it. SOLD
Madonna/Whore Cliche II (a series): Vintage inspired postcard pieces cut out and "sewn" to deconstructed tie. An angry woman looks as though she is escaping or climbing out of the tie. Higher on the tie is a cross with a plastic lusty woman being crucified on it. Available as of 7/28.
Metal/Mettle: About a dozen or so small oddly shaped keys sewn to a maroon tie. In the midst is a small picture of a frame of art. Available as of 7/28.
Life Is...: Vintage inspired postcard pieces cut out and "sewn" to deconstructed tie. An frighted man looks as though he is escaping or climbing out of the tie. He was missing a foot in the image, so I added a giant foot. Above him reads, "Life. Is. Here." SOLD
Vurds, Vurds and more Vurds II: A rosary is attached to a tie. Vintage inspired postcard pieces cut out and "sewn" to tie. A woman whispers into a man's ear and looks cautiously to her right. Next to them are letters that spell out "Moist." SOLD (I think.)
Eureka: A black and gray and red gorgeous tie with a b&w illustration of a man (circa 1920/30) crying from the shoulders up - sewn to tie. I took a small piece of fake hair and gave him a three dimensional chin-beard. Overhead, a small, burnt out light bulb. Underneath, in german, Krieg ist Hölle. Translation: War is Hell. SOLD (honestly, I think this one was my favorite and part of me wishes I had bought it for myself.)
Bolo: Folks were joking about a bolo tie one night, so I made an attempt at a dada version of a bolo tie. It's braided from the twine that is used during the show (if you've seen the show, think about the "life-sized marionette." The twine that is cut to release the marionette is what I used to create this bolo tie.)
I'm sure there are a couple others that are escaping my brain...
And, I'm not the only tie maker Many of the other cast/crew are creating ties too.
Jen's are utterly badass. Dude. She burns holes in them and shit. They are 10x more badass than mine. Joel created a couple that are subtle genius. He took two ties, cut out a matching peice from each in the shape of a jigsaw puzzle peice and then sewed them onto each opposing tie. (I believe they both sold!) Erin made one that another cast member snapped up before the citizenry even had a chance to peep at it! Mary Jo...man, she spent the most time on hers...she deconstructed two ties and then sewed them back together by hand...they look awesome and she must have spent hours putting those together.
While I do some work on the ties at home, I mainly try to work on them when I'm backstage. during the performance. I have a few smallish walk-ons early in the first act, then help a couple times with props issues, but for the most part, I have a lot of free time until I go on late in the second act. In a way, it keeps me listening even more to what's happening onstage. Part of it is being inspired by the play itself. Part of it is an odd obessession to inhale as much dada as I can during this brief run.
Normally, I try to complete one tie per show...At Sunday's show, I brought two partially finished ties (which I finished prior to starting the show) and then finished three more ties (two in the first act, one in the second.) Mainly, I've figured out my m.o. in creating these, and spend less time judging my decisions and more time just creating them.
Honestly, I don't expect to ever be that prolific again. One tie a show is plenty.
Friday, July 25, 2008
keep hope alive
The Cubs are hanging onto their lead over Milwaukee...next week's four game series looks to be a pretty exciting match-up. This is usually about the time of the season when the Cubs start tanking and making sure we're on a path to be mathmatically eliminated...or so my father keeps reminding me.
It's just hard for some folks to hang onto that hope...but what else is there, but to hope! Especially when they've been delivering since spring.
The only pill I have to swallow (constantly) is my complete disregard for Zambrano as a person. As a pitcher and player, he's immensely skilled, no doubt. But, to quote a nasally delivered line from a favorite movie, "I can't STAND 'im!" I try to look past his oafish, annoying qualities and try to think of him solely as a player who is working hard to take the team all the way to the playoffs. We need his consistancy more that I need to like him off the field.
It's funny to discuss being positive and hopeful about this season, when we've been at the top of the heap all season long. How we have to keep ourselves in check...just in case. Well I call bullshit. They are going to defend (and win) the National League pennant and we'll be playing ball in October. You just gotta believe.
Bottom of the 8th against the Marlins...2-2.
Let's Go Cubs!!
It's just hard for some folks to hang onto that hope...but what else is there, but to hope! Especially when they've been delivering since spring.
The only pill I have to swallow (constantly) is my complete disregard for Zambrano as a person. As a pitcher and player, he's immensely skilled, no doubt. But, to quote a nasally delivered line from a favorite movie, "I can't STAND 'im!" I try to look past his oafish, annoying qualities and try to think of him solely as a player who is working hard to take the team all the way to the playoffs. We need his consistancy more that I need to like him off the field.
It's funny to discuss being positive and hopeful about this season, when we've been at the top of the heap all season long. How we have to keep ourselves in check...just in case. Well I call bullshit. They are going to defend (and win) the National League pennant and we'll be playing ball in October. You just gotta believe.
Bottom of the 8th against the Marlins...2-2.
Let's Go Cubs!!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
message in a video shaped bottle
A good PSA only needs to accomplish one goal. Clearly communicate its message in a way that sticks in your brain. Reading is Fundamental. Friends Don't Let Friends Drive Drunk. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Stop, Drop and Roll.
Admittedly, I have a special place in my heart for all the ones on drinking and drug abuse.
Back to the point...30 or 60 seconds isn't a lot of time to get your point across...it's an art.
Healthcare for America Now put together a great satirical look at the state of today's heathcare/insurance issue. (It's also nice to see some ex-pat Chicagoans in this vid.) And while it's funny, it's actually pretty dead on.
Okay...just this last one and I'm done. While I want every child to grow up safe and secure and happy....this is one PSA that just doesn't cut the mustard. Sorry, Fonz.
Admittedly, I have a special place in my heart for all the ones on drinking and drug abuse.
Back to the point...30 or 60 seconds isn't a lot of time to get your point across...it's an art.
Healthcare for America Now put together a great satirical look at the state of today's heathcare/insurance issue. (It's also nice to see some ex-pat Chicagoans in this vid.) And while it's funny, it's actually pretty dead on.
Okay...just this last one and I'm done. While I want every child to grow up safe and secure and happy....this is one PSA that just doesn't cut the mustard. Sorry, Fonz.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
WTF
My blood is boiling right now. Boiling.
WTF, Senate? This is smelling more and more like when you idiots voted for us to go to war with Iraq...even though most of you didn't even read the fucking 9-11 Commission Report. You granted immunity when you don't even know which laws they broke or how many times they did it?
Dick Nixon just came back from the grave demanding to know where you fucksticks were during Watergate? I mean, that's the whole point, they just made what he did, LEGAL. Lucky the law's not retroactive to the 70's or we'd have to cannonize him.
I'm so angry I could spit. Unfortunately, it doesn't help.
The long fight on Capitol Hill centered on one main question: whether to protect from civil lawsuits any telecommunications companies that helped the government eavesdrop on American phone and computer lines without the permission or knowledge of a secret court created by the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act.
The White House had threatened to veto the bill unless it immunized companies such as AT&T Inc. and Verizon Communications Inc. from wiretapping lawsuits. About 40 such lawsuits have been filed, and all are pending before a single U.S. District court.
Numerous lawmakers had spoken out strongly against the no-warrants eavesdropping on Americans, but the Senate voted its approval
after rejecting amendments that would have watered down, delayed or stripped away the immunity provision.The lawsuits center on allegations that the White House circumvented U.S. law by going around the FISA court, which was created 30 years ago to prevent the government from abusing its surveillance powers for political purposes, as was done in the Vietnam War and Watergate eras. The court is meant to approve all wiretaps placed inside the U.S. for intelligence-gathering purposes. The law has been interpreted to include international e-mail records stored on servers inside the U.S.
"This president broke the law," declared Sen. Russell Feingold, D-Wis.
The Bush administration brought the wiretapping back under the FISA court's authority only after The New York Times revealed the existence of the secret program. A handful of members of Congress knew about the program from top secret briefings. Most members are still forbidden to know the details of the classified effort, and some objected that they were being asked to grant immunity to the telecoms without first knowing what they did.
WTF, Senate? This is smelling more and more like when you idiots voted for us to go to war with Iraq...even though most of you didn't even read the fucking 9-11 Commission Report. You granted immunity when you don't even know which laws they broke or how many times they did it?
Dick Nixon just came back from the grave demanding to know where you fucksticks were during Watergate? I mean, that's the whole point, they just made what he did, LEGAL. Lucky the law's not retroactive to the 70's or we'd have to cannonize him.
I'm so angry I could spit. Unfortunately, it doesn't help.
Friday, June 20, 2008
kids say the darnedest things
I tried to post yesterday, but I think blogger was having issues....
This weekend is WNEP Theater's annual SKALD (storytelling) event. We hold a kid's competition, an improvised event (that is utter madness) and our crowning jewel, the SKALD- where 10 storytellers have 7 minutes to make you laugh, break your heart or just open your perspective some.
Last night was the KidSkald. We had five children from ages 8 to 14. And while our audience was teeny (in comparison to last year) - the 5 kids that performed were delightful! I was tapped to represent WNEP as one of the three judges. Dude. It was hard to pick a winner. They each brought something unique to the table.
My only regret is not having the chance to sit down with them and tell them how great they did. I heard the words coming out of my mouth "You all did such a great job!" And it may have sounded like I was just "saying it", but honestly, they were all so different and brought such different skills and talents - they really were fantastic and should be very proud of their efforts.
Our youngest, Abi, started with the Shel Silverstein poem "Sick" and finished with some classic Suess. She memorized both poems and was very animated in her delivery. She was completely committed to her performance and I have to mention, had the most adorable lisp. Afterwords, I refered to her as the evening's "Little Miss Sunshine" because she brought that same kind of charm and enthusiam to the stage as that Broslin kid. A-dorable...and she held her own against the older kids.
Eleanore, one of our 14 yr olds, read the story of the Gingerbread Man and then later, read a personal story she had written a few years earlier. She mentioned that the story was inspired (or assigned?) after her 8th grade class read To Kill A Mockingbird. It was the saga of a princess trying to find true love, while overcoming her own vanity.
Emily, our other teen, delivered a hilarious David Sedaris peice on Santa Claus. I was mightily impressed by Miss Emily. She was the first to start off the competition (which is nerve wracking at any age!) and at one point, lost her place in the peice. She stood there for a good ten seconds before she found her place and then, kept on truckin'. That, my friend, takes fortitude. She didn't give in to the anxiousness of the moment. She just took a moment, stood her ground and plunged back into it. Later, she told a peice from a children's book that I'm unfamiliar with (but my fellow judge - who has kids - seemed to know it) about a classroom who had to write poems about colors. It was pretty funny and really well delivered. Again, impressed is the word I would use about Emily.
Christian, our only boy in the competition, was 11 and everything that's awesome about being 11. He was the only one to tell his own personal stories. The first, a tale of trial and tribulation at Six Flags in the company of his best friend and his brother, where they rode "Raging Bull" and played Whack-A-Mole. He confirmed for us (with not one teeny ounce of irony) that he remains, to this day, the unbeaten and Supreme King of Whacking. Four years running. Lord love him.
Later he told about a birthday where he received his own set of golf clubs. The way he delivered each tale - with sound effects, imitated voices of his family and his physicality - it clinched him the winning spot of the night! He walked away with $50 cash money!
But, a special place in my heart was dug for our other 11 year old, Miss Josephine. If Jen and I could ever spawn, we agreed that Josephine would be that progeny. She began with a telling of Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky which was immediately followed by an impromptu display of jujitsu kicks and moves, which were performed in time with her Mother singing the Macarena song from the audience. The entire audience joined in with a rousing "Ehhh, Macarena!" with her final kick.
If that doesn't fill your soul with goodness, I can't help you, brother.
She ended the night with a song. She stated that while she would sing a song, that the song tells a story. I have to admit that her pointing that out, really made me listen to the lyrics for likely the first time in my life.
Josephine then performed an acapella rendition of One Tin Solider (The Legend of Billy Jack.)
I'm sure I've heard that song dozens and dozens of times on the radio as a kid and over the years, but it was the first time I really listened to it. When she wad done, she admitted that she changed some of the lyrics and a bit of the tune.
It was the hawesome.
They all were. Wish you coulda been there.
This weekend is WNEP Theater's annual SKALD (storytelling) event. We hold a kid's competition, an improvised event (that is utter madness) and our crowning jewel, the SKALD- where 10 storytellers have 7 minutes to make you laugh, break your heart or just open your perspective some.
Last night was the KidSkald. We had five children from ages 8 to 14. And while our audience was teeny (in comparison to last year) - the 5 kids that performed were delightful! I was tapped to represent WNEP as one of the three judges. Dude. It was hard to pick a winner. They each brought something unique to the table.
My only regret is not having the chance to sit down with them and tell them how great they did. I heard the words coming out of my mouth "You all did such a great job!" And it may have sounded like I was just "saying it", but honestly, they were all so different and brought such different skills and talents - they really were fantastic and should be very proud of their efforts.
Our youngest, Abi, started with the Shel Silverstein poem "Sick" and finished with some classic Suess. She memorized both poems and was very animated in her delivery. She was completely committed to her performance and I have to mention, had the most adorable lisp. Afterwords, I refered to her as the evening's "Little Miss Sunshine" because she brought that same kind of charm and enthusiam to the stage as that Broslin kid. A-dorable...and she held her own against the older kids.
Eleanore, one of our 14 yr olds, read the story of the Gingerbread Man and then later, read a personal story she had written a few years earlier. She mentioned that the story was inspired (or assigned?) after her 8th grade class read To Kill A Mockingbird. It was the saga of a princess trying to find true love, while overcoming her own vanity.
Emily, our other teen, delivered a hilarious David Sedaris peice on Santa Claus. I was mightily impressed by Miss Emily. She was the first to start off the competition (which is nerve wracking at any age!) and at one point, lost her place in the peice. She stood there for a good ten seconds before she found her place and then, kept on truckin'. That, my friend, takes fortitude. She didn't give in to the anxiousness of the moment. She just took a moment, stood her ground and plunged back into it. Later, she told a peice from a children's book that I'm unfamiliar with (but my fellow judge - who has kids - seemed to know it) about a classroom who had to write poems about colors. It was pretty funny and really well delivered. Again, impressed is the word I would use about Emily.
Christian, our only boy in the competition, was 11 and everything that's awesome about being 11. He was the only one to tell his own personal stories. The first, a tale of trial and tribulation at Six Flags in the company of his best friend and his brother, where they rode "Raging Bull" and played Whack-A-Mole. He confirmed for us (with not one teeny ounce of irony) that he remains, to this day, the unbeaten and Supreme King of Whacking. Four years running. Lord love him.
Later he told about a birthday where he received his own set of golf clubs. The way he delivered each tale - with sound effects, imitated voices of his family and his physicality - it clinched him the winning spot of the night! He walked away with $50 cash money!
But, a special place in my heart was dug for our other 11 year old, Miss Josephine. If Jen and I could ever spawn, we agreed that Josephine would be that progeny. She began with a telling of Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky which was immediately followed by an impromptu display of jujitsu kicks and moves, which were performed in time with her Mother singing the Macarena song from the audience. The entire audience joined in with a rousing "Ehhh, Macarena!" with her final kick.
If that doesn't fill your soul with goodness, I can't help you, brother.
She ended the night with a song. She stated that while she would sing a song, that the song tells a story. I have to admit that her pointing that out, really made me listen to the lyrics for likely the first time in my life.
Josephine then performed an acapella rendition of One Tin Solider (The Legend of Billy Jack.)
I'm sure I've heard that song dozens and dozens of times on the radio as a kid and over the years, but it was the first time I really listened to it. When she wad done, she admitted that she changed some of the lyrics and a bit of the tune.
It was the hawesome.
They all were. Wish you coulda been there.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
ongoing
While I'm very happy that Obama had finally secured the nomination and while I'm thrilled this historic moment is getting it's due on the morning news, something still struck me like a stone in my gut today.
This morning, when I was getting ready for work, I didn't hear one news report about Iraq. I heard about Iran. And I heard about Israel...but nothing about a country where our soliders continue to be stationed and where people - who's lives and homes and livings have been destroyed and continue to deteriorate.
It astounded me. So I went looking.
I just read this article about a young Iraqi man who is now living in Philadelphia. I encourage you to take a few minutes to read it. It's both a window and a mirror that more Americans need to study and react to.
I think the only way we are going to extract any measure of progress out of this fucked up situation is to listen to the Iraqi people. And to our people working with them on the ground. To put ourselves in their shoes and engage our leaders to make the right choices in the coming weeks, months and years.
After reading this article, it occured to me that my tongue-in-cheek reference of this season of the Cubs as a "war" might offend someone who has a direct link to the ongoing war in Iraq or has lost a loved one or friend. That was never was my intention. War is horrific and painful and as a country (where bombs aren't going off on a daily basis) we are often cavalier in our respects towards the casualties on all sides of this action.
I call it 100 years war, because the Cubs connect me to my grandmother, Wanda, whom we lost 2 years ago last February. Her life in some ways seemed like a struggle to me. And while she never had to deal with suicide bombers, she did have more than her share of tragedy, heartbreak and loss. Still, she was a huge fan and every time I think of the Cubs - watch a game or even see someone just wearing a Cubs logo - I think of her. And for the last couple of years, it's made the loss of her something that becomes tangible in that moment.
My brain just zips right to her yelling at the TV or the radio. Calling them bums one minute and then telling me how fantastic they are and how they're good boys. In a way, being a Cubs fan has always equated with struggle...and at the same time, a hopefulness. So, in a way, loving the Cubs is connected to my love for her...and (I'm sure I'm not the only one who foists these feelings upon their home team) the struggle for them to make it to the world series seems like an ongoing battle with a strong emotional and personal impact.
If comparing a sporting event to an unjust and unending action in the Middle East is offensive to anyone reading this, I again extend my apologies. I do discern a vast difference in them and want to make that clear.
While I'm very happy that Obama had finally secured the nomination and while I'm thrilled this historic moment is getting it's due on the morning news, something still struck me like a stone in my gut today.
This morning, when I was getting ready for work, I didn't hear one news report about Iraq. I heard about Iran. And I heard about Israel...but nothing about a country where our soliders continue to be stationed and where people - who's lives and homes and livings have been destroyed and continue to deteriorate.
It astounded me. So I went looking.
I just read this article about a young Iraqi man who is now living in Philadelphia. I encourage you to take a few minutes to read it. It's both a window and a mirror that more Americans need to study and react to.
I think the only way we are going to extract any measure of progress out of this fucked up situation is to listen to the Iraqi people. And to our people working with them on the ground. To put ourselves in their shoes and engage our leaders to make the right choices in the coming weeks, months and years.
After reading this article, it occured to me that my tongue-in-cheek reference of this season of the Cubs as a "war" might offend someone who has a direct link to the ongoing war in Iraq or has lost a loved one or friend. That was never was my intention. War is horrific and painful and as a country (where bombs aren't going off on a daily basis) we are often cavalier in our respects towards the casualties on all sides of this action.
I call it 100 years war, because the Cubs connect me to my grandmother, Wanda, whom we lost 2 years ago last February. Her life in some ways seemed like a struggle to me. And while she never had to deal with suicide bombers, she did have more than her share of tragedy, heartbreak and loss. Still, she was a huge fan and every time I think of the Cubs - watch a game or even see someone just wearing a Cubs logo - I think of her. And for the last couple of years, it's made the loss of her something that becomes tangible in that moment.
My brain just zips right to her yelling at the TV or the radio. Calling them bums one minute and then telling me how fantastic they are and how they're good boys. In a way, being a Cubs fan has always equated with struggle...and at the same time, a hopefulness. So, in a way, loving the Cubs is connected to my love for her...and (I'm sure I'm not the only one who foists these feelings upon their home team) the struggle for them to make it to the world series seems like an ongoing battle with a strong emotional and personal impact.
If comparing a sporting event to an unjust and unending action in the Middle East is offensive to anyone reading this, I again extend my apologies. I do discern a vast difference in them and want to make that clear.
Monday, June 2, 2008
High Hard Ones
- Ironman ROCKS.
- Harvey Korman, Bo Diddley...are waiting for their third celeb death to join them. And it better be someone who can come with some high ranking cred, because these gents were legends of their respective crafts. Both shall be missed.
- Have finally started watching Torchwood (yeah, yeah, I'm forever late the the party ever since I got rid of cable.) Not quite as awesome as Firefly, but hella mindless fun in terms of Brits fighting aliens.
-RAW is over...and it was a fantastic experience all-around. Friday night a bunch of folks meet up at the Peek Inn for a bit of carousing and karaoke.
- Mayfest is the Best Fest. Spent much of Saturday afternoon hanging with some friends at our favorite local street fest. Listened to plenty of polka music, drank a couple of German biers, got a little sun, ran into folks I haven't seen in a dog's age and got to wiggle some piglets. Nothing better.
We have now entered the rollicking month of June. I'm traveling so much this month, with so many plates spinning, it's making me dizzy. I kinda laid low the past couple weeks blogging wise as I was readying myself for this upcoming onslaught.
100 years war
Cubs are back at the top of the National Division Heap. 36-21. Back to back sweeps with a 7 game streak. Of course, I expect after playing yesterday, flying to SanDiego for a night game this evening...they'll probably be due for a hit. Their on the road averages aren't as sunny, but I'm hanging onto my happy.
I can't remember who was telling me at the bar the weekend that the Cubs doing well was some kind of conspiracy to deflate attention towards the ongoing steriods scandal. I'm pretty sure it was a Sox fan. Can't we all just get along? (With the noted exception of the Crosstown series?)
Go Cubs.
- Ironman ROCKS.
- Harvey Korman, Bo Diddley...are waiting for their third celeb death to join them. And it better be someone who can come with some high ranking cred, because these gents were legends of their respective crafts. Both shall be missed.
- Have finally started watching Torchwood (yeah, yeah, I'm forever late the the party ever since I got rid of cable.) Not quite as awesome as Firefly, but hella mindless fun in terms of Brits fighting aliens.
-RAW is over...and it was a fantastic experience all-around. Friday night a bunch of folks meet up at the Peek Inn for a bit of carousing and karaoke.
- Mayfest is the Best Fest. Spent much of Saturday afternoon hanging with some friends at our favorite local street fest. Listened to plenty of polka music, drank a couple of German biers, got a little sun, ran into folks I haven't seen in a dog's age and got to wiggle some piglets. Nothing better.
We have now entered the rollicking month of June. I'm traveling so much this month, with so many plates spinning, it's making me dizzy. I kinda laid low the past couple weeks blogging wise as I was readying myself for this upcoming onslaught.
100 years war
Cubs are back at the top of the National Division Heap. 36-21. Back to back sweeps with a 7 game streak. Of course, I expect after playing yesterday, flying to SanDiego for a night game this evening...they'll probably be due for a hit. Their on the road averages aren't as sunny, but I'm hanging onto my happy.
I can't remember who was telling me at the bar the weekend that the Cubs doing well was some kind of conspiracy to deflate attention towards the ongoing steriods scandal. I'm pretty sure it was a Sox fan. Can't we all just get along? (With the noted exception of the Crosstown series?)
Go Cubs.
Monday, May 12, 2008
she's a stacy
Last week some folks I know were talking about Hilliary and her unwillingness to exit the race. The Tribune compared her to a cat that refuses to die after being run over. How she's alienating Dems right and left and may in fact be damaging the party wholesale.
Ouch. My comment was that instead of making the smart move and bowing out with some/any semblance of grace or stewardship, she seems bent on going out like that heinous stereotype of the clingy ex-girlfriend (re: Stacy from Wayne's World.) And I'm not the only one with that belief. She's become the psycho girlfriend who can't stop calling.
As much as it's a boon to women everywhere to have had a viable female candidate running for the White House, she's now (much like Bush trashed the world's support after 9-11) causing more and more damage and trashing the gains. After decades of listening to lame jokes of what a woman leader would be like [insert bit about menstruation, shopping, chocolate, etc.], she is truly injuring the perception of a woman in the presidency. Turning what could be a proud moment for American women into a throwaway joke for a stand up.
[in my best Ron Burgandy voice] Get classy, Hilliary. For the love of all that is right, class your shit up.
100 years war
Please excuse this small outburst. MUTHATRUCKA!! WE SWEPT THE DIAMONDBACKS!!! WOOT!!! A sweet, sweet victory - which puts us back up at the top, tied in first with St. Louis. It's silly how a ballgame can make you feel lousy or fantastic...but I'm glad we're on the right side of that coin! And to sweep a team that's been playing as well as the D-backs...and it IS the D-backs (after they booted us so unceremoniously from the playoffs)...I'm walking on muthafuckin' sunshine!
Not to say I told you so, but I totally told you they just needed some home games to reset that on the road bullshit. Word.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
bruiser
Right in the middle of my forearm is a big purple bruise. It's nearly 1.5 inches in diameter (yeah, I measured it.) It must have happened over the weekend, but I just noticed it yesterday...when other people started pointing it out to me. It doesn't hurt, but it has an equal effect of both unsettling me and making me feel so very at home in my body.
See, I bruise like a peach. Always have. As a kid, I was a rough and tumble tomboy, with scraped knees and elbows, usually sporting at least two bandaids at any one time, happy to show you my scars and scabs with pride. To me, signs of wear and tear on my body showed off to folks that I was using it. Climbing trees, scavaging fields and empty lots, building forts and dams, trying to "burn rubber" with my banana-seat bike on a screeching stop/dismount onto a gravel driveway. It was the age of Evil Knievel, and I didn't want to be left on the sidelines when it was time to play kickball, if you follow me.
I can honestly say that I was pretty lucky for a kid. I never broke any limbs, never got any stitches, never had any operations or fell out of any trees. Which, looking back...how didn't I? (Worst I ever had was a badly sprained ankle my senior year caused by attempting to "surf" the ice on my driveway to a friend's car.) I played soccer for years where I was the only girl on the team and would strive to make the boys on the opposing team drop like a sack of flour when I tackled them (for some reason, none of the refs ever penalized me....they always thought the boy - even though he'd be sprawled on the grass and sucking wind - was playing too rough for me. It took me a while to catch onto the sexist favoritism, but somehow, my ten-year old brain figured, hell, the world's gonna pay me half as much as that yahoo writhing around on the ground someday, so I might as well take the break when it's handed to me. )
My all-time favorite bruise showed up at the doctor's office about 12 years ago. I'm pretty sure I was just in for a physical or maybe for an ear infection (I used to get those a lot in my 20's for some reason), but I was sitting in the paper gown, with my back to the door when the doctor walked in. She let out an audible gasp and immediately asked me if anything was wrong at home. If maybe, I was having problems with my boyfriend. If he ever...hit me. After I assured her that if a man ever laid a hand on me in an untoward fashion, he would promptly lose that hand..."Why do you ask?" She skeptically tells me about the unseen bruise and then holds up a mirror to the back of my upper arm.
There was a large, perfectly shaped, deep, deep purple rectangle - with four razor sharp, highly defined corners - not your normal raggedy-edge shaped mark. I immediately realised, that a few nights before at a rehearsal, I had quickly backed up into a dark corner of the backstage and hit my arm on the business end of a 2' x 4'. I really slammed into it and remember it smarted for about an hour...before I forgot all about it.
It took me at least 10 minutes to stop laughing and convince the doc that I wasn't covering for some abusive co-dependent relationship. When she finally left the room, I was positive that she was calling the po-po to report the incident. Looking back, I only wish I had taken a picture of it. In all my years, it was the most impressive injury I've ever given myself.
Point being, I'm used to toting a bruise around. But, when I see this bruise on my arm - most likely a result from our hectic tech rehearsal on Sunday - this isn't a mark I earned. There was no tree scaled. No bike screeched to a dusty stop. I wasn't necessarily "using" my body. I just bumped some random object that didn't register as even momentarily painful. (re: peach)
What's starting to unsettle me is that upon further inspection, it reminds me eerily of my great-grandmother's arms. She had that papery fine skin and it was always bruised in my memory. It's a dual feeling of connection to her - her arms are becoming my arms....and the thought of, "Dude, I'm getting old, but I ain't that old! "
I guess what I'm getting at is mayhaps I should step up and start earning some bruises while I'm still young enough to heal from them. Save the granny bruises for another time
100 years war
While we've eased off to 19-15, it's been a bumpy coupla weeks. We've only won 4 out of the last 13 games - dropped to 2nd in the division by what 3 or 4 games? (with Houston breathing down our necks.) Watching Leiber pitch yesterday - after giving up 4 homers in an inning, I wanted to shout out, "Ack! Mein Leiben!" (a sad, lame reference to a time when I once played Castle Wolfenstein...for 6 hours straight.)
Starting tomorrow we have home field stand for the next 10 games. Hopefully, getting off the road will help hit the re-set button.
As for this the brou-ha-ha with the Sox and their blow-up dolls. Some call it a case of boys being boys...I see it more of a case of boys being enraptured by the circle jerk. If you ever fail to recall that men are eternally 14 yr old, this should snap you back to reality. Still, if an inflatable doll somehow raises their collective ire and fires them up (seriously?), whatever...any female sports reporter worth her salt can handle a stupid blow up doll. Now, if some idiot mouthbreather ballplayer makes some remark refering to a reporter in terms of that blow up doll...then I've got a completely different response.
I will say that a bat in the anus is a bit over the line of demarcation. Although, I think the Sun Times had their priorities mixed up since that was the lead story on Tuesday, trumping the ongoing battle in the Dem's primary election. Sorry IN and NC voters...the blow up doll scandal trumps your attempts to effect the outcome of this historic election. Too bad. So sad.
As Pat Tomasulo said, "What ever happened to the rally cap?"
Indeed.
Right in the middle of my forearm is a big purple bruise. It's nearly 1.5 inches in diameter (yeah, I measured it.) It must have happened over the weekend, but I just noticed it yesterday...when other people started pointing it out to me. It doesn't hurt, but it has an equal effect of both unsettling me and making me feel so very at home in my body.
See, I bruise like a peach. Always have. As a kid, I was a rough and tumble tomboy, with scraped knees and elbows, usually sporting at least two bandaids at any one time, happy to show you my scars and scabs with pride. To me, signs of wear and tear on my body showed off to folks that I was using it. Climbing trees, scavaging fields and empty lots, building forts and dams, trying to "burn rubber" with my banana-seat bike on a screeching stop/dismount onto a gravel driveway. It was the age of Evil Knievel, and I didn't want to be left on the sidelines when it was time to play kickball, if you follow me.
I can honestly say that I was pretty lucky for a kid. I never broke any limbs, never got any stitches, never had any operations or fell out of any trees. Which, looking back...how didn't I? (Worst I ever had was a badly sprained ankle my senior year caused by attempting to "surf" the ice on my driveway to a friend's car.) I played soccer for years where I was the only girl on the team and would strive to make the boys on the opposing team drop like a sack of flour when I tackled them (for some reason, none of the refs ever penalized me....they always thought the boy - even though he'd be sprawled on the grass and sucking wind - was playing too rough for me. It took me a while to catch onto the sexist favoritism, but somehow, my ten-year old brain figured, hell, the world's gonna pay me half as much as that yahoo writhing around on the ground someday, so I might as well take the break when it's handed to me. )
My all-time favorite bruise showed up at the doctor's office about 12 years ago. I'm pretty sure I was just in for a physical or maybe for an ear infection (I used to get those a lot in my 20's for some reason), but I was sitting in the paper gown, with my back to the door when the doctor walked in. She let out an audible gasp and immediately asked me if anything was wrong at home. If maybe, I was having problems with my boyfriend. If he ever...hit me. After I assured her that if a man ever laid a hand on me in an untoward fashion, he would promptly lose that hand..."Why do you ask?" She skeptically tells me about the unseen bruise and then holds up a mirror to the back of my upper arm.
There was a large, perfectly shaped, deep, deep purple rectangle - with four razor sharp, highly defined corners - not your normal raggedy-edge shaped mark. I immediately realised, that a few nights before at a rehearsal, I had quickly backed up into a dark corner of the backstage and hit my arm on the business end of a 2' x 4'. I really slammed into it and remember it smarted for about an hour...before I forgot all about it.
It took me at least 10 minutes to stop laughing and convince the doc that I wasn't covering for some abusive co-dependent relationship. When she finally left the room, I was positive that she was calling the po-po to report the incident. Looking back, I only wish I had taken a picture of it. In all my years, it was the most impressive injury I've ever given myself.
Point being, I'm used to toting a bruise around. But, when I see this bruise on my arm - most likely a result from our hectic tech rehearsal on Sunday - this isn't a mark I earned. There was no tree scaled. No bike screeched to a dusty stop. I wasn't necessarily "using" my body. I just bumped some random object that didn't register as even momentarily painful. (re: peach)
What's starting to unsettle me is that upon further inspection, it reminds me eerily of my great-grandmother's arms. She had that papery fine skin and it was always bruised in my memory. It's a dual feeling of connection to her - her arms are becoming my arms....and the thought of, "Dude, I'm getting old, but I ain't that old! "
I guess what I'm getting at is mayhaps I should step up and start earning some bruises while I'm still young enough to heal from them. Save the granny bruises for another time
100 years war
While we've eased off to 19-15, it's been a bumpy coupla weeks. We've only won 4 out of the last 13 games - dropped to 2nd in the division by what 3 or 4 games? (with Houston breathing down our necks.) Watching Leiber pitch yesterday - after giving up 4 homers in an inning, I wanted to shout out, "Ack! Mein Leiben!" (a sad, lame reference to a time when I once played Castle Wolfenstein...for 6 hours straight.)
Starting tomorrow we have home field stand for the next 10 games. Hopefully, getting off the road will help hit the re-set button.
As for this the brou-ha-ha with the Sox and their blow-up dolls. Some call it a case of boys being boys...I see it more of a case of boys being enraptured by the circle jerk. If you ever fail to recall that men are eternally 14 yr old, this should snap you back to reality. Still, if an inflatable doll somehow raises their collective ire and fires them up (seriously?), whatever...any female sports reporter worth her salt can handle a stupid blow up doll. Now, if some idiot mouthbreather ballplayer makes some remark refering to a reporter in terms of that blow up doll...then I've got a completely different response.
I will say that a bat in the anus is a bit over the line of demarcation. Although, I think the Sun Times had their priorities mixed up since that was the lead story on Tuesday, trumping the ongoing battle in the Dem's primary election. Sorry IN and NC voters...the blow up doll scandal trumps your attempts to effect the outcome of this historic election. Too bad. So sad.
As Pat Tomasulo said, "What ever happened to the rally cap?"
Indeed.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
file under: wtf
I love kids. I do, man. I love them. But, I see stuff like this, and even talking to my 12 yr old nephew - I wonder...what kind of generation of unfeeling automatrons we are raising? Yeah...we. Because no matter if you sired them/have a hand in rearing the rugrats of today or no, they're a'comin. And we're all responsible in part for them.
All the things that make me raise my eyebrow, shake my head in disbelief and then curl up into a ball include:
1) The fact that this kid wants to do bad things, I get. Breaking rules is always a temptation, even as an adult...but the idea that's it's fun to be a "hood rat"? Isn't the hip thing these days being a nerd? Nerds fucking rule. I thought we all agreed on that for 2008...?
2) That his friend (possibly the 7 yr old that joined in on the joyride), but at the very least an underaged kid, smokes cigarrettes - Man. I tried smoking in junior high. DUDE. 14 yrs old. THAT's when you take up the tabackie! Unfortunately for me, between the burnouts at the train tracks yelling at me that I wasn't inhaling, my lockermate putting up "Smoking Makes You Beautiful" posters in our locker to show her disapproval and with the constant fear that my father would find out and come at me with a Sam Jackson style whooping, my time as a smoker lasted all of about a week.
3) His logical conclusion to the thought, "Mom's pissing me off!" is, "I should...drive the car!" Whatever happened to slamming doors, going to your room, throwing yourself on your bed and then thinking of horrible ways that you might be killed and/or murdered, thusly putting your mother through the worst agony for yelling at/punishing you? Screaming silently in your mind, "They'll be sorry when I'm dead!" Then you roll over, wipe the tears from your cheeks, turn on the AM clock radio and lip sych to Supertramp's "Goodbye Stranger." Isn't THAT the way to truly payback your mom?
4) He hit a total of 4 cars and two mailboxes - if that kid isn't playing some version of GTA, I'm a fucking goat.
5) That the ADULTS shooting this "news story" thought it would be a sound journalistic choice to "recreate" the joyride in quicktime. I'm sorry...I guess the war's over, the economy's great, the election has been resolved, and there's a lot of time to fill in the newscast now.
6) I can't tolerate child abuse, but I'm in the camp that there is a very wide chasm between abuse and swatting your kid on the ass when he's acting a fool. I'm all for grandma whipping his behind - stealing/smashing up the family car, putting himself and other folks in danger, causing thousands of dollars in damages...AND HAVING ZERO REMORSE ABOUT IT. Yeah, this kid needs some fucking disipline. He needs to get scared straight, hit the morgue, and put that little kid to work to help pay for all the damage he did. For the next 18 years. Whatever it takes to snap the "hood rat" fixation out of his 7 yr old body. The fact that he feels the appropriate punishment for all of thise is a weekend with no Playstation...I want to put this kid over my knee and explain why this is gonna hurt me more than it will hurt him.
Although, I have to say, the best part of this kid's complete unwillingness to absorb any gravity of the situation, is when the cop tries to make the kid understand that he just screwed over his grandma for thousands of dollars, the kid's response is, "Can my mom help out?"
I can't help but laugh...while I rock back and forth in my fetal position.
I love kids. I do, man. I love them. But, I see stuff like this, and even talking to my 12 yr old nephew - I wonder...what kind of generation of unfeeling automatrons we are raising? Yeah...we. Because no matter if you sired them/have a hand in rearing the rugrats of today or no, they're a'comin. And we're all responsible in part for them.
All the things that make me raise my eyebrow, shake my head in disbelief and then curl up into a ball include:
1) The fact that this kid wants to do bad things, I get. Breaking rules is always a temptation, even as an adult...but the idea that's it's fun to be a "hood rat"? Isn't the hip thing these days being a nerd? Nerds fucking rule. I thought we all agreed on that for 2008...?
2) That his friend (possibly the 7 yr old that joined in on the joyride), but at the very least an underaged kid, smokes cigarrettes - Man. I tried smoking in junior high. DUDE. 14 yrs old. THAT's when you take up the tabackie! Unfortunately for me, between the burnouts at the train tracks yelling at me that I wasn't inhaling, my lockermate putting up "Smoking Makes You Beautiful" posters in our locker to show her disapproval and with the constant fear that my father would find out and come at me with a Sam Jackson style whooping, my time as a smoker lasted all of about a week.
3) His logical conclusion to the thought, "Mom's pissing me off!" is, "I should...drive the car!" Whatever happened to slamming doors, going to your room, throwing yourself on your bed and then thinking of horrible ways that you might be killed and/or murdered, thusly putting your mother through the worst agony for yelling at/punishing you? Screaming silently in your mind, "They'll be sorry when I'm dead!" Then you roll over, wipe the tears from your cheeks, turn on the AM clock radio and lip sych to Supertramp's "Goodbye Stranger." Isn't THAT the way to truly payback your mom?
4) He hit a total of 4 cars and two mailboxes - if that kid isn't playing some version of GTA, I'm a fucking goat.
5) That the ADULTS shooting this "news story" thought it would be a sound journalistic choice to "recreate" the joyride in quicktime. I'm sorry...I guess the war's over, the economy's great, the election has been resolved, and there's a lot of time to fill in the newscast now.
6) I can't tolerate child abuse, but I'm in the camp that there is a very wide chasm between abuse and swatting your kid on the ass when he's acting a fool. I'm all for grandma whipping his behind - stealing/smashing up the family car, putting himself and other folks in danger, causing thousands of dollars in damages...AND HAVING ZERO REMORSE ABOUT IT. Yeah, this kid needs some fucking disipline. He needs to get scared straight, hit the morgue, and put that little kid to work to help pay for all the damage he did. For the next 18 years. Whatever it takes to snap the "hood rat" fixation out of his 7 yr old body. The fact that he feels the appropriate punishment for all of thise is a weekend with no Playstation...I want to put this kid over my knee and explain why this is gonna hurt me more than it will hurt him.
Although, I have to say, the best part of this kid's complete unwillingness to absorb any gravity of the situation, is when the cop tries to make the kid understand that he just screwed over his grandma for thousands of dollars, the kid's response is, "Can my mom help out?"
I can't help but laugh...while I rock back and forth in my fetal position.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
be a man, be a klug-man!
I've been feeling a bit under the weather - not really sick, but bordering on it. Just groggy enough not to realise that I missed celebrating my most favorite of holidays on Sunday. Jack Klugman's Birthday! A long time ago, I figured if folks were celebrating things like Licorice Day, Baby Massage Day, Wear Your Pajamas To Work Day, National Hairball Awareness Day - all actual holidays, by the by...that I would be entirely in the right to celebrate Mr. Jack Klugman!
a few reasons why I continue to honor Klugman:
1) Quincy, M.E. freaking ROCKS- way ahead of it's time (20yrs ahead of all the CSI-style shows)
2) Was married to Brett Somers (the comic foil to Charles Nelson Reilly on Match Game) for 54 yrs (although they split up after 20-some yrs...neither ever filed for divorce and they worked together and remained close friend until her death.) As a little girl, my two biggest influnces on what kind of "girl" I wanted to be when I grew up was Laverne DeFazio and Brett Somers. I wanted to be a wiseass that could kick ass...whose father owned a pizzeria and bowling alley. Dream Big People.
3) I once learned he had a "bitter feud" with Norman Fell. I find that fascinating to this day.
If you need more reasons, rent any top-rated TV show from the 50's. He probably had a guest star spot in at least one episode. Or better yet, rent Quincy. I recommend Season 2....that's when he really starts getting his righteous indignation on with all the bells and whistles.
100 years war
Cubs are back home tonight playing the Brewers. Right now, we're at 16-9 (again, just celebrating a day at a time.) We're statistically tied with St. Louis for the division (pending the results of tonights game, of course), and are 2nd in the NL overall - Arizona is at 19-7.
Not too bad for the end of April, Chicago. Not too bad at all.
you don't know jack!
A group of friends have been, well, obsessed with playing QUIZZO (the pub trivia game) - for the past few weeks. Right now (according to our glorious leader), we are 2nd in our Division (Midwest States) and 4th in the National standings (statistically, we may be sharing 4th with multiple teams at this time.)
We've always finished in the top 3 - once in 3rd, most in 2nd, with 3 WINS! We've also set the pub record for high score on our second win, which has yet to be breeched.
Anyway, the National Finals are in Atlantic City the first weekend in June. Right now, there's no way I can go - I just can't afford it right now. But everyone's excited about the prospect of going, so folks are talking about holding a fundraiser to offset the cost of going. Hell, we've even started talking about renting an RV! Which in my mind, is a bad 80's disaster comedy waiting to happen.
We'll see if we can pull it off. It sounds crazy to haul all the way to AC for a silly trivia contest...but then again, why else would you drive half way across the nation? I mean, besides the Las Vegas style gambling? Personally, I suspect I may be too old to embrace the road trip...with 6-10 bodies. As the years pass, I'm really good about sharing everything I have...except my personal space. I'm a cranky old goat when it comes to that. Time shall tell...
I've been feeling a bit under the weather - not really sick, but bordering on it. Just groggy enough not to realise that I missed celebrating my most favorite of holidays on Sunday. Jack Klugman's Birthday! A long time ago, I figured if folks were celebrating things like Licorice Day, Baby Massage Day, Wear Your Pajamas To Work Day, National Hairball Awareness Day - all actual holidays, by the by...that I would be entirely in the right to celebrate Mr. Jack Klugman!
a few reasons why I continue to honor Klugman:
1) Quincy, M.E. freaking ROCKS- way ahead of it's time (20yrs ahead of all the CSI-style shows)
2) Was married to Brett Somers (the comic foil to Charles Nelson Reilly on Match Game) for 54 yrs (although they split up after 20-some yrs...neither ever filed for divorce and they worked together and remained close friend until her death.) As a little girl, my two biggest influnces on what kind of "girl" I wanted to be when I grew up was Laverne DeFazio and Brett Somers. I wanted to be a wiseass that could kick ass...whose father owned a pizzeria and bowling alley. Dream Big People.
3) I once learned he had a "bitter feud" with Norman Fell. I find that fascinating to this day.
If you need more reasons, rent any top-rated TV show from the 50's. He probably had a guest star spot in at least one episode. Or better yet, rent Quincy. I recommend Season 2....that's when he really starts getting his righteous indignation on with all the bells and whistles.
100 years war
Cubs are back home tonight playing the Brewers. Right now, we're at 16-9 (again, just celebrating a day at a time.) We're statistically tied with St. Louis for the division (pending the results of tonights game, of course), and are 2nd in the NL overall - Arizona is at 19-7.
Not too bad for the end of April, Chicago. Not too bad at all.
you don't know jack!
A group of friends have been, well, obsessed with playing QUIZZO (the pub trivia game) - for the past few weeks. Right now (according to our glorious leader), we are 2nd in our Division (Midwest States) and 4th in the National standings (statistically, we may be sharing 4th with multiple teams at this time.)
We've always finished in the top 3 - once in 3rd, most in 2nd, with 3 WINS! We've also set the pub record for high score on our second win, which has yet to be breeched.
Anyway, the National Finals are in Atlantic City the first weekend in June. Right now, there's no way I can go - I just can't afford it right now. But everyone's excited about the prospect of going, so folks are talking about holding a fundraiser to offset the cost of going. Hell, we've even started talking about renting an RV! Which in my mind, is a bad 80's disaster comedy waiting to happen.
We'll see if we can pull it off. It sounds crazy to haul all the way to AC for a silly trivia contest...but then again, why else would you drive half way across the nation? I mean, besides the Las Vegas style gambling? Personally, I suspect I may be too old to embrace the road trip...with 6-10 bodies. As the years pass, I'm really good about sharing everything I have...except my personal space. I'm a cranky old goat when it comes to that. Time shall tell...
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