Archive for March, 2008
I just was finishing my playlist named “My First Love” that has songs like “Go Cubs Go” and “A Dying Cubs Fan’s Last Request” and “When The Cubs go Marching In” and “The Night Chicago Died.”
I’ll be at the Cubs-Giants game in SF on June 30th. Hey Chicago, what do you say, the Cubs are gonna win today!
Except, they didn’t… win today.
Now, if only Joe Miller could use his mad photo-shopping skills to get The Fonz behind the wheel of the bus.
Near disaster in church this Easter Sunday. And I blame this particular outtake from Waiting For Guffman:
The thing about Guffman, for those of you unfamiliar, is that it gets in your blood. You memorize the movie, and then when you hear things paraphrased… ie, CNN Money, it became apparent that the S&P chief economist was paraphrasing guffman when he said: “The Fed is trying, but they don’t have a magic wand to wave and make everyone confident again.” (Guffman scene: “We need you to wave your magic wand and make this town special again.”)
So, you may have noticed this little segment of the above song (a Waiting For Guffman deleted scene):
“You taught me how to be a man. How to pitch a bail of hay. How to rassle a steer to the ground and apply a firey brand to his hind quarters. And yes, you taught me how to love a woman. How she can find comfort in your strong arms. And how the gentle fragrance of her hair can drive a man wild!”
So, imagine me trying to control myself in church when the speaker was telling a heart wrenching story about his friend losing his father, and then said, “He taught him how to be a man.” Immediately my friend and I looked at each other and covered our mouths. I fought so hard to hold in my laughter that I had a coughing fit.
Economy? Church? What segment of my life WON’T Waiting For Guffman penetrate?
It’s been five years since we invaded Iraq.
I still think it was a good idea.
I love Meryn Cadell’s music video of “The Sweater.” It’s a classic.
I know you will understand this
and feel the intrinsic incredible emotion
You have just pulled over your head the worn,
warm sweater belonging to a boy
Now, you haven’t had a passionate
kissing session or anything,
but you got to go on a camping trip with him
and eight other people from school
And you practically slept together,
your sleeping bag right next to his
And you woke in the night to watch him as he slept
but you couldn’t see anything ’cause it was dark
so you just laid there and listened to his breathing
and wondered if your heart might burst
The sweater has that faintly goat-like smell
which all teenage boys possess,
and that smell will lovingly transfer
to all your other clothes
If you get to keep it for a few
days you can sleep with it
but don’t let your mom see, ’cause she’ll say,
“what is that filthy thing, and who does it belong to
besides the trash man?”
So you have to keep it under the covers with you
You can kind of lie it beside you,
or wrap it around your waist,
or touch it on your legs, or whatever
That’s your business
Now if the sweater has, like, reindeer on it
or is a funny color like yellow… I’m sorry,
you can’t get away with a sweater like that
Look for brown, or grey, or blue
Anything other than that, and you
know you’re dealing with
someone who’s different
And different is NOT what you’re looking for
You’re looking for those Teenage Alpine ski-chiseled features
and that sort of blank look which
passes for deep thought
or at least the notion that someone’s home
You’re looking for the boy of your dreams
who is the same boy in the dreams of all your friends.
Now the sweater isn’t going to fit you of course,
you kind of have to roll up the sleeves in a jaunty way that says
this is the sweater belonging to a boy,
and the boy is a genuine hunka hunka burning love,
and this is not just some hand me down from your brother or your father
Monday, wear the sweater
Be calm, look cute
Don’t tell him about the dream you had
about the place the two of you would share
when you get older
Just be yourself
The best, cutest, quietest version of yourself
Definitely wear lip gloss
He looks at you, and then he looks away
And then he walks away
and the smell of the sweater hits you again suddenly
like ape-scent gloriola
and you get a note passed to you
by a girl in History that says
“He needs that sweater back.
He forgot you put it on in the tent on Saturday
and he’s been looking for it.”
And you don’t have to die of humiliation,
You are a strong person
and this is a learning experience
You can still hold your head up high as
you run from the classroom
tearing the stinking sweater from your body.
You look at that sweater, carefully,
and you realize that love made you temporarily blind.
You’ve got a secret now, honey,
and though you’d never sink as low as him,
you could blab it all over the school if you wanted
The label in that sweater
said “100% Acrylic”
Now that I have returned from my sojourn in the Great White North I can turn my attentions to bloggery.
I quite enjoyed this essay from David Mamet. He is a playwright and author, with many notable works including Glengarry Glen Ross and The Spanish Prisoner. He is also co-creater of one of my favorite shows, The Unit. He explains why he is no longer a brain-dead liberal.
There is some profanity (it was published in the Village Voice after all), but I think it is worth reading. I don’t agree with all of his opinions, but find this kind of conversion very interesting. Mamet is not alone. Dennis Miller and Ron Silver have had similar awakenings, though more on the national security than economic front.
Don’t be a brain-dead liberal.
I thought I spent a long time in the bathroom.
I have so many questions.
1) What is so comforting about the bathroom that you can’t leave for two years?
2) Why would the boyfriend bring her meals, enabling her reclusive behavior?
3) Why did her boyfriend not leave her after seeing her eat meals on the toilet with her sweat pants around her knees?
4) Did she have a airplane-like neck pillow for sleeping on said toilet?
Guest Post from T. Russell:
* * *
Oh yeah!!! You guys remember the Medieval Club in college? You know, the ones below the math club in popularity? Well my co-worker has a neighbor who is currently on “vacation” in Mississippi at the annual SCA Gulf Wars (SCA is the official name of the club). Ever wonder what those guys were doing in between the HFAC and the Wilk, swinging 20 ft. wooden broad swords? That’s right – practicing to fight in a fake war.
Back to the neighbor. When asked about Medieval Times, he related the story that I guess is now known in SCA circles as “the Incident”. At one point, MT invited members of SCA to legitimize the restaurant chain but the plan backfired. Apparently there was an open tab offered SCA as means to lure them into the grandstands. When one of the drunken minstrels in the party found out that MT was staffing the show with only actors and fake fighting, he became infuriated and cleared the bench. They challenged Red Knight to a duel and the rest is history. SCA members have been barred from Medieval Times.
Here is a little clip of what is going on right now at the SCA Gulf Wars:
Oh my goodness, this is the best music video I’ve ever seen. Lionel Richie has not let me down with his visual rendition of “Hello”. Watch it all the way until the end. Then watch again. This is such a blessing.
This primary season has been so exciting! All this talk of change, and making a better America, and fixing all of our problems. Sometimes I can be downright grumpy about politics! Just look at what I had to say about this and this. What a sourpuss! I think I have been too disappointed by politicians to even allow myself to feel the h..ho…ho….hope! There! It was even hard to write that! But I’m there, friends. I feel hope. It’s like blood, flowing through my body all the way down to my toes. It makes me smile, nod my head, I even start to tap my feet. By now you must be riveted to the screen with fervent desire to know why I am so hopeful. Let me start at the beginning.
I was listening to a song by one J. Timberlake, entitled “Lovestoned.” Some critical excerpts:
She looks like a model
Except she’s got a little more —
Don’t even bother
Unless you’ve got that thing she likes
I hope she’s goin’ home with me tonight
And all she wants is to dance
That’s why you’ll find her on the floor
But you don’t have a chance
Unless you move the way that she likes
That’s why she’s goin’ home with me tonight
I know you must be thinking the same thing. In what world does the hottest girl in the club make her selection based solely on one’s dancing prowess? She will go for you “if you have the thing that she likes” or “if you move the way that she likes.” This theory is something I call the “Meritocracy of the Dancefloor.” Until now I have thought it only a fantasy. This is like some kind of perfect scenario we capitalists like to talk about. Just invent a new product that is better and cheaper and you will be successful. Hah. That was before I discovered hope.
Not everyone was born with my gifts. As a half-cuban I have been blessed with innate rhythm. But there are millions out there who have to toil in the clubs of this world barely able to string two steps together. They work hard at it, but as long as there are better looking and more rhythmically inclined people the playing field will not be level.
Only one person can save this beleaguered group. This is important, because we know that the big corporations don’t care and the social conservatives want to outlaw that (devil) dancing (see this documentary).
Only one man has inspired the hope in me that ALL of our problems can be fixed, including the myth of dancefloor meritocracy. To the Chicago Council on Global Affairs he said the following:
The fifth way America will lead again is to invest in our common humanity – to ensure that those who live in fear and want today can live with dignity and opportunity tomorrow.
Can’t you just tell that he was speaking to you, the downtrodden and rhythmically inept? If that is not clear to you then I want to make it clear to you. No longer will you go to the discos of France and Spain and Dubai and be mocked. Respect and dignity can be yours. Vote for hope! Vote Obama.