20) From the Old English 'Cristes Mæsse’
We get Christmas, meaning the “mass of Christ.”
At the time of Jesus’ birth, there were approx. 300 million people on earth and 35,000 people in Jerusalem. Two-thousand years later, 400 million people around the globe celebrate Christmas. Sometimes it just takes a little while for a good thing catch on. A massive population spike doesn’t hurt either.
19) The Great Ashen Faggot
Most of us our familiar with the phrase “throw another yule log on the fire.” Less familiar is the yule log’s traditional Scandanavian name, the Great Ashen Faggot, which has been used in winter solstice celebrations for centuries (often with wassail). Ancient lore also says that any household that does not burn the ashen faggot will receive a year’s worth of bad luck.
Go ahead. I dare you. “Hey mom: quit whining and throw another ashen faggot on the fire.”
18) Back to the Future: Powered by Yule
Speaking of Yule, maybe we should ditch ethanol and start investing in yule as a next generation fuel source. I know a couple of seasonal enthusiasts with enough yule to power a flux capaceter or two (ex: adult visitors to Chicago who demand a visit to the Hancock building to see the Christmas train).
Here’s hoping that your Christmas tank is currently full-o’-yule.
17) Sorkin Christmas
Nobody -- and I mean nobody -- writes Christmas episodes like Aaron Sorkin. From the West Wing he brought us: 1) In Excelsis Deo: Toby orders the honor burial for the Vietnam veteran 2) Noel: Josh’s bout with post-traumatic stress disorder and 3) O Holy Night: Toby’s father pays him a visit and the Whippenpoofs are at the White House. All. Classic. Episodes.
But the best Sorkin Christmas episode, in my humble opinion, is last year’s Studio 60 in which Danny Tripp (Bradley Whitford) threw this 100 mph Rick Vaughn heater at Jordan (Amanda Peet): “If you want to run I understand, but you’d better get a good head start, because I’m coming for you Jordan.” That = tatonka.
The episode also featured an unforgettable performance by displaced jazz musicians from New Orleans.
It's enough to make me thankful all over again.
16) Let There Be (Five Miles of) Lights
Think you’ve got a lot of Christmas lights in your basement? Try the Rockefeller Center’s tree on for size. The Norway Spruce on display is normally 75 feet tall, and every year it adorns over 25,000 feet of Christmas lights.
Now that’s a lot of wattage.
16) Guitar Hero III or Barbie Island Princess?
How’d you like to be this 15 year-old? So close, yet so far away. On a scale of 1 to 10, I’m rating the father’s handling of the situation a “14.” Love the sarcasm (per always).
14) Falalala
Need a little romance with your season? The feel-good Christmas specials are running nightly on Lifetime; look for the “Falalala” insignia in the corner of your TV screen (FYI, there’s about a 99.8% chance Lifetime is a neighbor to Oxygen on your TV dial).
I caught Jennifer Grey having the time of her life san Swayzee in “Road to Christmas.” Two Thumbs up.
13) Straight? No Chaser? Con Ponce?
This is awesome! The video has garnered nearly 4 million clicks on YouTube, at least 10 of which I proudly call my own. Who needs Toto when you’ve got ABC’s finest, Dan Ponce, at the helm. Cheers to you my friend.
Dare I say it: “Fi-ji-Gam-ma-Christ-mas-time!!!”
12) A Christmas Carol
On December 19th, 1843 – exactly 164 years ago -- Charles Dickens published the instantly beloved novel, "A Christmas Carol," which Dickens described as “his little Christmas book.”
Dickens’ contemporaries noted that the story's popularity played a critical role in redefining the importance of Christmas. I note that Dickens tainted the name “Ebeneezer” forever.
11) A Festivus for the Rest of Us
Anti-Christmas crusaders won’t be receiving any coinage from the Chowder. My lone exception is the Kostanzas who celebrate Festivus, featuring the Airing of Grievances, the Festivus Pole, and the Feats of Strength (i.e. wrestling with Frank).
You've got to hand it to Seinfeld and Larry David; those guys were in the zone for a long while. And when you think about it, Festivus is almost ludicrous enough to be real-life government sanctioned holiday. Seriously: Arbor Day?
10) Egg Nog
Can’t get enough of this stuff. And I’m talking straight out of the carton (sans alcohol). I don’t even drink milk most of the year.
If producers were willing to forgo the seasonal sentimentality, I’d be a year-round buyer. Somebody call market research and see if we can't run some numbers. I don't think I'm alone.
9) Clear Eyes, Full Hearts (You) Can't Lose!
Looking to improve your lot in (my) life? Want to add a gratuity onto your free subscription to Knobs Chowder? It just so happens that I am currently without the 1st season of Friday Night Lights. Hoping to change that. I’m not above begging.
8) Beaujolais Nouveau
This traditional, holiday wine is made from gamay grapes and produced in the Beaujolais region of France. It is fermented for only a few weeks and then released for sale every year on the third Thursday of November – intended to be consumed immediately.
More than other wines, Beaujolais is a hit or miss proposition based on vintage, but it’s a fun holiday option and worth the gamble. If you’re looking for a recommendation, Georges Duboeuf's vineyard is synonymous with Beaujolais.
7) What Are You Looking at Clark?
“Oh, the silent majesty of a winter's morn... the clean, cool chill of the holiday air... an asshole in his bathrobe, emptying a chemical toilet into my sewer.”
6) Christmas Stockings
Please tell me that your family is still using Christmas stockings, hung form the chimney with care (triple your score if grandma threaded yours). Hoping so, because I’m starting to think that stockings are in a bit of a recession.
Beyond the stockings’ utilitarian value, which should be enough to warrant tenure, it's also a good litmus test for parents. Figuring out a cool present that can fit down a stocking is a good prelude to bigger fish (like the teenage years).
Besides, my favorite over-sized, L-sock is still bearing fruit. 30 does not make one too old for Pez dispensers.
5) Nick & Jessica: Meet Ben Stein
Take this holiday commentary seriously. It’s worthy of your time. But amidst your seriousness, give yourself a bonus point if you’re mentally reading the passage in a monotone voice that slowly calls out, “Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?.....Fry? Fry? Fry?”
4) Here’s Johnnnnnnny (i.e. The Quote of the Month)
“The worst gift is a fruitcake. There is only one fruitcake in the entire world, and people keep sending it to each other.”
3) Christmas Eve Congregation
I’m not a regular churchgoer throughout the calendar year; my faith lacks a little snuff. But my time-away from the altar means I've got that much more gusto on Dec. 24th when my family joins a packed congregation at Crescent Hill’s Christmas Eve Service.
Children on Saint Nick-flavored Red Bull scurry between the aisles. Friends you last saw a year ago greet you with a hug. And then, as the service comes to end, an A Cappella, candlelit rendition of Silent Night.
Truly, there’s no place like home for the holidays.
2) Isn’t There Anyone Who Knows.....
What Christmas is all about? Well sure there is Charlie Brown.
1) In the Not-So Bleak Midwinter
I made an impulse purchase for someone this Christmas. Tonight I’m writing out Christmas cards, shopping for gifts on Amazon, and helping to organize a holiday get together or two.
I do these things with other people in mind, but in actuality, I benefit the most. If the holidays were a division equation, the denominator would be good will towards men, and the quotient would always equal infinity. A result I need to remember because life is a state of mind and Christmas is an accessible state -- regardless of the season.
Friends: may the merriment of the season engulf you. May the light of the world shine upon your path. And above all else, may your woodshed be full of big, dry, great ashen faggots.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
The Best Books of 2007
It is often said there are only two types of stories: a man goes on a journey, or a stranger comes to town. Any recent best-seller list might suggest another characterization: a life rises from the ashes or it comes wholly undone.
Personally, I much prefer the former, with its hopeful overtones and undercurrents of inertia. And yes, I also prefer titles which speak to one big piece and not a million little ones.
Accordingly, you’ll find nary a tale of personal deconstruction on this list. Granted, the inverse isn’t true either: I'm not addicted to narratives about puppy dogs and ice cream.
Some of these novels have inexplicably avoided my grasp for years. Others are more recent and familiar additions to paperback row, emblazoned with award-winning seals which scream out, “only a fool wouldn’t purchase me.”
All of these books have brought me immeasurable pleasure.
Ironically, as hinted at above, none of these books were published in 2007. I’m shunning that traditional categorization in favor of the year in which they were read. What’s a born-on-date matter if it hasn’t arrived in my possession until now?
Finally, I know that literary taste is as unique and confounding a proposition as the opposite sex -- not all of these will strike a chord. But as the holidays near and time (theoretically) extends itself, perhaps one or two will add a degree of merriment to your season, whether before or after a long winter’s nap.
"The Lay of the Land" by Richard Ford
How do you know if a book is really, really good? Any next read will pale in comparison to such a degree that, invariably, it gets shoved aside after 20 pages of utter dissatisfaction.
I started four different books after "The Lay of the Land."
In this, the last of Ford’s trilogy detailing the life of real estate agent Frank Bascombe, our principal subject is dealing with the “Permanent Period” and a simultaneous bout with prostate cancer. It’s a meditation on life, America, growing old, and our reliance on others (with every possible connotation implied).
Ford, at his best, reminds me of a prize fighter with a great hook. You’ll be dancing around his literary landscape and then “Wham!” -- he hits you with an observation that is so keen and poignant, you can’t believe such insight is possible in so few words.
Incredibly, his prose here is never superfluous or overreaching; the narrative voice feels effortless. I didn’t love the ending, but don't let that deter you.
Enjoy this bout for all it’s worth.
"A Soldier of the Great War" by Mark Helprin
My first Helprin foray was "Freddy & Fredericka" -- a tale about a bumbling, overeducated prince and his frivolous wife who are sent to the States to repossess the colonies (“Then came ten piercing words that shattered Freddy’s peace of mind like a dagger clinging to a marble floor: “Freddy,” she asked, “you know what I’ve got? I’ve got disco fever.”).
If this entry included the best reads from a year ago, "Freddy & Fredericka" would have been a highlight of the list.
But whereas F&F is a sweeping joyride of unlikely vistas and heart-warming delight, A Soldier is more meaty and builds in a long, arcing crescendo. In it, an aging professor of aesthetics walks from Rome to Monte Prato, telling a young, impressionable companion the story of his life. He recounts his impulsive youth, an immeasurable love, and his efforts to outlast an unending war.
Helprin's prose is an amplified dose of vitality, a shot of adrenaline whenever I'm down. And if you’re looking for a barometer for my literary taste, this is a great point of reference.
If Helprin isn’t up your alley, we’re probably out of luck.
"Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman (24 stories)" by Haruki Marukami
This introspective collection is a great introduction to Japan’s most popular fiction writer. The 24 stories asks big questions without asking them, while opening doors to far away worlds.
You’ll read about “the year of spaghetti” and a cooking pot big enough to hold a German shepherd. You’ll meet Tony Takitani and his wife, whose apartment-sized closet holds only size seven dresses. And you’ll bump into man-eating cats, chance travelers, an ice man, and a memorable birthday encounter (or two).
Marukami already owns a lot of turf on my bookshelf, but I enjoyed these stories as much as anything I’ve read of his, except possibly "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle." If you’re looking to venture outside of your comfort zone and don’t know Marukami as of yet, I would highly recommend giving this collection a go.
"The Gold Bug Variations" by Richard Powers
This book is so darn good it’s making the list even though I haven’t finished it (how about them apples!). But I’d be slighting you if I didn’t also admit the following: this is a BEAST of an undertaking.
The novel should be subtitled: “Much Ado About Molecular Biology (all of it).” Every time I start reading this book sans caffeine (i.e. quad espresso) or not entirely focused, I miss 50% of the page. On my best day numerous passages, ciphers, and molecular references are still way beyond me.
BUT if you’re up for a challenge, proceed without reservation. This is a pulsating, innovative novel -- one of a kind in every sense. It’s the type of book which could spur a person to start out in a new life direction, certain they will never look back.
At the core of our story is an unlikely trio: 1) a once promising genetics researcher on the brink of decoding the double helix which Watson and Crick have modeled 2) a drifting art historian ABD (all-but-dissertation) and 3) a librarian with a penchant for “this day in history.” It’s a double love story which also explores the connections between biology, music, and computation. Ultimately, each character must discover the life molecule -- deliberating on its endless, mutating variations on a four-note theme -- in order to come to grips with their own existence.
This book is a climber's Everest. Only a handful of readers will find pleasure in the commitment required to make the summit.
I hope it never ends.
"The Time of Our Singing" by Richard Powers
Noticing a pattern here? The man can write! Powers’ most recent novel, "The Echo Maker," won the National Book Award for crying out loud. Granted, the subject matter in Echo -- a near-fatal accident leads to a reluctant reunion between a brother and sister -– doesn’t interest me as much (too many little pieces). But Powers has me lock, stock, and barrel with "The Time of Our Singing."
This novel centers on two musically gifted brothers, inseparable throughout most of the novel. Their father is a Jewish emigre physicist who is studying the space-time continuum and lends a hand on the atomic bomb (i.e. another scientist on the cusp). Their mother is African-American, trained as a classical singer.
Husband and wife meet at Marian Anderson’s historic concert on the Washington Mall. They being a secretive romance and fall quickly in love -- alienating her family in the process. The couple then moves to New York where they are determined to raise their sons in a home which is beyond judgment, racism, and time – steeped only in song and a love for one another.
But the 1950s are not an easy decade for two mixed-race boys to come of age. Music and family will be their only constants.
The novel's intricate harmonies are undeniable, and Powers' sense of pace could steady a metronome. Its multi-layered, rich voices will lay out a melody which pierces your heart and your ears.
You will hear its singing long after the final page.
"AT SWIM, Two Boys" by Jamie O’Neill
The setting is Ireland during World War I, leading up to the Easter Rising, when local radicals will revolt against British rule. The storyline is two boys coming of age and falling in love. A third mate (of sorts) who talks to an imaginary, Socratic companion will affect both their lives in ways neither could have expected.
Ireland’s lush countryside and downtrodden history can romanticize any novel, but it’s the author's skillful molding which drives the reader into the heart of the Emerald Isle. The characters are raw, believable, and accessible to a degree which has me struggling to find a worthy comparison.
Reading about the sexual impulses of two loving boys took a little getting used to; it was unfamiliar terrain. But don’t be dissuaded.
The most lyrical, haunting -- perhaps affecting -- book of the year.
"The World to Come" by Dora Horn
My safest recommendation on the list. Readers of all shapes and sizes should gravitate towards Horn’s subject and prose.
The narrative centers on a man who sees a Chagall and then becomes (obsessively) convinced it used to belong to his family. He is spurred to action, finding love and his scattered self along the way. Mystery, romance, historical flashbacks: this effort has them all. Don’t be surprised if this novel is making the rounds in book clubs or on the train next year.
Entertainment Weekly’s review is right on the money: “nothing short of amazing.”
"Tres Tristes Tigres" (Three Trapped Tigers) by G. Cabrera Infante
Hailed as the “Cuban Ulysses.” I get the comparison. This is a dense, difficult novel (of a different variety than Gold Bug). Improbable characters cascade from every direction and the stream-of-consciousness dialog is nearly impenetrable at times. If you think the first few chapters are running amuck, just wait.
At one point you’ll flip the book upside down.
Still, the passages which didn’t fly (10,000 ft) over my head were by turns musical, absurd, and absurdly funny. It's an admiring portrait of pre-Castro Cuba, and a quixotic joyride the likes of which you've never experienced.
To be sure, this tiger can not be tamed in one sitting or frame of mind; it’s a labyrinth without end (amen). But there's nourishment to be had as you meander through Infante's maze. And ultimately, perhaps, a great deal of appreciation.
"Special Topics in Calamity Physics" by Marisha Pessl
Not the apex of my literary year but Pessl’s narrative voice, in this very original work, is so distinct and refreshing -- in the end I decided to add Calamity Physics to my list.
In this whimsical debut, a daughter is told that “a person should have a magnificent reason for writing out her Life Story and expecting anyone to read it...unless your name is Mozart or Bond – James Bond – you best spend your free time finger painting or playing shuffleboard, for no one, with the exception of your flabby-armed mother with stiff hair and a mashed-potato way of looking at you, will want to hear the particulars of your pitiable existence, which doubtlessly will end as it began – with a wheeze.”
And yet the daughter, Blue van Meer, is convinced that her life story is worthy of the telling -- and at a formative age no less. And so our story begins.
If you enjoyed Pessl’s witty (verbose?) intro above, you’d do well to settle in for the duration. Her playful prose seeps through every crack of every sidewalk which Blue strolls down.
An escapist read that is likely to delight.
"Champagne: How the World’s Most Glamorous Wine Triumphed Over War and Hard Times" by Don & Petite Kladstrup
Last but certainly not least: a recipient from non-fiction row.
The subject material here should come as no surprise, as many readers are familiar with my love for wine. But as the title suggests, this is more a historical overview than a lesson in blending techniques.
In 250 pages you’ll learn how pinot meunier, chardonnay, and pinot noir became the three primary grapes for champagne. You’ll learn about the Monk at the Abbey of Hautvilliers, Dom Perignon, and how his name got attached to the world’s most renowned champagne 200 years after he died. You’ll come to appreciate the Sun King, as his reign changed the fate of champagne forever.
And you’ll visit the bloodied battlefields near Epernay and Reims, where millions of men lost their lives fighting for the soil on which the vines grow. Thankfully, those hallowed grounds in the northeast of France are more fertile than ever today, producing every drop of champagne the world consumes.
The Kladstrups cover all this and more in a linear, fresh tonality that reads more like a dedication than a history text. High marks.
Personally, I much prefer the former, with its hopeful overtones and undercurrents of inertia. And yes, I also prefer titles which speak to one big piece and not a million little ones.
Accordingly, you’ll find nary a tale of personal deconstruction on this list. Granted, the inverse isn’t true either: I'm not addicted to narratives about puppy dogs and ice cream.
Some of these novels have inexplicably avoided my grasp for years. Others are more recent and familiar additions to paperback row, emblazoned with award-winning seals which scream out, “only a fool wouldn’t purchase me.”
All of these books have brought me immeasurable pleasure.
Ironically, as hinted at above, none of these books were published in 2007. I’m shunning that traditional categorization in favor of the year in which they were read. What’s a born-on-date matter if it hasn’t arrived in my possession until now?
Finally, I know that literary taste is as unique and confounding a proposition as the opposite sex -- not all of these will strike a chord. But as the holidays near and time (theoretically) extends itself, perhaps one or two will add a degree of merriment to your season, whether before or after a long winter’s nap.
"The Lay of the Land" by Richard Ford
How do you know if a book is really, really good? Any next read will pale in comparison to such a degree that, invariably, it gets shoved aside after 20 pages of utter dissatisfaction.
I started four different books after "The Lay of the Land."
In this, the last of Ford’s trilogy detailing the life of real estate agent Frank Bascombe, our principal subject is dealing with the “Permanent Period” and a simultaneous bout with prostate cancer. It’s a meditation on life, America, growing old, and our reliance on others (with every possible connotation implied).
Ford, at his best, reminds me of a prize fighter with a great hook. You’ll be dancing around his literary landscape and then “Wham!” -- he hits you with an observation that is so keen and poignant, you can’t believe such insight is possible in so few words.
Incredibly, his prose here is never superfluous or overreaching; the narrative voice feels effortless. I didn’t love the ending, but don't let that deter you.
Enjoy this bout for all it’s worth.
"A Soldier of the Great War" by Mark Helprin
My first Helprin foray was "Freddy & Fredericka" -- a tale about a bumbling, overeducated prince and his frivolous wife who are sent to the States to repossess the colonies (“Then came ten piercing words that shattered Freddy’s peace of mind like a dagger clinging to a marble floor: “Freddy,” she asked, “you know what I’ve got? I’ve got disco fever.”).
If this entry included the best reads from a year ago, "Freddy & Fredericka" would have been a highlight of the list.
But whereas F&F is a sweeping joyride of unlikely vistas and heart-warming delight, A Soldier is more meaty and builds in a long, arcing crescendo. In it, an aging professor of aesthetics walks from Rome to Monte Prato, telling a young, impressionable companion the story of his life. He recounts his impulsive youth, an immeasurable love, and his efforts to outlast an unending war.
Helprin's prose is an amplified dose of vitality, a shot of adrenaline whenever I'm down. And if you’re looking for a barometer for my literary taste, this is a great point of reference.
If Helprin isn’t up your alley, we’re probably out of luck.
"Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman (24 stories)" by Haruki Marukami
This introspective collection is a great introduction to Japan’s most popular fiction writer. The 24 stories asks big questions without asking them, while opening doors to far away worlds.
You’ll read about “the year of spaghetti” and a cooking pot big enough to hold a German shepherd. You’ll meet Tony Takitani and his wife, whose apartment-sized closet holds only size seven dresses. And you’ll bump into man-eating cats, chance travelers, an ice man, and a memorable birthday encounter (or two).
Marukami already owns a lot of turf on my bookshelf, but I enjoyed these stories as much as anything I’ve read of his, except possibly "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle." If you’re looking to venture outside of your comfort zone and don’t know Marukami as of yet, I would highly recommend giving this collection a go.
"The Gold Bug Variations" by Richard Powers
This book is so darn good it’s making the list even though I haven’t finished it (how about them apples!). But I’d be slighting you if I didn’t also admit the following: this is a BEAST of an undertaking.
The novel should be subtitled: “Much Ado About Molecular Biology (all of it).” Every time I start reading this book sans caffeine (i.e. quad espresso) or not entirely focused, I miss 50% of the page. On my best day numerous passages, ciphers, and molecular references are still way beyond me.
BUT if you’re up for a challenge, proceed without reservation. This is a pulsating, innovative novel -- one of a kind in every sense. It’s the type of book which could spur a person to start out in a new life direction, certain they will never look back.
At the core of our story is an unlikely trio: 1) a once promising genetics researcher on the brink of decoding the double helix which Watson and Crick have modeled 2) a drifting art historian ABD (all-but-dissertation) and 3) a librarian with a penchant for “this day in history.” It’s a double love story which also explores the connections between biology, music, and computation. Ultimately, each character must discover the life molecule -- deliberating on its endless, mutating variations on a four-note theme -- in order to come to grips with their own existence.
This book is a climber's Everest. Only a handful of readers will find pleasure in the commitment required to make the summit.
I hope it never ends.
"The Time of Our Singing" by Richard Powers
Noticing a pattern here? The man can write! Powers’ most recent novel, "The Echo Maker," won the National Book Award for crying out loud. Granted, the subject matter in Echo -- a near-fatal accident leads to a reluctant reunion between a brother and sister -– doesn’t interest me as much (too many little pieces). But Powers has me lock, stock, and barrel with "The Time of Our Singing."
This novel centers on two musically gifted brothers, inseparable throughout most of the novel. Their father is a Jewish emigre physicist who is studying the space-time continuum and lends a hand on the atomic bomb (i.e. another scientist on the cusp). Their mother is African-American, trained as a classical singer.
Husband and wife meet at Marian Anderson’s historic concert on the Washington Mall. They being a secretive romance and fall quickly in love -- alienating her family in the process. The couple then moves to New York where they are determined to raise their sons in a home which is beyond judgment, racism, and time – steeped only in song and a love for one another.
But the 1950s are not an easy decade for two mixed-race boys to come of age. Music and family will be their only constants.
The novel's intricate harmonies are undeniable, and Powers' sense of pace could steady a metronome. Its multi-layered, rich voices will lay out a melody which pierces your heart and your ears.
You will hear its singing long after the final page.
"AT SWIM, Two Boys" by Jamie O’Neill
The setting is Ireland during World War I, leading up to the Easter Rising, when local radicals will revolt against British rule. The storyline is two boys coming of age and falling in love. A third mate (of sorts) who talks to an imaginary, Socratic companion will affect both their lives in ways neither could have expected.
Ireland’s lush countryside and downtrodden history can romanticize any novel, but it’s the author's skillful molding which drives the reader into the heart of the Emerald Isle. The characters are raw, believable, and accessible to a degree which has me struggling to find a worthy comparison.
Reading about the sexual impulses of two loving boys took a little getting used to; it was unfamiliar terrain. But don’t be dissuaded.
The most lyrical, haunting -- perhaps affecting -- book of the year.
"The World to Come" by Dora Horn
My safest recommendation on the list. Readers of all shapes and sizes should gravitate towards Horn’s subject and prose.
The narrative centers on a man who sees a Chagall and then becomes (obsessively) convinced it used to belong to his family. He is spurred to action, finding love and his scattered self along the way. Mystery, romance, historical flashbacks: this effort has them all. Don’t be surprised if this novel is making the rounds in book clubs or on the train next year.
Entertainment Weekly’s review is right on the money: “nothing short of amazing.”
"Tres Tristes Tigres" (Three Trapped Tigers) by G. Cabrera Infante
Hailed as the “Cuban Ulysses.” I get the comparison. This is a dense, difficult novel (of a different variety than Gold Bug). Improbable characters cascade from every direction and the stream-of-consciousness dialog is nearly impenetrable at times. If you think the first few chapters are running amuck, just wait.
At one point you’ll flip the book upside down.
Still, the passages which didn’t fly (10,000 ft) over my head were by turns musical, absurd, and absurdly funny. It's an admiring portrait of pre-Castro Cuba, and a quixotic joyride the likes of which you've never experienced.
To be sure, this tiger can not be tamed in one sitting or frame of mind; it’s a labyrinth without end (amen). But there's nourishment to be had as you meander through Infante's maze. And ultimately, perhaps, a great deal of appreciation.
"Special Topics in Calamity Physics" by Marisha Pessl
Not the apex of my literary year but Pessl’s narrative voice, in this very original work, is so distinct and refreshing -- in the end I decided to add Calamity Physics to my list.
In this whimsical debut, a daughter is told that “a person should have a magnificent reason for writing out her Life Story and expecting anyone to read it...unless your name is Mozart or Bond – James Bond – you best spend your free time finger painting or playing shuffleboard, for no one, with the exception of your flabby-armed mother with stiff hair and a mashed-potato way of looking at you, will want to hear the particulars of your pitiable existence, which doubtlessly will end as it began – with a wheeze.”
And yet the daughter, Blue van Meer, is convinced that her life story is worthy of the telling -- and at a formative age no less. And so our story begins.
If you enjoyed Pessl’s witty (verbose?) intro above, you’d do well to settle in for the duration. Her playful prose seeps through every crack of every sidewalk which Blue strolls down.
An escapist read that is likely to delight.
"Champagne: How the World’s Most Glamorous Wine Triumphed Over War and Hard Times" by Don & Petite Kladstrup
Last but certainly not least: a recipient from non-fiction row.
The subject material here should come as no surprise, as many readers are familiar with my love for wine. But as the title suggests, this is more a historical overview than a lesson in blending techniques.
In 250 pages you’ll learn how pinot meunier, chardonnay, and pinot noir became the three primary grapes for champagne. You’ll learn about the Monk at the Abbey of Hautvilliers, Dom Perignon, and how his name got attached to the world’s most renowned champagne 200 years after he died. You’ll come to appreciate the Sun King, as his reign changed the fate of champagne forever.
And you’ll visit the bloodied battlefields near Epernay and Reims, where millions of men lost their lives fighting for the soil on which the vines grow. Thankfully, those hallowed grounds in the northeast of France are more fertile than ever today, producing every drop of champagne the world consumes.
The Kladstrups cover all this and more in a linear, fresh tonality that reads more like a dedication than a history text. High marks.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
The Monthly Stew....
20) Honest Abe and Turkey Day
American families began holding unofficial Thanksgiving dinners back in the 1700s, but it wasn’t until Abraham Lincoln’s Proclamation in 1863 that the last Thursday in November was officially recognized as a national holiday of Thanksgiving. Six weeks later Lincoln would set foot on Gettysburg soil and offer “a few appropriate remarks” that the world would long remember.
I’d say Abe's six weeks in 1863 are > my last six weeks by a factor of infinity + 1 (give or take a bear claw).
19) The Holiday Calendar
I’m old school. I FIRMLY believe the Christmas season should begin AFTER Thanksgiving. And yes, it’s mighty fortunate I wasn’t holding the code to a missile silo three weeks ago when I heard Jingle Bells in Arby’s.
But now that Turkey Day (ham in my family) is behind us, I’m ready to shift the yule into 6th gear. Bring out the egg nog and throw Love Actually in the DVD. If Billy Mack can’t get you into the Christmas spirit, I’ve got nothing for you.
18) A Random Thought Re: Corporate America
“We better find some managers to manage the managers.”
17) A Generational Thing
I’m hoping some of you caught ESPN’s profile on Rob Jones, grandson of the notorious cult leader (and mass murderer at Jonestown), Jim Jones Sr.
With every new generation, there comes much reason for hope.
16) Rails to Tomorrow
For the first time in 50 years, two passenger trains -- one northward bound, the other heading south -- took passengers between North and South Korea last week.
On board the North-bound train was a conductor who made one of the last railway crossings before they ended because of the 1950-53 Korean War. "I wish I could operate this train myself," Han Chun-ki, 80, said. "I never thought this day would come".
15) The Host Is Right?
Is Drew Carry really the new host of the Price is Right? Don’t you think CBS could have made the visual transition a little easier on us – perhaps by introducing a middle-aged, semi-fit substitute before settling in on the ultimate contrast: the pimply-faced, portly Carry. This could be a good marriage in the end, but the contrast is gonna take some getting used to.
14) This is Going to Blow You Right Out of the Water
“Have you heard of this thing: eight minute abs?”
“Yeah, sure, 8-minute abs...the exercise video.”
“Listen to this: 7-minute abs.”
13) Pandora
Sometimes it takes two or three people, advocating for the same thing, before it sets in that I need to pay attention. Pandora, the “make your own radio station” website, falls into this category for me. But now that I’m onboard, I’m all in. Pandora's site is super easy to use, and after you suggest an initial artist/song, they hit you with a great potpourri of like-sounding artists.
Thanks go to Elena, Allison, and others for getting me tuned in.
12) Potty mouths
Is it me or can you now get away with saying virtually anything on network television? I know that “son of a bitch” is now permissible; I hear it all the time. I’m pretty sure other verbal discretions are now sanctioned without fines as well.
Maybe the FCC was just waiting for Howard Stern to leave the public air waves before they loosened the verbal leash.
11) Google Looking to Buy Spectrum
Speaking of the FCC, Google has announced its interest in spending up to $4.6 billion in the upcoming auction for wireless spectrum (700 MHz). All this from a search engine specialist feeling lucky.
I think it's 50/50 whether they send a man to Mars by 2015.
10) “All Politics is Local”
This famous quote from U.S. House Speaker Tip O’ Neil has taken on a new meaning in Chicago. Todd Stroger, President of the Cook County Board of Commissioners, is now on a war path to increase the Cook County sales tax to a highest-in-nation 11%. Here's to hoping that locals care enough to weigh in on this, and other issues in Chicago, which affect our lives exponentially more than 99.9% of CNN's headlines.
9) Que Syrah, Syrah
As you trudge through wine stores this holiday season and notice that the shelves are disproportionately stocked with Pinot Noir and Cabernet Sauvignon, do yourself a favor and go around the corner and try a few Syrahs. Syrah is the same grape as “Shiraz” – the latter being the Australian spelling. In the U.S., South America, and France, Syrahs tend to be medium-bodied and full of fruit, without being as big or spicy as their Australian brethren.
The 2005 Concha Y Toro “Marques de Casa” Syrah is about as good a $15 as I’ve spent in recent months. For less ($10), you could nab the La Forge Syrah from France -- a solid choice and readily available. For a few more dollars ($18ish), Qupe prides itself on this grape.
Syrahs are perfect for the cool nights of early December, before the weather turns ultra cold and you’re left wanting the biggest, spiciest red the local wine store can offer up.
8) Move Over Gutenberg: Here Comes Kindle
570 years after Gutenberg revolutionized the world with the printing press, Amazon is looking to redefine the way we read all over again. The Kindle, Amazon's New Wireless Reading Device, was officially launched last Monday after over three years of production. Surprisingly, initial customer reviews are favorable. Another surprise: 100 of the top 110 NYT Best Sellers are already available for download through Kindle for only $9.99.
Interesting.
7) Heads you lose, tails you lose
Yes, I cling to late-night-life-explaining metaphors. Lately, I'm thinking that life is really as random as a series of coin flips. And just like a particularly bad streak of luck when flipping a coin, you’ve got to be prepared to endure some long losing streaks in the game of life. You will go 0-for-10 sometimes.
I have people that would support me no matter how many coin tosses I lost. But not everyone can say the same. If you’re barely getting by year after year, and then all of the sudden you go 0-for-10, well that could break someone's back for good.
The people near & dear: my how they count.
6) Lunch-time Inflation
$6 used to be sufficient for my lunchtime combo of sandwich + chips + drink. No mas. In the last year or so, I've noticed that $8 is now the requisite outlay. I'm not happy about this change, but I think I'm going to lose this battle.
5) No Country for Old Men
While reading Richard Powers' excellent (!) novel, "The Gold Bug Variations," I came across a sentence ending in "no country for old men." I immediately wondered if Cormac McCarthy was borrowing from Powers. After a little research, I learned that the quote is actually derived from the first line of a Yeats' poem: "Sailing to Byzantium." So in actuality both literary masters are pilfering from still a greater Jedi.
All of which leads me back to Woody Guthrie who admitted, "he may steal from me, but I steal from everybody."
4) The Warren Zevon Quote of the Month
"It's tough to be somebody, and it's hard to keep from falling apart. Here on Rehab Mountain, we all learn these things by heart."
3) Friday Night Lights
Did I already mention that this is the best show on television? Well let me say this for the record: THIS IS THE BEST SHOW ON TELEVISION.
2) Gold
Somebody explain this one to me: why was gold so valuable back in the day? People rush to California, a few find gold nuggets....and then what, they overnight the gold to Fort Knox in exchange for some quick cash?
In an advanced, free-flowing market of buyers/sellers, I get how a rare commodity could be valuable. But back when you needed SeaBiscuit to get anywhere, and drive-up banking windows were sparse, what did you do with the gold once you found it?
1) White, Non-Blinking Christmas Lights
Anything less would be uncivilized.
American families began holding unofficial Thanksgiving dinners back in the 1700s, but it wasn’t until Abraham Lincoln’s Proclamation in 1863 that the last Thursday in November was officially recognized as a national holiday of Thanksgiving. Six weeks later Lincoln would set foot on Gettysburg soil and offer “a few appropriate remarks” that the world would long remember.
I’d say Abe's six weeks in 1863 are > my last six weeks by a factor of infinity + 1 (give or take a bear claw).
19) The Holiday Calendar
I’m old school. I FIRMLY believe the Christmas season should begin AFTER Thanksgiving. And yes, it’s mighty fortunate I wasn’t holding the code to a missile silo three weeks ago when I heard Jingle Bells in Arby’s.
But now that Turkey Day (ham in my family) is behind us, I’m ready to shift the yule into 6th gear. Bring out the egg nog and throw Love Actually in the DVD. If Billy Mack can’t get you into the Christmas spirit, I’ve got nothing for you.
18) A Random Thought Re: Corporate America
“We better find some managers to manage the managers.”
17) A Generational Thing
I’m hoping some of you caught ESPN’s profile on Rob Jones, grandson of the notorious cult leader (and mass murderer at Jonestown), Jim Jones Sr.
With every new generation, there comes much reason for hope.
16) Rails to Tomorrow
For the first time in 50 years, two passenger trains -- one northward bound, the other heading south -- took passengers between North and South Korea last week.
On board the North-bound train was a conductor who made one of the last railway crossings before they ended because of the 1950-53 Korean War. "I wish I could operate this train myself," Han Chun-ki, 80, said. "I never thought this day would come".
15) The Host Is Right?
Is Drew Carry really the new host of the Price is Right? Don’t you think CBS could have made the visual transition a little easier on us – perhaps by introducing a middle-aged, semi-fit substitute before settling in on the ultimate contrast: the pimply-faced, portly Carry. This could be a good marriage in the end, but the contrast is gonna take some getting used to.
14) This is Going to Blow You Right Out of the Water
“Have you heard of this thing: eight minute abs?”
“Yeah, sure, 8-minute abs...the exercise video.”
“Listen to this: 7-minute abs.”
13) Pandora
Sometimes it takes two or three people, advocating for the same thing, before it sets in that I need to pay attention. Pandora, the “make your own radio station” website, falls into this category for me. But now that I’m onboard, I’m all in. Pandora's site is super easy to use, and after you suggest an initial artist/song, they hit you with a great potpourri of like-sounding artists.
Thanks go to Elena, Allison, and others for getting me tuned in.
12) Potty mouths
Is it me or can you now get away with saying virtually anything on network television? I know that “son of a bitch” is now permissible; I hear it all the time. I’m pretty sure other verbal discretions are now sanctioned without fines as well.
Maybe the FCC was just waiting for Howard Stern to leave the public air waves before they loosened the verbal leash.
11) Google Looking to Buy Spectrum
Speaking of the FCC, Google has announced its interest in spending up to $4.6 billion in the upcoming auction for wireless spectrum (700 MHz). All this from a search engine specialist feeling lucky.
I think it's 50/50 whether they send a man to Mars by 2015.
10) “All Politics is Local”
This famous quote from U.S. House Speaker Tip O’ Neil has taken on a new meaning in Chicago. Todd Stroger, President of the Cook County Board of Commissioners, is now on a war path to increase the Cook County sales tax to a highest-in-nation 11%. Here's to hoping that locals care enough to weigh in on this, and other issues in Chicago, which affect our lives exponentially more than 99.9% of CNN's headlines.
9) Que Syrah, Syrah
As you trudge through wine stores this holiday season and notice that the shelves are disproportionately stocked with Pinot Noir and Cabernet Sauvignon, do yourself a favor and go around the corner and try a few Syrahs. Syrah is the same grape as “Shiraz” – the latter being the Australian spelling. In the U.S., South America, and France, Syrahs tend to be medium-bodied and full of fruit, without being as big or spicy as their Australian brethren.
The 2005 Concha Y Toro “Marques de Casa” Syrah is about as good a $15 as I’ve spent in recent months. For less ($10), you could nab the La Forge Syrah from France -- a solid choice and readily available. For a few more dollars ($18ish), Qupe prides itself on this grape.
Syrahs are perfect for the cool nights of early December, before the weather turns ultra cold and you’re left wanting the biggest, spiciest red the local wine store can offer up.
8) Move Over Gutenberg: Here Comes Kindle
570 years after Gutenberg revolutionized the world with the printing press, Amazon is looking to redefine the way we read all over again. The Kindle, Amazon's New Wireless Reading Device, was officially launched last Monday after over three years of production. Surprisingly, initial customer reviews are favorable. Another surprise: 100 of the top 110 NYT Best Sellers are already available for download through Kindle for only $9.99.
Interesting.
7) Heads you lose, tails you lose
Yes, I cling to late-night-life-explaining metaphors. Lately, I'm thinking that life is really as random as a series of coin flips. And just like a particularly bad streak of luck when flipping a coin, you’ve got to be prepared to endure some long losing streaks in the game of life. You will go 0-for-10 sometimes.
I have people that would support me no matter how many coin tosses I lost. But not everyone can say the same. If you’re barely getting by year after year, and then all of the sudden you go 0-for-10, well that could break someone's back for good.
The people near & dear: my how they count.
6) Lunch-time Inflation
$6 used to be sufficient for my lunchtime combo of sandwich + chips + drink. No mas. In the last year or so, I've noticed that $8 is now the requisite outlay. I'm not happy about this change, but I think I'm going to lose this battle.
5) No Country for Old Men
While reading Richard Powers' excellent (!) novel, "The Gold Bug Variations," I came across a sentence ending in "no country for old men." I immediately wondered if Cormac McCarthy was borrowing from Powers. After a little research, I learned that the quote is actually derived from the first line of a Yeats' poem: "Sailing to Byzantium." So in actuality both literary masters are pilfering from still a greater Jedi.
All of which leads me back to Woody Guthrie who admitted, "he may steal from me, but I steal from everybody."
4) The Warren Zevon Quote of the Month
"It's tough to be somebody, and it's hard to keep from falling apart. Here on Rehab Mountain, we all learn these things by heart."
3) Friday Night Lights
Did I already mention that this is the best show on television? Well let me say this for the record: THIS IS THE BEST SHOW ON TELEVISION.
2) Gold
Somebody explain this one to me: why was gold so valuable back in the day? People rush to California, a few find gold nuggets....and then what, they overnight the gold to Fort Knox in exchange for some quick cash?
In an advanced, free-flowing market of buyers/sellers, I get how a rare commodity could be valuable. But back when you needed SeaBiscuit to get anywhere, and drive-up banking windows were sparse, what did you do with the gold once you found it?
1) White, Non-Blinking Christmas Lights
Anything less would be uncivilized.
Monday, November 12, 2007
If I Were Barack Obama: Part II
This is a hypothetical speech which Senator Obama could give in New Orleans, kicking off a "Week with America." It segues from the last entry. See if my speech writing skills pass the test.
Friends and family of New Orleans,
Tonight I begin again.
Two weeks ago I did something which 24-hours earlier would have seemed impossible: I stopped dead in my tracks.
I canceled a meeting with my advisers. I delayed a rally.
Instead, I went for a walk. I took pause.
Pause for the sake of reflecting on that which lies before me. Pause for the sake of reconnecting with myself, my God, and my fellow man.
In doing so I reminded myself that my pursuits on this earth -– my successes and my failures, my hopes and my ambitions –- are but a small part of God’s greater plan.
I also reminded myself that he is a loving God, faithful to us in every imaginable way, working in ways that we can not begin to understand or fathom.
800 days ago the levees broke and a mighty sea engulfed this soulful city. And only God knows why.
But as for what happened next, after the levees broke and the waters continued to rise, I need not turn to God for an explanation.
I know that our country failed you.
Our government failed you.
And I failed you.
Levees break from time to time. The bonds of men have to be stronger than any rain. Stronger than the wind and the sea.
For you are my brother’s keeper and I am yours. And in times of distress, when levees break, our bonds must be unbending. Our bonds must ensure safe keeping.
For if my neighbor suffers, then I also suffer. If my neighbor is without shelter, then I too must feel the storm's raging winds.
Compassion and empathy – these are our most noble birthrights – and in times of distress they must be infinite in their reserve.
But in August of 2005, when the levees broke, our government failed you. In your hour of need, our compassion was finite.
And for that we all share in the blame.
I find solace only in knowing that the darkest hours in our nation’s history have often preceded a luminous dawn.
“Hope has never trickled down. It always springs up” -- these are the words of the great Chicago historian Studs Terkel. With tomorrow there is possibility, where hours before, only despair.
When tyranny reigned over the colonies, we fought for independence.
When our union was severed and a race unto man enslaved, we fought for a new nation: of, by, and for the people.
When the Depression struck, we made a New Deal.
When the world wanted war, we answered with the greatest generation.
When civil rights were denied, we had a dream, and then we overcame.
Our nation has triumphed in the face of war and hunger, disease and depression, prejudice and presumption. Over time, in every direction, there in only hope.
But as we stand here on this delta, I know it’s difficult for the people of this city to feel the inertia of hope. In the wake of an unprecedented flood, and a government which lay idle, the audacity of hope must seem audacious indeed.
So let this next point be abundantly clear: when the rain comes and the waters rise, those in power must spring to action. It shouldn’t require an act of Congress or a calling card.
A President’s primary responsibility is protecting the lives of each and every citizen. And protection must extend beyond terrorist acts and the wars of nations. Protection must include refuge from raging fires and shelter from deadly storms.
A government is responsible whenever and wherever its citizens are suffering. And a government’s responsibility does not lessen until that suffering has ceased altogether.
If a government does not act with conviction and immediacy in protecting its people, both at home and abroad, then new leaders should be made to govern. For if a people loses faith in their government, then that government has failed in its fundamental function, and it will come undone.
I can not control the swelling of the seas, but if elected, I will do more than preach. My government -– our government -- will pour the cement. We will do the heavy lifting.
We will spring to action when action is called for. We will look out for the least able among us, every hour of the day.
For right now, on this bayou, the trumpet summons us again.
We are the nation which created the Peace Corps and the G.I. Bill.
We are a farmer for the hungry, and a doctor for the sick.
We put a man on the moon, and we will find a cure for cancer.
Our nation's potential is limitless; we do whatever comes next.
And the time has come for those who would do for their country to rise again: the vitality of this soulful city has been threatened by a momentous storm.
So let us build schools as a reminder that torrential rains can not dampen our children's future.
Let us build houses as a reminder that violent winds can not shatter our resolve.
Let us create jobs as a reminder that commerce can not be deterred by a high water mark.
Let us build a cathedral as a requiem for Katrina, where the people of this great city can worship in their own way, in their own time, before their own God.
Let us build a government which leads by example and inspires its citizens to grab a hammer and lend a hand.
And let us agree, right here, right now – that this will be more than rhetoric. Let us agree that we will enlist the services of our neighbor, to help thy neighbor.
Nails for a home do not require Congressional approval. Teachers do not require a reminder, “no child left behind.” Kindness does not require an invitation.
We must all contribute and that includes me.
Beginning this week, as I lay out my vision for America, I will address the pivotal issues facing our nation -- healthcare, immigration, the economy, and national defense -- and I will remind American families that we are not finished in New Orleans.
I will remind America that we must increase the bandwidth of humanity, beginning on this bayou. I will remind America that our obligation begins this week, not next week.
Every week matters in America.
(Pause)
Soon you will vote, because thousands have given their lives so that we might have a free and impartial election. They gave their lives to foster a democracy based on liberty and equality, in which all persons alike share in the government to the utmost.
But also know this: after your votes are cast and counted, I will come back to the crescent city. I will return regardless of the election's outcome. I will do my part to help build a cathedral from Katrina.
I will make phone calls. I will dial for dollars. I will ask others to join us in New Orleans as we create anew. I will pick up a hammer and put it to wood.
It is the least I can do.
(Pause)
As I leave here tonight, already anticipating my return, I hark back to the refrain that hangs from the sign on the Statue of Liberty: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses who yearn to breathe free."
In our own way, we are all tired; we are all poor; and above all else, we all yearn to breathe free.
But freedom is more than a place in time or a state of mind. Freedom is more than the air we breathe.
Freedom is an unwavering commitment to the woman on your left, and a newfound compassion for the man on your right.
Freedom is an inseparable band of brothers, and a consecrated union between two loving men.
Freedom is the right to speak out in protest, and the right to openly bear arms.
Freedom is a playground where little white boys, and little black girls, swing in each other's arms without a reason for reservation.
And freedom is an oasis of justice in the face of oppression.
Freedom is a bridge leading to the brilliant yonder of tomorrow, where every valley shall be exalted, and every hill made low.
And at the end of the day, freedom is a psalm unto God in heaven, sung in a piercing falsetto voice.
My friends, freedom is America. And tonight it summons us again.
Come and join me. Hear its calling.
For the sun will soon rise over a hopeful tomorrow, and there is no telling what the new dawn will bring.
God bless you all. And God bless The United States of America.
Friends and family of New Orleans,
Tonight I begin again.
Two weeks ago I did something which 24-hours earlier would have seemed impossible: I stopped dead in my tracks.
I canceled a meeting with my advisers. I delayed a rally.
Instead, I went for a walk. I took pause.
Pause for the sake of reflecting on that which lies before me. Pause for the sake of reconnecting with myself, my God, and my fellow man.
In doing so I reminded myself that my pursuits on this earth -– my successes and my failures, my hopes and my ambitions –- are but a small part of God’s greater plan.
I also reminded myself that he is a loving God, faithful to us in every imaginable way, working in ways that we can not begin to understand or fathom.
800 days ago the levees broke and a mighty sea engulfed this soulful city. And only God knows why.
But as for what happened next, after the levees broke and the waters continued to rise, I need not turn to God for an explanation.
I know that our country failed you.
Our government failed you.
And I failed you.
Levees break from time to time. The bonds of men have to be stronger than any rain. Stronger than the wind and the sea.
For you are my brother’s keeper and I am yours. And in times of distress, when levees break, our bonds must be unbending. Our bonds must ensure safe keeping.
For if my neighbor suffers, then I also suffer. If my neighbor is without shelter, then I too must feel the storm's raging winds.
Compassion and empathy – these are our most noble birthrights – and in times of distress they must be infinite in their reserve.
But in August of 2005, when the levees broke, our government failed you. In your hour of need, our compassion was finite.
And for that we all share in the blame.
I find solace only in knowing that the darkest hours in our nation’s history have often preceded a luminous dawn.
“Hope has never trickled down. It always springs up” -- these are the words of the great Chicago historian Studs Terkel. With tomorrow there is possibility, where hours before, only despair.
When tyranny reigned over the colonies, we fought for independence.
When our union was severed and a race unto man enslaved, we fought for a new nation: of, by, and for the people.
When the Depression struck, we made a New Deal.
When the world wanted war, we answered with the greatest generation.
When civil rights were denied, we had a dream, and then we overcame.
Our nation has triumphed in the face of war and hunger, disease and depression, prejudice and presumption. Over time, in every direction, there in only hope.
But as we stand here on this delta, I know it’s difficult for the people of this city to feel the inertia of hope. In the wake of an unprecedented flood, and a government which lay idle, the audacity of hope must seem audacious indeed.
So let this next point be abundantly clear: when the rain comes and the waters rise, those in power must spring to action. It shouldn’t require an act of Congress or a calling card.
A President’s primary responsibility is protecting the lives of each and every citizen. And protection must extend beyond terrorist acts and the wars of nations. Protection must include refuge from raging fires and shelter from deadly storms.
A government is responsible whenever and wherever its citizens are suffering. And a government’s responsibility does not lessen until that suffering has ceased altogether.
If a government does not act with conviction and immediacy in protecting its people, both at home and abroad, then new leaders should be made to govern. For if a people loses faith in their government, then that government has failed in its fundamental function, and it will come undone.
I can not control the swelling of the seas, but if elected, I will do more than preach. My government -– our government -- will pour the cement. We will do the heavy lifting.
We will spring to action when action is called for. We will look out for the least able among us, every hour of the day.
For right now, on this bayou, the trumpet summons us again.
We are the nation which created the Peace Corps and the G.I. Bill.
We are a farmer for the hungry, and a doctor for the sick.
We put a man on the moon, and we will find a cure for cancer.
Our nation's potential is limitless; we do whatever comes next.
And the time has come for those who would do for their country to rise again: the vitality of this soulful city has been threatened by a momentous storm.
So let us build schools as a reminder that torrential rains can not dampen our children's future.
Let us build houses as a reminder that violent winds can not shatter our resolve.
Let us create jobs as a reminder that commerce can not be deterred by a high water mark.
Let us build a cathedral as a requiem for Katrina, where the people of this great city can worship in their own way, in their own time, before their own God.
Let us build a government which leads by example and inspires its citizens to grab a hammer and lend a hand.
And let us agree, right here, right now – that this will be more than rhetoric. Let us agree that we will enlist the services of our neighbor, to help thy neighbor.
Nails for a home do not require Congressional approval. Teachers do not require a reminder, “no child left behind.” Kindness does not require an invitation.
We must all contribute and that includes me.
Beginning this week, as I lay out my vision for America, I will address the pivotal issues facing our nation -- healthcare, immigration, the economy, and national defense -- and I will remind American families that we are not finished in New Orleans.
I will remind America that we must increase the bandwidth of humanity, beginning on this bayou. I will remind America that our obligation begins this week, not next week.
Every week matters in America.
(Pause)
Soon you will vote, because thousands have given their lives so that we might have a free and impartial election. They gave their lives to foster a democracy based on liberty and equality, in which all persons alike share in the government to the utmost.
But also know this: after your votes are cast and counted, I will come back to the crescent city. I will return regardless of the election's outcome. I will do my part to help build a cathedral from Katrina.
I will make phone calls. I will dial for dollars. I will ask others to join us in New Orleans as we create anew. I will pick up a hammer and put it to wood.
It is the least I can do.
(Pause)
As I leave here tonight, already anticipating my return, I hark back to the refrain that hangs from the sign on the Statue of Liberty: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses who yearn to breathe free."
In our own way, we are all tired; we are all poor; and above all else, we all yearn to breathe free.
But freedom is more than a place in time or a state of mind. Freedom is more than the air we breathe.
Freedom is an unwavering commitment to the woman on your left, and a newfound compassion for the man on your right.
Freedom is an inseparable band of brothers, and a consecrated union between two loving men.
Freedom is the right to speak out in protest, and the right to openly bear arms.
Freedom is a playground where little white boys, and little black girls, swing in each other's arms without a reason for reservation.
And freedom is an oasis of justice in the face of oppression.
Freedom is a bridge leading to the brilliant yonder of tomorrow, where every valley shall be exalted, and every hill made low.
And at the end of the day, freedom is a psalm unto God in heaven, sung in a piercing falsetto voice.
My friends, freedom is America. And tonight it summons us again.
Come and join me. Hear its calling.
For the sun will soon rise over a hopeful tomorrow, and there is no telling what the new dawn will bring.
God bless you all. And God bless The United States of America.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Notes from the Breeders' Cup at the OTB (CST)
11:08 AM: I love the smell of napalm in the morning (i.e. an OTB full of gambling degenerates who haven’t bathed in weeks).
11:14 AM: The track looks like a quagmire. Monmouth Park spent $50M in renovations for the Breeders' Cup, and now it has rained for 96 straight hours leading up to the races. Attendance & wagering will be down fo’ shore. This is what horse racing gets for trying to “branch out” – hosting a marquee event in New Jersey.
11:39 AM: One race into the proceedings and I’m down $25. BUT my Pick Three is still alive. Whoever called “hope” a “grand essential” in life was onto something, even if they didn’t intend it in the context of: “I’m gonna get really wasted (as opposed to pretty wasted) if I win this Pick Three.”
11:50 AM: Note to self: "speed looks like it will hold up in the mud." Follow-on thought: "I don't wanna work, I just wanna bang on my drum all day."
12:16 PM: Lost the second race. The aforementioned Pick Three is now muerto as well. It's time for a Bud Heavy.
12:32 PM: The bar across the street from the OTB doesn’t serve Budweiser products. I’m drinking a Spiced-Pumpkin-Latte (Octoberfest) Sam Adams instead: hardly an ideal trade off. Tomorrow, I’ll be retaining Steven Colbert to help me wage a PR assault on this un-American watering hole (Joe’s on Weed St.).
12:58 PM: We have a winning ticket. Honey Ryder was second in the Filly/Mare Turf. Me and my boy Jim had $20 on her to show. Our winnings, $46.50, won’t allow us to retire. But they will pay for two more adult beverages.
1:17 PM: This just in: the $0.10 superfecta is the greatest invention since microwave popcorn. The only downside to the $0.10 super is the focus that’s required to read off a wheel at the betting window. It’s like doing an algebra equation, except without the jingles which help you remember how to factor.
1:40 PM: Midnight Lute just made a redonkulous last-to-first move to win the BC Sprint. The other horses looked like they were tied to a post. The Lute won the Forego at Saratoga this summer in similar fashion -- a legitimate superstar in the making. We’ll still be talking about this colt's performance at day’s end.
1:44 PM: Just heard on the broadcast that Midnight Lute is named after Arizona Basketball coach Lute Olsen, who apparently stole a recruit from Tark's Running Rebels at the last hour. Now that is a great anecdote to the proceedings (and a great name for a horse).
1:58 PM: Bumped into a smoking brunette in line betting. This never happens. On a normal day the OTB is home to exactly the same number of attractive females as Augusta National: zero.
Speaking of said female, I think she thinks I’m staring at her. That’s probably because I am. Amidst my staring I’m also experiencing a sensation of bewilderment. It’s like the feeling I had the first time I saw Craig “Ironhead” Heyward get zestfully clean, a commercial which left me baffled and immobile for a solid five minutes.
2:04 PM: Still perspiring after the run-in with the brunette, but I’m regaining feeling in my toes. Granted, if I encounter another OTB vixen I’ll probably be in a coma tomorrow. If that happens, tell my doctors to replay Sunday Silence’s BC Classic over and over near my bedside. If that won’t wake me up, nothing will.
2:28 PM: I had seven different horses to beat Excellent Art (who ran second as I expected) in the Mile Turf, but Kip Deville, who won, wasn’t one of my seven. The Gods are angry with me today. Time to pound another cold one and ponder my next move.
2:55 PM: Starting to get stoked for the Classic even though we’re 100 minutes from post. Five excellent horses have a legitimate shot at the winner’s share of $5M bones. The only bummer is that last year’s champion, Invasor, had to be retired earlier this year. This is doubly unfortunate because Kenny Mayne would unleash a killer Cheech Marin “Eeeeen-vaaa-Sooore” every time the horse took to the track. If Invasor had stayed healthy, this would have been a Classic for the ages.
3:11 PM: Still raining at Monmouth, but it’s getting a little sunnier at the OTB. Had the exacta in the Distaff with Ginger Punch over Hystericalady (who ran a hell of a race from the twelve hole). Can’t mess with my formula for success: I had a beer before the last race, better grab another one before this one.
3:31 PM: I just saw a guy in line betting that looked exactly like Officer Vince Romano from T.J. Hooker. Potentially famous people + hotties at the OTB…this day officially = bizarro world. I’d best call Frodo and make sure the one true ring is in safe keeping.
3:55 PM: English Channel romped the field in the $3M Turf. My horse, Grand Couturier, was so far behind the leaders going into the far turn I had to call OnStar and check on his whereabouts. The colt somehow made up enough ground to finish 5th, but I’m still pissed at the jockey (unlike in the movie SeaBiscuit, if your horse isn’t within 100 yards of the pack, he’s not hitting the board).
3:56 PM: I’m on hold with the Better Business Bureau. I didn’t know who else to call. I figure they can log a “my jockey was an imbecile and owes me money” complaint.
4:11 PM: My boy Jim just made the switch from vodka lemonades to beer; the day is officially approaching Ludicrous Speed.
4:27 PM: The horses are on the track for the Classic, and the smell of excitement is palpable. And I mean that in literal terms: the OTB stinks more than usual.
4:33 PM: Two minutes to post and the sun is shining at Monmouth for the first time in a fortnight; this is the sport of kings.
4:43 PM: Curlin won the Classic in awesome fashion. He also ran an otherworldly time over a very sloppy track (just over two minutes for 1 ¼ miles). What a performance! All the more enjoyable because Jim and I had a $4 exacta with Curlin over Hard Spun (payout $141). Finished the day close to even, minus the cost of six brews.
4:44 PM: Already bummed out. The Classic may have been Curlin’s last race. Decent chance he’ll retire to stud immediately (paid to nail fillies all day). The owners for Street Sense and Hard Spun already announced their colts are headed to the barn. Not great for the sport. In my opinion, not fair to these unbelievable colts/athletes either.
Staying with this point, if you were Curlin would you want to sit in a barn and lay pipe from here to eternity? Don’t you think he deserves more than a never-ending line of sexed up fillies waiting to ante $75K (or more) for a ride in his hay? Plus, in all likelihood Curlin would be better on the track next year as a 4 year-old.
I'd better call PETA and see if they’ll help me organize a protest, with the animal’s best interests in mind.
4:58 PM: Another Breeder’s Cup has come and gone. Thankfully, next year the festivities are at Santa Anita: a welcome SoCal alternative to the Noah’s Ark that was New Jersey. I’ll meet any takers in the infield twelve months from now in Arcadia.
4:59 PM: In the interim, it’s only six months until the first Saturday in May: talk Derby to me!
Editor's Note: I had every intention of posting the second half of my Barack piece this week. However, I couldn't resist the opportunity to do a write-up on Breeders' Cup day. This scenario offers the added bonus of giving me more time to polish Part II on the good Senator from Illinois. You can expect it next week.
11:14 AM: The track looks like a quagmire. Monmouth Park spent $50M in renovations for the Breeders' Cup, and now it has rained for 96 straight hours leading up to the races. Attendance & wagering will be down fo’ shore. This is what horse racing gets for trying to “branch out” – hosting a marquee event in New Jersey.
11:39 AM: One race into the proceedings and I’m down $25. BUT my Pick Three is still alive. Whoever called “hope” a “grand essential” in life was onto something, even if they didn’t intend it in the context of: “I’m gonna get really wasted (as opposed to pretty wasted) if I win this Pick Three.”
11:50 AM: Note to self: "speed looks like it will hold up in the mud." Follow-on thought: "I don't wanna work, I just wanna bang on my drum all day."
12:16 PM: Lost the second race. The aforementioned Pick Three is now muerto as well. It's time for a Bud Heavy.
12:32 PM: The bar across the street from the OTB doesn’t serve Budweiser products. I’m drinking a Spiced-Pumpkin-Latte (Octoberfest) Sam Adams instead: hardly an ideal trade off. Tomorrow, I’ll be retaining Steven Colbert to help me wage a PR assault on this un-American watering hole (Joe’s on Weed St.).
12:58 PM: We have a winning ticket. Honey Ryder was second in the Filly/Mare Turf. Me and my boy Jim had $20 on her to show. Our winnings, $46.50, won’t allow us to retire. But they will pay for two more adult beverages.
1:17 PM: This just in: the $0.10 superfecta is the greatest invention since microwave popcorn. The only downside to the $0.10 super is the focus that’s required to read off a wheel at the betting window. It’s like doing an algebra equation, except without the jingles which help you remember how to factor.
1:40 PM: Midnight Lute just made a redonkulous last-to-first move to win the BC Sprint. The other horses looked like they were tied to a post. The Lute won the Forego at Saratoga this summer in similar fashion -- a legitimate superstar in the making. We’ll still be talking about this colt's performance at day’s end.
1:44 PM: Just heard on the broadcast that Midnight Lute is named after Arizona Basketball coach Lute Olsen, who apparently stole a recruit from Tark's Running Rebels at the last hour. Now that is a great anecdote to the proceedings (and a great name for a horse).
1:58 PM: Bumped into a smoking brunette in line betting. This never happens. On a normal day the OTB is home to exactly the same number of attractive females as Augusta National: zero.
Speaking of said female, I think she thinks I’m staring at her. That’s probably because I am. Amidst my staring I’m also experiencing a sensation of bewilderment. It’s like the feeling I had the first time I saw Craig “Ironhead” Heyward get zestfully clean, a commercial which left me baffled and immobile for a solid five minutes.
2:04 PM: Still perspiring after the run-in with the brunette, but I’m regaining feeling in my toes. Granted, if I encounter another OTB vixen I’ll probably be in a coma tomorrow. If that happens, tell my doctors to replay Sunday Silence’s BC Classic over and over near my bedside. If that won’t wake me up, nothing will.
2:28 PM: I had seven different horses to beat Excellent Art (who ran second as I expected) in the Mile Turf, but Kip Deville, who won, wasn’t one of my seven. The Gods are angry with me today. Time to pound another cold one and ponder my next move.
2:55 PM: Starting to get stoked for the Classic even though we’re 100 minutes from post. Five excellent horses have a legitimate shot at the winner’s share of $5M bones. The only bummer is that last year’s champion, Invasor, had to be retired earlier this year. This is doubly unfortunate because Kenny Mayne would unleash a killer Cheech Marin “Eeeeen-vaaa-Sooore” every time the horse took to the track. If Invasor had stayed healthy, this would have been a Classic for the ages.
3:11 PM: Still raining at Monmouth, but it’s getting a little sunnier at the OTB. Had the exacta in the Distaff with Ginger Punch over Hystericalady (who ran a hell of a race from the twelve hole). Can’t mess with my formula for success: I had a beer before the last race, better grab another one before this one.
3:31 PM: I just saw a guy in line betting that looked exactly like Officer Vince Romano from T.J. Hooker. Potentially famous people + hotties at the OTB…this day officially = bizarro world. I’d best call Frodo and make sure the one true ring is in safe keeping.
3:55 PM: English Channel romped the field in the $3M Turf. My horse, Grand Couturier, was so far behind the leaders going into the far turn I had to call OnStar and check on his whereabouts. The colt somehow made up enough ground to finish 5th, but I’m still pissed at the jockey (unlike in the movie SeaBiscuit, if your horse isn’t within 100 yards of the pack, he’s not hitting the board).
3:56 PM: I’m on hold with the Better Business Bureau. I didn’t know who else to call. I figure they can log a “my jockey was an imbecile and owes me money” complaint.
4:11 PM: My boy Jim just made the switch from vodka lemonades to beer; the day is officially approaching Ludicrous Speed.
4:27 PM: The horses are on the track for the Classic, and the smell of excitement is palpable. And I mean that in literal terms: the OTB stinks more than usual.
4:33 PM: Two minutes to post and the sun is shining at Monmouth for the first time in a fortnight; this is the sport of kings.
4:43 PM: Curlin won the Classic in awesome fashion. He also ran an otherworldly time over a very sloppy track (just over two minutes for 1 ¼ miles). What a performance! All the more enjoyable because Jim and I had a $4 exacta with Curlin over Hard Spun (payout $141). Finished the day close to even, minus the cost of six brews.
4:44 PM: Already bummed out. The Classic may have been Curlin’s last race. Decent chance he’ll retire to stud immediately (paid to nail fillies all day). The owners for Street Sense and Hard Spun already announced their colts are headed to the barn. Not great for the sport. In my opinion, not fair to these unbelievable colts/athletes either.
Staying with this point, if you were Curlin would you want to sit in a barn and lay pipe from here to eternity? Don’t you think he deserves more than a never-ending line of sexed up fillies waiting to ante $75K (or more) for a ride in his hay? Plus, in all likelihood Curlin would be better on the track next year as a 4 year-old.
I'd better call PETA and see if they’ll help me organize a protest, with the animal’s best interests in mind.
4:58 PM: Another Breeder’s Cup has come and gone. Thankfully, next year the festivities are at Santa Anita: a welcome SoCal alternative to the Noah’s Ark that was New Jersey. I’ll meet any takers in the infield twelve months from now in Arcadia.
4:59 PM: In the interim, it’s only six months until the first Saturday in May: talk Derby to me!
Editor's Note: I had every intention of posting the second half of my Barack piece this week. However, I couldn't resist the opportunity to do a write-up on Breeders' Cup day. This scenario offers the added bonus of giving me more time to polish Part II on the good Senator from Illinois. You can expect it next week.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
If I Were Barack Obama: Part I
In the spring of 2003 a partner from the law firm of Mayer Brown Rowe & Maw invited me to a breakfast with a State Senator from the southside of Chicago who was running for the United States Senate. The candidate’s name was Barack Obama.
I knew of Barack through my work in the entrepreneurial community which required collaboration with elected officials and the public sector. In 2003 Barack’s name was already well regarded, and many insiders thought his reach would someday extend beyond Illinois.
But to win the 2004 Senatorial race Barack would have to defeat the city of Chicago machine in the form of Illinois’ Comptroller, Dan Hynes, and a former pharmaceutical exec with millions to throw at the race in Blair Hull. And that was just the primary.
For a State Senator who was 0-for-1 in federal elections, having previously lost a U.S. Congressional race, this was a heck of a place to throw his hat back in the ring.
But when I walked into the offices at Mayer Brown on that chilly, Chicago morning the particulars of the Senatorial race were unknown to me. On that day I knew of Barack as a democratic candidate in a city overflowing with democratic candidates. To his absolute credit, sixty minutes later I walked out of Mayer Brown’s offices determined to help his campaign.
I wasn’t alone.
Barack is Clintonesque (the y-chromosome Clinton) is his magnetism. His tone is authoritative yet inviting. His message crisp and believable. And most importantly, you feel as if you are a part of his machinations; you feel like joining his campaign.
This is a key point because a successful campaign requires a finely-tuned assembly line to support the rigors of the campaign trail. Dissimilar to manufacturing, the marvel of the political assembly line isn’t the reduced time that’s required to churn out a replicated product; it’s the shared sense of purpose which exists amongst the workers (volunteers) who make the line go.
When the political assembly line is at its best, volunteers and workers use absolutist terms of essentialness. If love is blind, campaign workers are often deaf -- hearing no evil in relation to the cause and the candidate.
In 2003 and 2004 Barack Obama organized a network of volunteers that would have made Henry Ford proud. A statewide band of brothers (and sisters) came to his side, manning the production line. On March 1st, 2004, I did my part.
Earlier that winter I convinced a handful of friends to help me host a fundraiser for Obama in downtown Chicago; March 1st was our designated night with our candidate. The night of the fundraiser 175 attendees crammed into the back of Brehon’s Pub to listen to the eloquent State Senator speak from atop a makeshift crate. His message was similar to the one that a national audience would hear four months later at the DNC convention in Boston.
He spoke to his background and upbringing, a skinny kid from the southside of Chicago committed to a way forward. He spoke of an America which was too often divided into red states and blue states. Despite the political divisions, he foresaw limitless possibility. He wreaked of hope.
Listening to Barack I could sense that he was winning over the crowd. It’s hard not to be impressed in his presence. Most leftist listeners will want to come inside the tent.
When all was said and done, I was glad to have organized the assemblage. I was proud to have played a part.
Two weeks later Barack won the Senatorial primary in a landslide victory that turned more than a few heads. Dan Hynes and the Chicago machine earned 23% of the statewide vote; the multimillionaire Blair Hull garnered 11%; and the son of a Kenyan and a Kansan who became a civil rights attorney on the southside of Chicago won a staggering 54% of the vote.
The skinny kid's meteoric ascent had officially begun.
Fast forward three years and the Senator is now a bona fide rock star. In 2006 he announced that he was seeking the nation’s highest office. I’m guessing his rationale for doing so was very similar to another political prodigy in our country’s history:
Phil Graham (publisher & co-owner of the Washington Post speaking to Senator John F. Kennedy): "You are good. You are going to be President someday. But right now you're too young."
Kennedy: "Well, Phil, I'm running and this is why. First, I think I'm as qualified as anyone in the field with the exception of Lyndon Johnson. Second, if I don't run whoever wins will be there for eight years and will influence who his successor will be. And third, if I don't run I'll have to stay in the Senate for at least eight more years. As a potential candidate in the Senate, I'll have to vote politically and then I'll end up a mediocre Senator and a lousy candidate."
It’s hard to argue with that line of logic.
But unfortunately Barack’s Presidential bid has flattened out a bit in 2007. His experience has come into constant question and his polling numbers have been losing ground to the Billary locomotive.
In truth, I’m not shocked. Before the 2004 Senatorial primary I watched Gery Chico, formerly the President of the Chicago Public Schools, give Barack a solid thumping in a debate. A heated back and forth exchange doesn’t play to his strengths; it's more Hillary's bailiwick.
Barack is at his best in either a small setting, where his magnetism can take hold, or on a grand stage, where his oratory skills and natural presence are on display. With all the town meetings and personal appearances being made in Iowa, the caucuses should prove to be a good fit, but that remains to be seen.
Regardless, if I were Barack I wouldn’t wait around to see. I would do something a little radical, ensuring that I got more than five seconds of air time on the news cycles. I would play to my strengths and make the stage as big as possible, even if it meant bringing the people to him.
Barack could create a week long stage-tour, giving speeches to large crowds around the country (I would advocate for depoliticized pulpits). He could call it: “A Week with America.” He could set everything else aside and tell every voter and every press outlet that after this week, every American will have enough information to decide on his candidacy. I would opt for themed, succinct speeches: short enough that every American could watch his daily address with their coffee on YouTube.
I would go to New York and marvel at the bustling, international city which screams: "open for business, 24 hours a day." I would laud the city's enterprises and its unyielding entrepreneurial spirit. A city which is really a congregation of a thousand neighborhoods, whose residents live on in tribute to their fallen brethren, refusing to be deterred by the rubble, committed to rebuilding again.
I would go to a city in the southeast, home to a large percentage of our country’s servicemen, and speak to national defense. I would lay out a plan for protecting America in a world of terrorism and nuclear capability. I would hammer home a message to mothers across our nation: this election isn't merely about the Presidency, it's also about being Commander in Chief. I would reiterate that he is prepared to protect and defend -- under every imaginable circumstance -- that he will keep our children safe.
I would come to Chicago and talk about faith, family, and sense of purpose – purpose being life’s ultimate denominator and home being where it begins. I would speak to his days as a political organizer and then a State Senator, working time and time again with both sides of the aisle. I would use the Chicago stage and speak to the politics of Washington, interweaving his message on the red and blue states, with sights on a more perfect union. I would commit to reestablishing relations with allies around the world while simultaneously supporting humanitarian efforts, starting with Darfur.
I would head west and make a stopover in Dubuque, or some city along the Mississippi, to talk about the importance of agriculture and America’s role as farmer to the world. I would outwardly emphasize support for unionized labor, reiterating that we can and must do better in wages & healthcare. I would refer to the heartland and the middle class as the backbone of our nation, reminding voters that his candidacy is aimed directly at them.
I would go to California and commend the rampant spread of innovation. I would praise our nation's technological advancements and speak to life-altering breakthroughs in medicine, which will improve our duration and quality of life. I would endorse our role as the leader of a global economy, and simultaneously address how we can keep jobs at home.
And I would pick a less predictable stopover in Anytown, USA. I would go there to remind people that our nation isn’t "one size fits all." That we must create laws and governmental solutions which meet the needs and the diversity of our people. I would remind the audience that our government’s foremost responsibility is to look out for every one of its citizens, regardless of race and creed. Regardless or their state's electoral college votes.
But before any of those stops I would go to New Orleans, where the levees broke. Where the people have been slighted by their government. Where the proposition of America seems less rosy. Where the audacity of hope is audacious indeed.
Next Week, I’ll layout what Barack could say.
I knew of Barack through my work in the entrepreneurial community which required collaboration with elected officials and the public sector. In 2003 Barack’s name was already well regarded, and many insiders thought his reach would someday extend beyond Illinois.
But to win the 2004 Senatorial race Barack would have to defeat the city of Chicago machine in the form of Illinois’ Comptroller, Dan Hynes, and a former pharmaceutical exec with millions to throw at the race in Blair Hull. And that was just the primary.
For a State Senator who was 0-for-1 in federal elections, having previously lost a U.S. Congressional race, this was a heck of a place to throw his hat back in the ring.
But when I walked into the offices at Mayer Brown on that chilly, Chicago morning the particulars of the Senatorial race were unknown to me. On that day I knew of Barack as a democratic candidate in a city overflowing with democratic candidates. To his absolute credit, sixty minutes later I walked out of Mayer Brown’s offices determined to help his campaign.
I wasn’t alone.
Barack is Clintonesque (the y-chromosome Clinton) is his magnetism. His tone is authoritative yet inviting. His message crisp and believable. And most importantly, you feel as if you are a part of his machinations; you feel like joining his campaign.
This is a key point because a successful campaign requires a finely-tuned assembly line to support the rigors of the campaign trail. Dissimilar to manufacturing, the marvel of the political assembly line isn’t the reduced time that’s required to churn out a replicated product; it’s the shared sense of purpose which exists amongst the workers (volunteers) who make the line go.
When the political assembly line is at its best, volunteers and workers use absolutist terms of essentialness. If love is blind, campaign workers are often deaf -- hearing no evil in relation to the cause and the candidate.
In 2003 and 2004 Barack Obama organized a network of volunteers that would have made Henry Ford proud. A statewide band of brothers (and sisters) came to his side, manning the production line. On March 1st, 2004, I did my part.
Earlier that winter I convinced a handful of friends to help me host a fundraiser for Obama in downtown Chicago; March 1st was our designated night with our candidate. The night of the fundraiser 175 attendees crammed into the back of Brehon’s Pub to listen to the eloquent State Senator speak from atop a makeshift crate. His message was similar to the one that a national audience would hear four months later at the DNC convention in Boston.
He spoke to his background and upbringing, a skinny kid from the southside of Chicago committed to a way forward. He spoke of an America which was too often divided into red states and blue states. Despite the political divisions, he foresaw limitless possibility. He wreaked of hope.
Listening to Barack I could sense that he was winning over the crowd. It’s hard not to be impressed in his presence. Most leftist listeners will want to come inside the tent.
When all was said and done, I was glad to have organized the assemblage. I was proud to have played a part.
Two weeks later Barack won the Senatorial primary in a landslide victory that turned more than a few heads. Dan Hynes and the Chicago machine earned 23% of the statewide vote; the multimillionaire Blair Hull garnered 11%; and the son of a Kenyan and a Kansan who became a civil rights attorney on the southside of Chicago won a staggering 54% of the vote.
The skinny kid's meteoric ascent had officially begun.
Fast forward three years and the Senator is now a bona fide rock star. In 2006 he announced that he was seeking the nation’s highest office. I’m guessing his rationale for doing so was very similar to another political prodigy in our country’s history:
Phil Graham (publisher & co-owner of the Washington Post speaking to Senator John F. Kennedy): "You are good. You are going to be President someday. But right now you're too young."
Kennedy: "Well, Phil, I'm running and this is why. First, I think I'm as qualified as anyone in the field with the exception of Lyndon Johnson. Second, if I don't run whoever wins will be there for eight years and will influence who his successor will be. And third, if I don't run I'll have to stay in the Senate for at least eight more years. As a potential candidate in the Senate, I'll have to vote politically and then I'll end up a mediocre Senator and a lousy candidate."
It’s hard to argue with that line of logic.
But unfortunately Barack’s Presidential bid has flattened out a bit in 2007. His experience has come into constant question and his polling numbers have been losing ground to the Billary locomotive.
In truth, I’m not shocked. Before the 2004 Senatorial primary I watched Gery Chico, formerly the President of the Chicago Public Schools, give Barack a solid thumping in a debate. A heated back and forth exchange doesn’t play to his strengths; it's more Hillary's bailiwick.
Barack is at his best in either a small setting, where his magnetism can take hold, or on a grand stage, where his oratory skills and natural presence are on display. With all the town meetings and personal appearances being made in Iowa, the caucuses should prove to be a good fit, but that remains to be seen.
Regardless, if I were Barack I wouldn’t wait around to see. I would do something a little radical, ensuring that I got more than five seconds of air time on the news cycles. I would play to my strengths and make the stage as big as possible, even if it meant bringing the people to him.
Barack could create a week long stage-tour, giving speeches to large crowds around the country (I would advocate for depoliticized pulpits). He could call it: “A Week with America.” He could set everything else aside and tell every voter and every press outlet that after this week, every American will have enough information to decide on his candidacy. I would opt for themed, succinct speeches: short enough that every American could watch his daily address with their coffee on YouTube.
I would go to New York and marvel at the bustling, international city which screams: "open for business, 24 hours a day." I would laud the city's enterprises and its unyielding entrepreneurial spirit. A city which is really a congregation of a thousand neighborhoods, whose residents live on in tribute to their fallen brethren, refusing to be deterred by the rubble, committed to rebuilding again.
I would go to a city in the southeast, home to a large percentage of our country’s servicemen, and speak to national defense. I would lay out a plan for protecting America in a world of terrorism and nuclear capability. I would hammer home a message to mothers across our nation: this election isn't merely about the Presidency, it's also about being Commander in Chief. I would reiterate that he is prepared to protect and defend -- under every imaginable circumstance -- that he will keep our children safe.
I would come to Chicago and talk about faith, family, and sense of purpose – purpose being life’s ultimate denominator and home being where it begins. I would speak to his days as a political organizer and then a State Senator, working time and time again with both sides of the aisle. I would use the Chicago stage and speak to the politics of Washington, interweaving his message on the red and blue states, with sights on a more perfect union. I would commit to reestablishing relations with allies around the world while simultaneously supporting humanitarian efforts, starting with Darfur.
I would head west and make a stopover in Dubuque, or some city along the Mississippi, to talk about the importance of agriculture and America’s role as farmer to the world. I would outwardly emphasize support for unionized labor, reiterating that we can and must do better in wages & healthcare. I would refer to the heartland and the middle class as the backbone of our nation, reminding voters that his candidacy is aimed directly at them.
I would go to California and commend the rampant spread of innovation. I would praise our nation's technological advancements and speak to life-altering breakthroughs in medicine, which will improve our duration and quality of life. I would endorse our role as the leader of a global economy, and simultaneously address how we can keep jobs at home.
And I would pick a less predictable stopover in Anytown, USA. I would go there to remind people that our nation isn’t "one size fits all." That we must create laws and governmental solutions which meet the needs and the diversity of our people. I would remind the audience that our government’s foremost responsibility is to look out for every one of its citizens, regardless of race and creed. Regardless or their state's electoral college votes.
But before any of those stops I would go to New Orleans, where the levees broke. Where the people have been slighted by their government. Where the proposition of America seems less rosy. Where the audacity of hope is audacious indeed.
Next Week, I’ll layout what Barack could say.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
The Monthly Stew
20) “I Am America (And So Can You!)”
Comedy Central’s political “analyst” and talk-show host, Stephen Colbert, is officially a flip-flopper. His previous stance, “books are for pantywaists,” has been thrown aside in favor of expanding his own waist/wallet size. His first book, which he reassures us is full of pictures, covers a broad range of topics from “Higher Education” to “Sex & Dating.” On the latter, Colbert says to skip Match.com in favor of the family photo album.
Equally humorous is Colbert’s fill-in for NY Times columnist Maureen Dowd in her weekly op-ed column. Dowd recently taunted Colbert, saying he should try being an op-ed columnist. A bit of strategery which tells us that Dowd missed out on playground lesson numero uno: don’t bully a bully. Predictably, Colbert raced over to the bastion of the liberal-media, preparing a humorous rant for readers. Colbert’s brief piece hits on some of his favorite topics, from Frank Rich to emoticons to the Bible. It's imperative reading for fans of the show.
19) Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger
Staying with a Colbert theme for another numeral, a tip of the hat this month to the Chowder’s previously featured superb tri-athlete, Todd Smith. Todd completed his second Ironman in seven weeks’ time on the big island of Kona last weekend in the Ironman World Championships. Todd assures me that the NBC production in November will feature some incredible, and incredibly touching, stories. Set your Tivo in advance.
NBC earns brownie points for their Ironman coverage, but they’re also receiving a wag of the finger for the time slot they selected for #11 on this list. Their selection makes zero sense to me. Zero.
18) What Can Brown Do For You
Is the guy in the UPS commercial really writing at that dry erase board, or is there behind the scenes editing going on? If that’s him writing, UPS should get into the penmanship business. That guy’s hand-writing is redonkulous. Love those commercials.
17) Black Monday Turns 20
20 years ago, on October 19th 1987, the U.S. stock market lost over 22% of its value in one day. The plunge also caused a domino effect in markets worldwide; by the end of October, stock markets in Honk Kong, Australia, in Spain had lost 30% of their value. To this day, people still speculate about the cause of the fall but program trading, overvaluation, illiquidity, and market psychology are all frequently mentioned as contributors.
Amidst our current bull market, Black Monday should serve as a reminder that big corrections do happen -- and that the handwriting isn’t necessarily on the wall.
16) Someecards
The world of eCards/eNotices has been stuck in neutral. Evite’s prominence, despite their blah user templates, is glaring evidentiary proof. But now, thanks to Someecards, consumers have a new friend in the electronic greeting business.
The site is full of witty, adult messages that could easily double as quotes from Office Space. For example: “I need a billing code for not doing shit.” Forthright, personal messages are also available for sending, such as: “I hope your party doesn’t fucking suck.” This site is going to explode before long, so impress your friends before the masses discover its brilliance.
15) Pete Hammond
You ever notice how lousy movies always garner a one-word quote in advertisements, like “mesmerizing” or “electrifying.” And the quotes always come from a not-quite recognizable reviewer. In this realm, I’ve been seeing one-worders from Pete Hammond of Maxim in connection with a lot of box-office busts. Maybe he is the de facto guy to call when you know your movie is gonna suck, but you still a need a “riveting” for the print ads.
14) "The World to Come"
Dora Horn’s magnificent novel – could be the reading fixture on the work-bound train in six months. The narrative centers around a man who sees a Chagall and then becomes (obsessively) convinced it used to belong to his family. He is spurred to action, finding love and his scattered self along the way.
Entertainment Weekly’s review is right on the money: “nothing short of amazing.”
13) Young Guns with a Baton
The world of classical music has been taken over by a new generation of maestros – some are even old enough to drink.
The Los Angeles Philharmonic got the youth party started fifteen years ago when they hired 34 year-old Finnish conductor, Esa-Pekka Solonen as principal music conductor. In 2000 Cincinnati grabbed 39 year-old sensation Paavo Jarvi (now headed to Paris in 2010). Los Angeles, wanting to ensure its supremacy on the “how low can you go” totem pole, reanted this year: naming the 26- year-old Venezuelan wunderkind, Gustavo Dudamel, as principal conductor for the 2009 season. And finally, the conservatively schooled New York Philharmonic is centering its future on youthful horizons: penciling in 40 year-old Alan Gilbert as its next musical conductor starting in 2009.
The only major symphony with a full-time vacancy at present? The Chicago Symphony Orchestra (CSO), who has been slow to find a replacement for Daniel Barenboim. Hopefully the CSO will follow the lead of their peers, favoring a return to grass yutes.
12) The Impenetrable French Baguette
I get sucker punched sometimes when ordering food. Especially at Panera. The cashier will run down the options for my side (chips, apple, bread, or French baguette), and then my mind will say, “nice, a French baguette.” But when I sit down and try to break off a piece of my baguette, it’s normally tougher than a moon rock. Yesterday I almost handed my baguette to my lunch mate, as if it were a lid on a jar I couldn’t twist open.
In actuality, I don’t think this phenomenon is limited to me or Panera -- I think the dough in the French baguette is somehow creating a force field to ward off eaters (and X-wing fighters). I'm working on verification from francophiles; I'll get back to you.
11) Friday Night Lights
This is the best show on television. Next numeral.
10) The Ole Noggin to the Rescue
According to researchers at Columbia University Medical Center, “the skeleton is actually an endocrine organ, producing hormones that act outside of bone.” Say what?
Translation: research suggests that a hormone in the skeleton may influence how the body handles sugar. A recent NYT article goes on to reference: “mounting evidence that signals from the immune system, the brain and the gut play critical roles in controlling glucose and lipid metabolism. (relevant to Type 2 diabetes).”
In other words, expect a plethora of new research on diabetes, and how we might go about attacking it, in the coming years.
9) Henry Ford: Pacifist? Bigot?
Most of us associate Henry Ford with the assembly line, the Model T, and his philanthropy. But Ford didn't stop there.
Ford organized and paid for a peace ship to Europe in 1915, in the midst of World War I, for himself and about 170 other prominent Americans with hopes of convincing European leaders to stop the war. The peace ship was largely ridiculed, and Ford returned to the mainland not longer after he set foot in Europe. It nonetheless speaks to Ford’s active role in promoting pacifism.
Then, in 1918, Ford purchased an obscure weekly newspaper, The Dearborn Independent. The Independent ran from 1920 until 1927, publishing "Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion.” The American Jewish Historical Society describes the ideas in the magazine as "anti-immigrant, anti-labor, anti-liquor, and anti-Semitic". In 1921 the New York World published an interview with Ford, in which he said: "The only statement I care to make about the Protocols is that they fit in with what is going on."
People: now and then, still tough to figure.
8) Trained Seals
Caught a little bit of the Republican debate last week. I side with Newt Gingrich in believing that asking everyone the same question “leaves each candidate answering like a trained seal.” Leave it to my boy Newt to submarine the would-be competition from the sidelines (fyi, while my sarcasm runs thicker than molasses at times, my affinity for Newt is sincere).
My main takeaway from the debate: Romney is head and shoulders the class of this group. And frankly, if he weren’t treading farther and farther to the right on social issues, I would feel good about our future with him, Hillary, or Barack in office. As is, I’m still leaning left.
7) Spoiling a Good Read
These five words will sour me on any book I haven’t read: “now a major, motion picture.” When I see a book cover with an actionized movie scene, the novel is instantly dead to me.
This fall’s cinema lineup is a smorgasbord of adaptations, from "The Kite Runner" to "Atonement" to "Into the Wild." Thankfullly, I’ve already read the first two and the latter is of less interest. I can’t say the same for Cormac McCarthy’s, “No Country for Old Men.” But alas, my allotted time is quickly drawing to a close: the film is due out in November. Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Brodem, Josh Brolin, and Woddy Harrelson have leading roles.
6) Pretty in Pink
A big kudos to whoever conceived the idea for making October breast cancer awareness month; Chicago’s tallest buildings are currently lit in pink to support the cause. As I sit here thinking about Chicago’s Molly Ringwold skyline, I’m also reminded of Margaret Mead’s words: “never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
5) FX
I’m giving FX a “strong” to “very strong” rating for some of their in-house programming. Nip Tuck, though too explicit for me at times, is certainly engaging (and their preview commercials kick ass). Glenn Close is superb as lawyer Patty Hughes on Damages. Finally, my personal favorite: It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
The storylines on It’s Always are so far-fetched, they’re almost believable. And Danny Devito has been a great addition to the ensemble, rounding out their imbecilic crew to perfection.
I’m really starting to dig this show.
4) The Warren Zevon Quote of the Month
“Send lawyers, guns, and money, the shit has hit the fan.”
3) It’s at the Cleaners
There are six dry cleaners within three blocks of my apartment – a seemingly staggering number. For five years I have waited for one or more of these neighboring competitors to close up shop. Not a chance; they've all still got the pedal to the starch.
Knowing that 85% of all new businesses fail in the first two years, I now believe that which I would have previously shunned in totality: the neighborhood could probably handle a 7th dry cleaner. The only questions that remains: who’s got the cajones to sell a small business lender on being the 7th entrant on the block?
To the winners, go the spoils.
2) The Breeder’s Cup - October 27th
If you’re a horse racing fan, the first Saturday in May (the Kentucky Derby) is the year’s undisputed summit. But if you’re looking for an all-day thoroughbred affair, you’d better circle Breeder’s Cup Saturday as well. The day features eight races at various distances on the dirt and the turf, with purses starting at $2M and climbing to $5M for the Classic.
This year’s Classic field features a slew of three year-olds from the Derby: Curlin’, Any Given Saturday, Tiago, Hard Spun, and Street Sense. To win they’ll have to beat an elder, four year-old Lawyer Ron, who was spectacular at Saratoga this summer.
A favorite day in my year, and yes, I will spend it inside an ultra-smoky OTB spitting out trifecta wheels with other gambling degenerates. Frankly, I can't fathom a better way to spend a day.
1) 26.2
This Sunday I’ll join 6,000 other yahoos in Columbus, OH, as we run Pheidippides’ historic distance from Marathon to Athens. He brought news of a Greek victory over the Persians; we'll bring news that we’re morons willing to run 26.2 miles for fun.
Inevitably, about twenty miles into the race, I’ll be cursing the decision. If things get really ugly, I’ll probably still be cursing the race in these pages next week. Stay tuned.
Comedy Central’s political “analyst” and talk-show host, Stephen Colbert, is officially a flip-flopper. His previous stance, “books are for pantywaists,” has been thrown aside in favor of expanding his own waist/wallet size. His first book, which he reassures us is full of pictures, covers a broad range of topics from “Higher Education” to “Sex & Dating.” On the latter, Colbert says to skip Match.com in favor of the family photo album.
Equally humorous is Colbert’s fill-in for NY Times columnist Maureen Dowd in her weekly op-ed column. Dowd recently taunted Colbert, saying he should try being an op-ed columnist. A bit of strategery which tells us that Dowd missed out on playground lesson numero uno: don’t bully a bully. Predictably, Colbert raced over to the bastion of the liberal-media, preparing a humorous rant for readers. Colbert’s brief piece hits on some of his favorite topics, from Frank Rich to emoticons to the Bible. It's imperative reading for fans of the show.
19) Tip of the Hat, Wag of the Finger
Staying with a Colbert theme for another numeral, a tip of the hat this month to the Chowder’s previously featured superb tri-athlete, Todd Smith. Todd completed his second Ironman in seven weeks’ time on the big island of Kona last weekend in the Ironman World Championships. Todd assures me that the NBC production in November will feature some incredible, and incredibly touching, stories. Set your Tivo in advance.
NBC earns brownie points for their Ironman coverage, but they’re also receiving a wag of the finger for the time slot they selected for #11 on this list. Their selection makes zero sense to me. Zero.
18) What Can Brown Do For You
Is the guy in the UPS commercial really writing at that dry erase board, or is there behind the scenes editing going on? If that’s him writing, UPS should get into the penmanship business. That guy’s hand-writing is redonkulous. Love those commercials.
17) Black Monday Turns 20
20 years ago, on October 19th 1987, the U.S. stock market lost over 22% of its value in one day. The plunge also caused a domino effect in markets worldwide; by the end of October, stock markets in Honk Kong, Australia, in Spain had lost 30% of their value. To this day, people still speculate about the cause of the fall but program trading, overvaluation, illiquidity, and market psychology are all frequently mentioned as contributors.
Amidst our current bull market, Black Monday should serve as a reminder that big corrections do happen -- and that the handwriting isn’t necessarily on the wall.
16) Someecards
The world of eCards/eNotices has been stuck in neutral. Evite’s prominence, despite their blah user templates, is glaring evidentiary proof. But now, thanks to Someecards, consumers have a new friend in the electronic greeting business.
The site is full of witty, adult messages that could easily double as quotes from Office Space. For example: “I need a billing code for not doing shit.” Forthright, personal messages are also available for sending, such as: “I hope your party doesn’t fucking suck.” This site is going to explode before long, so impress your friends before the masses discover its brilliance.
15) Pete Hammond
You ever notice how lousy movies always garner a one-word quote in advertisements, like “mesmerizing” or “electrifying.” And the quotes always come from a not-quite recognizable reviewer. In this realm, I’ve been seeing one-worders from Pete Hammond of Maxim in connection with a lot of box-office busts. Maybe he is the de facto guy to call when you know your movie is gonna suck, but you still a need a “riveting” for the print ads.
14) "The World to Come"
Dora Horn’s magnificent novel – could be the reading fixture on the work-bound train in six months. The narrative centers around a man who sees a Chagall and then becomes (obsessively) convinced it used to belong to his family. He is spurred to action, finding love and his scattered self along the way.
Entertainment Weekly’s review is right on the money: “nothing short of amazing.”
13) Young Guns with a Baton
The world of classical music has been taken over by a new generation of maestros – some are even old enough to drink.
The Los Angeles Philharmonic got the youth party started fifteen years ago when they hired 34 year-old Finnish conductor, Esa-Pekka Solonen as principal music conductor. In 2000 Cincinnati grabbed 39 year-old sensation Paavo Jarvi (now headed to Paris in 2010). Los Angeles, wanting to ensure its supremacy on the “how low can you go” totem pole, reanted this year: naming the 26- year-old Venezuelan wunderkind, Gustavo Dudamel, as principal conductor for the 2009 season. And finally, the conservatively schooled New York Philharmonic is centering its future on youthful horizons: penciling in 40 year-old Alan Gilbert as its next musical conductor starting in 2009.
The only major symphony with a full-time vacancy at present? The Chicago Symphony Orchestra (CSO), who has been slow to find a replacement for Daniel Barenboim. Hopefully the CSO will follow the lead of their peers, favoring a return to grass yutes.
12) The Impenetrable French Baguette
I get sucker punched sometimes when ordering food. Especially at Panera. The cashier will run down the options for my side (chips, apple, bread, or French baguette), and then my mind will say, “nice, a French baguette.” But when I sit down and try to break off a piece of my baguette, it’s normally tougher than a moon rock. Yesterday I almost handed my baguette to my lunch mate, as if it were a lid on a jar I couldn’t twist open.
In actuality, I don’t think this phenomenon is limited to me or Panera -- I think the dough in the French baguette is somehow creating a force field to ward off eaters (and X-wing fighters). I'm working on verification from francophiles; I'll get back to you.
11) Friday Night Lights
This is the best show on television. Next numeral.
10) The Ole Noggin to the Rescue
According to researchers at Columbia University Medical Center, “the skeleton is actually an endocrine organ, producing hormones that act outside of bone.” Say what?
Translation: research suggests that a hormone in the skeleton may influence how the body handles sugar. A recent NYT article goes on to reference: “mounting evidence that signals from the immune system, the brain and the gut play critical roles in controlling glucose and lipid metabolism. (relevant to Type 2 diabetes).”
In other words, expect a plethora of new research on diabetes, and how we might go about attacking it, in the coming years.
9) Henry Ford: Pacifist? Bigot?
Most of us associate Henry Ford with the assembly line, the Model T, and his philanthropy. But Ford didn't stop there.
Ford organized and paid for a peace ship to Europe in 1915, in the midst of World War I, for himself and about 170 other prominent Americans with hopes of convincing European leaders to stop the war. The peace ship was largely ridiculed, and Ford returned to the mainland not longer after he set foot in Europe. It nonetheless speaks to Ford’s active role in promoting pacifism.
Then, in 1918, Ford purchased an obscure weekly newspaper, The Dearborn Independent. The Independent ran from 1920 until 1927, publishing "Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion.” The American Jewish Historical Society describes the ideas in the magazine as "anti-immigrant, anti-labor, anti-liquor, and anti-Semitic". In 1921 the New York World published an interview with Ford, in which he said: "The only statement I care to make about the Protocols is that they fit in with what is going on."
People: now and then, still tough to figure.
8) Trained Seals
Caught a little bit of the Republican debate last week. I side with Newt Gingrich in believing that asking everyone the same question “leaves each candidate answering like a trained seal.” Leave it to my boy Newt to submarine the would-be competition from the sidelines (fyi, while my sarcasm runs thicker than molasses at times, my affinity for Newt is sincere).
My main takeaway from the debate: Romney is head and shoulders the class of this group. And frankly, if he weren’t treading farther and farther to the right on social issues, I would feel good about our future with him, Hillary, or Barack in office. As is, I’m still leaning left.
7) Spoiling a Good Read
These five words will sour me on any book I haven’t read: “now a major, motion picture.” When I see a book cover with an actionized movie scene, the novel is instantly dead to me.
This fall’s cinema lineup is a smorgasbord of adaptations, from "The Kite Runner" to "Atonement" to "Into the Wild." Thankfullly, I’ve already read the first two and the latter is of less interest. I can’t say the same for Cormac McCarthy’s, “No Country for Old Men.” But alas, my allotted time is quickly drawing to a close: the film is due out in November. Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Brodem, Josh Brolin, and Woddy Harrelson have leading roles.
6) Pretty in Pink
A big kudos to whoever conceived the idea for making October breast cancer awareness month; Chicago’s tallest buildings are currently lit in pink to support the cause. As I sit here thinking about Chicago’s Molly Ringwold skyline, I’m also reminded of Margaret Mead’s words: “never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
5) FX
I’m giving FX a “strong” to “very strong” rating for some of their in-house programming. Nip Tuck, though too explicit for me at times, is certainly engaging (and their preview commercials kick ass). Glenn Close is superb as lawyer Patty Hughes on Damages. Finally, my personal favorite: It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
The storylines on It’s Always are so far-fetched, they’re almost believable. And Danny Devito has been a great addition to the ensemble, rounding out their imbecilic crew to perfection.
I’m really starting to dig this show.
4) The Warren Zevon Quote of the Month
“Send lawyers, guns, and money, the shit has hit the fan.”
3) It’s at the Cleaners
There are six dry cleaners within three blocks of my apartment – a seemingly staggering number. For five years I have waited for one or more of these neighboring competitors to close up shop. Not a chance; they've all still got the pedal to the starch.
Knowing that 85% of all new businesses fail in the first two years, I now believe that which I would have previously shunned in totality: the neighborhood could probably handle a 7th dry cleaner. The only questions that remains: who’s got the cajones to sell a small business lender on being the 7th entrant on the block?
To the winners, go the spoils.
2) The Breeder’s Cup - October 27th
If you’re a horse racing fan, the first Saturday in May (the Kentucky Derby) is the year’s undisputed summit. But if you’re looking for an all-day thoroughbred affair, you’d better circle Breeder’s Cup Saturday as well. The day features eight races at various distances on the dirt and the turf, with purses starting at $2M and climbing to $5M for the Classic.
This year’s Classic field features a slew of three year-olds from the Derby: Curlin’, Any Given Saturday, Tiago, Hard Spun, and Street Sense. To win they’ll have to beat an elder, four year-old Lawyer Ron, who was spectacular at Saratoga this summer.
A favorite day in my year, and yes, I will spend it inside an ultra-smoky OTB spitting out trifecta wheels with other gambling degenerates. Frankly, I can't fathom a better way to spend a day.
1) 26.2
This Sunday I’ll join 6,000 other yahoos in Columbus, OH, as we run Pheidippides’ historic distance from Marathon to Athens. He brought news of a Greek victory over the Persians; we'll bring news that we’re morons willing to run 26.2 miles for fun.
Inevitably, about twenty miles into the race, I’ll be cursing the decision. If things get really ugly, I’ll probably still be cursing the race in these pages next week. Stay tuned.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Bold Predictions from the NFL
I’m losing patience with the NFL studio crews on CBS and Fox. Granted, both crews are still preferred to the Collinsworth + Costas “Football Night in America” which feels like I’ve teleported onto a futuristic NBC set which is trying to make football suck ass. That being said, CBS and FOX are also treading on thin ice.
My major gripe is the praise which spews ad nauseam when a host picks an unsurprising winner. For example, Bill Cowher’s lightning bolt last week that the Steelers (at home, - 6) were gonna take it to the Seahawks. During the post-game show I thought Marino was going to throw J.B. an Isotoner glove so that they could simultaneously pat Cowher’s ass. The homage to Cowher lasted a solid ten minutes, by which point I was onto reruns of the World Series of Poker (which inexplicably, never get old).
In their defense, the studio hosts have a lot of air time to fill. But that doesn’t mean they should get off easy; we deserve occasional acuity from these “experts.” Pick the Bills to beat the Cowboys, the 49ers to beat the Colts. This is the NFL: timing and circumstance matter. As is proven every year, any team can lose on any given Sunday. Tell us when and why something unlikely might happen.
Make a bold prediction for crying out loud.
And to show you that I’m not merely an arm-chair quarterback who rants from my (barely visible) soap box, here’s a bold prediction for you: the 2008 Super Bowl will feature BOTH Manning brothers. How about that for a humdinger.
Here’s why it could happen.
Admittedly, Dallas appears to be the class of the NFC, even when considering Romo’s 5 INT performance against Buffalo. That being said, the Giants are capable of beating the Cowboys. Heck, they might not have to face them.
The Giants’ offense has proven capable of scoring in bunches: a huge plus in the playoffs. Plaxico Burress is playing like a 22 year-old. The return of Brandon Jacobs, coupled with the effectiveness of Derrick Ward, means the Giants will have two legitimate running options down the stretch against banged up defenses.
And then there’s Eli.
His slightly-separated shoulder in Week 1 was the best thing that ever happened to him. The following week Eli went from being Peyton’s paltry little brother to a disciple of Rocky IV (the guy who trains in Siberia and fights through the pain). Simultaneously, when Eli’s arm refused to stay in the sling, the New York fans did a 180 and decided to set up shop in his corner (we want Eli on that wall; we need Eli on that wall).
Five years from now, if Eli is still playing well, this minor injury will be remembered as the turning point of his career.
On the defensive side, the Giants’ 4 – 3 must have scored a truck load of ecstasy after Week 3: these guys are suddenly FLYING to the ball. Twelve sacks against the Eagles – flat out ridiculous. Granted, their secondary is questionable (Medicare eligible Sam Madison and rookie Aaron Ross). But nobody said bold predictions were gonna come easily.
The Giants’ record is currently 3 – 2 with three games before their bye: at Atlanta, San Francisco at home, and at Miami. Not exactly the upper echelon of the NFL. Making 6 – 2 a realistic goal going into their Nov. 11 home game against Dallas.
The Cowboys play New England and Minnesota at home, then Philadelphia on the road. Good chance they’ll lose one of those games; wouldn’t be surprised if they lost twice. In other words, the Giants/Cowboys game in November could be for the division lead.
Don’t look now, the Giants could host the Cowboys in the playoffs.
Not sold? Here’s another news flash: the NFC blows. You think the Packers sans a running game are going to make the Super Bowl? Jason Campbell and the Redskins? Anyone who mentions the Bears or Saints should have their vitals checked. If Texas and the eastern seaboard get nuked, maybe the Seahawks. Conceivably the Eagles or Cardinals if e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g were to fall in place.
The NFC front-runner is Dallas. Deservingly so. But come playoff time, Eli’s three extra years of experience over Romo could be hhhhuge. Don’t overlook the Giants for a second.
In the AFC, I can’t for the life of me explain how a defending Super Bowl champ with one of the best QBs in the history of the NFL wins its first five games and gets downgraded to second-class status this quickly. The fans and sportscasters (there they are again) overnight migration to, and relentless worship of, the Patriots deserves its own chapter in modern mythology.
Yes, Belichick’s boys are decidedly improved. And they have blitzkrieged through five games. But the combined record of the teams the Pats have beaten is downright laughable: 6 – 13 (31.5%). Three of those victories came against teams which specialize in field hockey (the Bills, Jets, & Browns).
Let’s not uncork the Patriots’ bubbly just yet.
Personally, I think the Pats & Colts would be deserving co-favorites for the Super Bowl, except in reality the advantage has to belong to the team with home field advantage in the playoffs. Checking their schedules, the remaining home games for both teams look innocent enough. Meanwhile, New England has four tough road games remaining: Dallas, Indy (!), Baltimore, and the Giants. The Colts’ remaining road games of note are: Jacksonville, Carolina, San Diego, & Baltimore.
Advantage Colts.
Importantly, if the Colts and Pats have the same record at season’s end, home field advantage will belong to the winner of their game on November 4th (at Indy).
Advantage Colts.
Nonetheless, the Patriots are currently 2 - 1 to win the Super Bowl on TradeSports while the Colts are 5.5 - 1. Personally, I think these odds are within a standard deviation of ABSURD. If nothing else, that spread should narrow over the course of the season. If the Colts beat the Patriots in November, that spread will decrease a ton. Which is also to admit that I love the Colts’ current value.
And if I love the Colts at 5.5 - 1, how do you think I feel about the Giants at 65-1?!?!?! If the Giants win two of their next three games, their odds will go down. If they win all three, they might be 20-1 (providing an opportunity to sell, tripling your money).
Hear that song playing in the background? If not, turn up your hearing aid and start spreading the news:
“I wanna be a part of it, New York, New York.”
To be sure, this entry should denote that I never took to the Smith Barney slogan ("We do things the old fashioned way; we earn it"). Rather, I side with Fast Eddie Felsen in The Color of Money believing that, “money won is twice as sweet as money earned.”
And therein lies the beauty of bold predictions. It’s a chance to put your money where your mouth is with sights on a generous return. And if that prediction comes to fruition, by all means, wear your favorite NFL jersey to the bar and dissect the X’s and O’s of your brilliance ad nauseam. That right comes with bold predictions and bold predictions alone.
CBS & Fox: please take note.
My major gripe is the praise which spews ad nauseam when a host picks an unsurprising winner. For example, Bill Cowher’s lightning bolt last week that the Steelers (at home, - 6) were gonna take it to the Seahawks. During the post-game show I thought Marino was going to throw J.B. an Isotoner glove so that they could simultaneously pat Cowher’s ass. The homage to Cowher lasted a solid ten minutes, by which point I was onto reruns of the World Series of Poker (which inexplicably, never get old).
In their defense, the studio hosts have a lot of air time to fill. But that doesn’t mean they should get off easy; we deserve occasional acuity from these “experts.” Pick the Bills to beat the Cowboys, the 49ers to beat the Colts. This is the NFL: timing and circumstance matter. As is proven every year, any team can lose on any given Sunday. Tell us when and why something unlikely might happen.
Make a bold prediction for crying out loud.
And to show you that I’m not merely an arm-chair quarterback who rants from my (barely visible) soap box, here’s a bold prediction for you: the 2008 Super Bowl will feature BOTH Manning brothers. How about that for a humdinger.
Here’s why it could happen.
Admittedly, Dallas appears to be the class of the NFC, even when considering Romo’s 5 INT performance against Buffalo. That being said, the Giants are capable of beating the Cowboys. Heck, they might not have to face them.
The Giants’ offense has proven capable of scoring in bunches: a huge plus in the playoffs. Plaxico Burress is playing like a 22 year-old. The return of Brandon Jacobs, coupled with the effectiveness of Derrick Ward, means the Giants will have two legitimate running options down the stretch against banged up defenses.
And then there’s Eli.
His slightly-separated shoulder in Week 1 was the best thing that ever happened to him. The following week Eli went from being Peyton’s paltry little brother to a disciple of Rocky IV (the guy who trains in Siberia and fights through the pain). Simultaneously, when Eli’s arm refused to stay in the sling, the New York fans did a 180 and decided to set up shop in his corner (we want Eli on that wall; we need Eli on that wall).
Five years from now, if Eli is still playing well, this minor injury will be remembered as the turning point of his career.
On the defensive side, the Giants’ 4 – 3 must have scored a truck load of ecstasy after Week 3: these guys are suddenly FLYING to the ball. Twelve sacks against the Eagles – flat out ridiculous. Granted, their secondary is questionable (Medicare eligible Sam Madison and rookie Aaron Ross). But nobody said bold predictions were gonna come easily.
The Giants’ record is currently 3 – 2 with three games before their bye: at Atlanta, San Francisco at home, and at Miami. Not exactly the upper echelon of the NFL. Making 6 – 2 a realistic goal going into their Nov. 11 home game against Dallas.
The Cowboys play New England and Minnesota at home, then Philadelphia on the road. Good chance they’ll lose one of those games; wouldn’t be surprised if they lost twice. In other words, the Giants/Cowboys game in November could be for the division lead.
Don’t look now, the Giants could host the Cowboys in the playoffs.
Not sold? Here’s another news flash: the NFC blows. You think the Packers sans a running game are going to make the Super Bowl? Jason Campbell and the Redskins? Anyone who mentions the Bears or Saints should have their vitals checked. If Texas and the eastern seaboard get nuked, maybe the Seahawks. Conceivably the Eagles or Cardinals if e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g were to fall in place.
The NFC front-runner is Dallas. Deservingly so. But come playoff time, Eli’s three extra years of experience over Romo could be hhhhuge. Don’t overlook the Giants for a second.
In the AFC, I can’t for the life of me explain how a defending Super Bowl champ with one of the best QBs in the history of the NFL wins its first five games and gets downgraded to second-class status this quickly. The fans and sportscasters (there they are again) overnight migration to, and relentless worship of, the Patriots deserves its own chapter in modern mythology.
Yes, Belichick’s boys are decidedly improved. And they have blitzkrieged through five games. But the combined record of the teams the Pats have beaten is downright laughable: 6 – 13 (31.5%). Three of those victories came against teams which specialize in field hockey (the Bills, Jets, & Browns).
Let’s not uncork the Patriots’ bubbly just yet.
Personally, I think the Pats & Colts would be deserving co-favorites for the Super Bowl, except in reality the advantage has to belong to the team with home field advantage in the playoffs. Checking their schedules, the remaining home games for both teams look innocent enough. Meanwhile, New England has four tough road games remaining: Dallas, Indy (!), Baltimore, and the Giants. The Colts’ remaining road games of note are: Jacksonville, Carolina, San Diego, & Baltimore.
Advantage Colts.
Importantly, if the Colts and Pats have the same record at season’s end, home field advantage will belong to the winner of their game on November 4th (at Indy).
Advantage Colts.
Nonetheless, the Patriots are currently 2 - 1 to win the Super Bowl on TradeSports while the Colts are 5.5 - 1. Personally, I think these odds are within a standard deviation of ABSURD. If nothing else, that spread should narrow over the course of the season. If the Colts beat the Patriots in November, that spread will decrease a ton. Which is also to admit that I love the Colts’ current value.
And if I love the Colts at 5.5 - 1, how do you think I feel about the Giants at 65-1?!?!?! If the Giants win two of their next three games, their odds will go down. If they win all three, they might be 20-1 (providing an opportunity to sell, tripling your money).
Hear that song playing in the background? If not, turn up your hearing aid and start spreading the news:
“I wanna be a part of it, New York, New York.”
To be sure, this entry should denote that I never took to the Smith Barney slogan ("We do things the old fashioned way; we earn it"). Rather, I side with Fast Eddie Felsen in The Color of Money believing that, “money won is twice as sweet as money earned.”
And therein lies the beauty of bold predictions. It’s a chance to put your money where your mouth is with sights on a generous return. And if that prediction comes to fruition, by all means, wear your favorite NFL jersey to the bar and dissect the X’s and O’s of your brilliance ad nauseam. That right comes with bold predictions and bold predictions alone.
CBS & Fox: please take note.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Baseball in October
My grandfather loved baseball. He loved baseball unconditionally, and he was unconditionally pessimistic about his baseball teams. His doubts were, by in large, justified.
My grandfather worked for the government in D.C. so my dad grew up in a Washington Senators household. Unfortunately, opportunities for father and son to applaud the hometown nine were few and far between. From 1947 – 1960 the Senators averaged just 61 wins a season (41%). Over that same interval, Red Sox outfielder Ted Williams reached base over 49% of the time – making it more likely that Williams would reach base twice in a game than the Senators would leave the stadium with a victory.
In 1971 baseball left Washington, not to return for another 34 years. But by the 1970s my grandfather had a new team to cheer for. He was raised in Macon, GA and played baseball at the Univ. of Georgia. When the Milwaukee Braves moved to Atlanta in 1966, it made for a natural fit. Also fitting was the on-field likeness between his old team and new.
From 1972 to 1990 the Braves would finish last or next to last in their division 13 times. Over a half-century stretch, my grandfather had aligned with two of the worst franchises in major league baseball history. And thanks to Ted Turner, my grandfather (and the nation) got to see every single game on TV.
Watching the Braves on Turner Broadcasting may have been an exercise in futility for most fans, but it was a blessing for me. It was the perfect backdrop for visiting my grandfather.
Once or twice a month my dad would drop me off for a night of bungling Braves’ baseball. A bag of Nutter Butter cookies would be waiting for me, and the fridge would be stocked with 4-ounce (peel-the-seal) cans of grape juice. For me, as a budding teenager, grape nights of baseball with my grandfather beat anything out of Ridgemont High.
Admittedly, our gatherings often featured a two-headed trouncing. I would flip back and forth between the anemic Cubs, my team of choice, and the bottom-feeding Braves. I was always naively optimistic while he assured me that losing was a birthright. To my chagrin, dozens of statistical categories accentuated our teams' troubles (most notably, their records).
Then, in 1991, the unforeseeable happened: the Braves went from worst to first. A young pitching staff featuring Steve Avery, John Smoltz, and Tom Glavine was complimented by a resurgent offensive with Chipper Jones and Ron Gant. Almost overnight, the Braves began to erase decades of miserable play.
But winning doesn’t come easy to grandfathers and grandsons accustomed to 100 loss seasons. For the better part of fifty years, mediocrity had been my grandfather's upper ceiling. A 3rd or 4th place division finish was something that came along every six to eight years; October baseball was simply not a prospect to be considered in earnest.
Which made the following reality all the more unfathomable.
Starting in 1991, and for the next fourteen years, the Atlanta Braves would finish every single season 1st in their division. A feat, which in all likelihood, will never be equaled. If my grandfather had lived until 2005 he would have died in disbelief; he passed away in 2000, after the ninth year in the streak.
After each of those nine titles my grandfather was convinced the previous year was the last in the run. The Braves' pitching was getting too old. Their hitting was too inconsistent. Their bullpen wasn't quite good enough. My grandfather showered these reasons, and a myriad of others, upon me annually. The Braves were done: I could take it to the bank.
But somewhere in heaven or its proximity my grandfather is reading this and shaking his head. For another five seasons after my grandfather passed, Manager Bobby Cox kept the division titles coming – fourteen in all. Cox put winners on the field, and October in Atlanta became synonymous with baseball. After fifty years of demoralizing results, my grandfather had a team with a legacy for all-time.
Fast forward: now it’s 2007 and my Chicago Cubs have stumbled into the playoffs. Their regular season was hardly inspirational, boasting a record only eight games above .500. Somehow their marginal play still bested their division foes.
Maybe it’s a genetic thing, but my grandfather's doubting ways now belong to me. My Cubs are too inconsistent at the plate. Their bullpen isn’t quite good enough. And their starting rotation needs another reliable arm. Two of those concerns played out in Game 1 against the Diamondbacks. The ice only gets thinner from here.
Nonetheless, the Cubs are playing baseball in the only month that matters. And if history has taught us anything, it’s that anything is possible come October.
Drysdale could be perfect. Buckner might let a ball go through his legs. Schilling is capable of bleeding the Red Sox to victory. And when you least expect it, a Dodger might hobble out of the dugout and send a game-winning homer into the Los Angeles night.
Incredibly, the Gibson Game (Dodgers vs. A’s in Game 1 of the ’88 World Series) was THE SAME DAY as Notre Dame’s unforgettable football victory over Jimmie Johnson’s top-ranked Miami Hurricanes. Lou Holtz's Irish won 31 - 30 when Miami went for two and didn't make it. Combine the two classic games, and October 15th, 1988 belongs in the upper echelons of sports history.
Even more special for me -- I spent the day at my grandfather’s.
Not surprisingly, I miss my grandfather the most this time of year. As the boys of summer head for the home stretch, I’m reminded that October is without a devoted fan. Plus, I know that he would have liked the ‘07 Cubs -- pessimistic about their chances, but onboard and supportive of Lou's assembled crew.
He would have liked Theriot for his hustle, Marmol for his nasty slider, and Zambrano for being "El Toro." But above all, he would have loved the Cubs’ first baseman. He liked old school hitters who always put the ball in play. Hitters who delivered in the clutch.
He would have loved Derek Lee.
To be sure, I’ll be cheering and remembering this October. My grandfather will be with me, even if not in the flesh. It’s a great time of year for familial reunions, literal and spiritual, with sights on a three-week march to the Fall Classic.
Because in October you set your pessimism aside and commit to believing, even if it's not easy to do. You hope the ride lasts all month and ends with the timeless words of Vin Scully, which I first heard in my grandfather's apartment two decades ago: “In a year that has been so improbable, the impossible has happened!”
I should buy Nutter Butter cookies and grape juice just in case.
My grandfather worked for the government in D.C. so my dad grew up in a Washington Senators household. Unfortunately, opportunities for father and son to applaud the hometown nine were few and far between. From 1947 – 1960 the Senators averaged just 61 wins a season (41%). Over that same interval, Red Sox outfielder Ted Williams reached base over 49% of the time – making it more likely that Williams would reach base twice in a game than the Senators would leave the stadium with a victory.
In 1971 baseball left Washington, not to return for another 34 years. But by the 1970s my grandfather had a new team to cheer for. He was raised in Macon, GA and played baseball at the Univ. of Georgia. When the Milwaukee Braves moved to Atlanta in 1966, it made for a natural fit. Also fitting was the on-field likeness between his old team and new.
From 1972 to 1990 the Braves would finish last or next to last in their division 13 times. Over a half-century stretch, my grandfather had aligned with two of the worst franchises in major league baseball history. And thanks to Ted Turner, my grandfather (and the nation) got to see every single game on TV.
Watching the Braves on Turner Broadcasting may have been an exercise in futility for most fans, but it was a blessing for me. It was the perfect backdrop for visiting my grandfather.
Once or twice a month my dad would drop me off for a night of bungling Braves’ baseball. A bag of Nutter Butter cookies would be waiting for me, and the fridge would be stocked with 4-ounce (peel-the-seal) cans of grape juice. For me, as a budding teenager, grape nights of baseball with my grandfather beat anything out of Ridgemont High.
Admittedly, our gatherings often featured a two-headed trouncing. I would flip back and forth between the anemic Cubs, my team of choice, and the bottom-feeding Braves. I was always naively optimistic while he assured me that losing was a birthright. To my chagrin, dozens of statistical categories accentuated our teams' troubles (most notably, their records).
Then, in 1991, the unforeseeable happened: the Braves went from worst to first. A young pitching staff featuring Steve Avery, John Smoltz, and Tom Glavine was complimented by a resurgent offensive with Chipper Jones and Ron Gant. Almost overnight, the Braves began to erase decades of miserable play.
But winning doesn’t come easy to grandfathers and grandsons accustomed to 100 loss seasons. For the better part of fifty years, mediocrity had been my grandfather's upper ceiling. A 3rd or 4th place division finish was something that came along every six to eight years; October baseball was simply not a prospect to be considered in earnest.
Which made the following reality all the more unfathomable.
Starting in 1991, and for the next fourteen years, the Atlanta Braves would finish every single season 1st in their division. A feat, which in all likelihood, will never be equaled. If my grandfather had lived until 2005 he would have died in disbelief; he passed away in 2000, after the ninth year in the streak.
After each of those nine titles my grandfather was convinced the previous year was the last in the run. The Braves' pitching was getting too old. Their hitting was too inconsistent. Their bullpen wasn't quite good enough. My grandfather showered these reasons, and a myriad of others, upon me annually. The Braves were done: I could take it to the bank.
But somewhere in heaven or its proximity my grandfather is reading this and shaking his head. For another five seasons after my grandfather passed, Manager Bobby Cox kept the division titles coming – fourteen in all. Cox put winners on the field, and October in Atlanta became synonymous with baseball. After fifty years of demoralizing results, my grandfather had a team with a legacy for all-time.
Fast forward: now it’s 2007 and my Chicago Cubs have stumbled into the playoffs. Their regular season was hardly inspirational, boasting a record only eight games above .500. Somehow their marginal play still bested their division foes.
Maybe it’s a genetic thing, but my grandfather's doubting ways now belong to me. My Cubs are too inconsistent at the plate. Their bullpen isn’t quite good enough. And their starting rotation needs another reliable arm. Two of those concerns played out in Game 1 against the Diamondbacks. The ice only gets thinner from here.
Nonetheless, the Cubs are playing baseball in the only month that matters. And if history has taught us anything, it’s that anything is possible come October.
Drysdale could be perfect. Buckner might let a ball go through his legs. Schilling is capable of bleeding the Red Sox to victory. And when you least expect it, a Dodger might hobble out of the dugout and send a game-winning homer into the Los Angeles night.
Incredibly, the Gibson Game (Dodgers vs. A’s in Game 1 of the ’88 World Series) was THE SAME DAY as Notre Dame’s unforgettable football victory over Jimmie Johnson’s top-ranked Miami Hurricanes. Lou Holtz's Irish won 31 - 30 when Miami went for two and didn't make it. Combine the two classic games, and October 15th, 1988 belongs in the upper echelons of sports history.
Even more special for me -- I spent the day at my grandfather’s.
Not surprisingly, I miss my grandfather the most this time of year. As the boys of summer head for the home stretch, I’m reminded that October is without a devoted fan. Plus, I know that he would have liked the ‘07 Cubs -- pessimistic about their chances, but onboard and supportive of Lou's assembled crew.
He would have liked Theriot for his hustle, Marmol for his nasty slider, and Zambrano for being "El Toro." But above all, he would have loved the Cubs’ first baseman. He liked old school hitters who always put the ball in play. Hitters who delivered in the clutch.
He would have loved Derek Lee.
To be sure, I’ll be cheering and remembering this October. My grandfather will be with me, even if not in the flesh. It’s a great time of year for familial reunions, literal and spiritual, with sights on a three-week march to the Fall Classic.
Because in October you set your pessimism aside and commit to believing, even if it's not easy to do. You hope the ride lasts all month and ends with the timeless words of Vin Scully, which I first heard in my grandfather's apartment two decades ago: “In a year that has been so improbable, the impossible has happened!”
I should buy Nutter Butter cookies and grape juice just in case.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
The Monthly Stew
20) Retro Alert
The old school, monster jam box appears to be making a comeback. Yes, I’m talking about the one and only Spike Lee “Radio Raheem” variety (which, instructions mandate, be carried atop the shoulder). Admittedly, sightings are more likely on a local dice corner (clickety clack), but I’ve seen a couple on my neighborhood street as well.
19) Luciano Pavarotti
The famed tenor who helped vault opera into the mainstream passed away earlier this month -- over 100,000 mourners paid respects in Pavarotti’s hometown of Modena, Italy. Pavarotti often sang alongside Jose Carreras and Placido Domingo (as The Three Tenors); together they turned famous arias like Nessun Dorma into anthems recognizable by the masses. Now these renowned arias will forever by associated with Pavarotti’s larger-than-life presence and heaven-sent vibrato.
18) The “Do Not Call” Registry
Is this a myth? I’m on the registry and still get six telemarketing calls a day. It’s a blatant disregard for the law by schemers, and I should do something about it. Or, instead of doing something about it, I could answer my home phone even less. Making my new goal: not at all. That sounds about right.
17) $9.99
This will mean nothing to most of you, but others will nod your head in total agreement. The best ten dollars of my year, every year, is the ten smackaroos I spend on Stat Tracker for Fantasy Football. I can’t fathom a $10 purchase which could compare.
16) Crispy or Canadian?
Is Canadian Bacon healthier than crispy? I’m no nutritionist, but I know this: it looks healthier. And since I’m trying to eat a little healthier ("I wanna be a better man"), Canadian is about to become my bacon of choice with my White Hen breakfast sandwiches. Anecdotally, the White Hen BS is a steal-of-a-deal at $1.89. Comes on a bagel, biscuit, or English muffin.
15) Pride Is All You Have Left in the Morning
In Vegas some casinos will let you surrender (“sah-rennn-der”) in blackjack after your first two cards. When you surrender, you get half your money back. For example, if you have sixteen and the dealer has a face card, you might consider surrendering.
After watching Roger Federer dismantle the world’s best tennis players (again) in the U.S. Open, I think the ATP should offer anyone playing Federer the same deal. After Federer wins the first set (a virtual guarantee), the ATP should allow players to surrender and leave the court with half their pride. This new “rule” could save a few careers and promote the longevity of the game, helping players to avoid mental deconstruction after being bulldozed by Roger.
14) Presidential Endorsements
Evan Bayh endorsed Hillary Clinton for President earlier this week, circulating more talk that Bayh could end up as the #2 on the democratic ticket. The real question here is: “does anyone on the planet gives a rat’s ass who Even Bayh is endorsing?” He’s the junior Senator from Indiana and probably doesn’t have the clout/charisma/cajones to help any candidate carry Indiana.
If Indiana’s senior Senator, Richard Lugar -- a consummate example of class and decorum -- endorses someone, then I'll be slightly intrigued. As is, I’m sorry that CNN cut away from Day 3,897 of the O.J. police chase to carry the Bayh press conference.
In a related bit of news, I will now endorse Optimus Prime for Secretary of Defense in '08.
13) A Less-Than-Stunning Vista
The long awaited, often delayed release of Microsoft’s new version of Windows, Vista, is garnering less than stellar reviews from its first wave of customers. The myriad of new buttons and pull-down menus are being cited as “difficult” and “cumbersome” by users accustomed to easy navigation. Apparently there are also adaptability issues with older hardware components.
Throw in the European Commission’s decision last week to uphold a $500E anti-trust suit against Microsoft for bundling and interoperability, and I’m left with this thought: somewhere Steve Jobs is smiling.
12) Explain This One to Me
I own the Thomas Crown Affair on DVD. I don’t ever watch it. Nonetheless, whenever I’m flipping through the dial and see Pierce Brosnan thiefing a Monet from the Met, I immediately tune in for the duration (ultra pleased that it happened to be on the tube). Accordingly, my question is: what obscure part of our membrane causes us to appreciate a movie exponentially more when on TV with commercials.
11) Bring out the Mooncake
September 26th is the 15th day of the 8th lunar month of the Asian Calendar, also known as the Mid-Autumn Festival. The date also marks the brightest, fullest moon of the year. The traditional pastry of the Mid-Autumn Festival is the mooncake, a thick filling usually made from lotus paste and surrounded by a thin crust (sometimes containing yolks from salted duck eggs).
A friend recently treated me to a sample of this delectable pastry. If anyone is bound for Chinatown anytime soon, holler this way: I needs to get me some more.
10) Ocho Cinco
Most NFL receivers have stratospheric egos. Still, in a category entirely unto himself, resides the Lambeau-leaping River Dancer for the Cincinnati Bengals, Chad Johnson (who refers to himself as “ocho cinco” because he wears #85). But somehow Johnson’s theatrics don’t appear to undermine his teammates.
After his first touchdown of the season, Johnson unveiled a “Future Hall-of-Famer” cape which used black tape for lettering. The next week, after his second TD against the Browns, Johnson leapt directly into Cleveland’s Dog Pound (backing up his prediction from earlier in the week).
For the record: LOVE. THIS. GUY.
9) The Odd Couple
Talk about an unlikely duo, how about Libya's de facto leader, Col. Moammar el-Qaddafi, and U.N. Secretary General, Ban Ki-Moon. In all probability the leaders will never dine together at Long John Silver’s (aaargh matey), but they are working together with hopes of creating a peace accord to stop the genocide in Darfur. Sudanese officials are now scheduled to meet on October 26th under a jointly led effort by the African Union and the United Nations. Qaddafi will host the peace talks in Libya.
8) California’s Universal Healthcare Plan Delayed
California’s ambitious effort to expand healthcare coverage to all state residents has stalled. Apparently everyone was for the plan, until it came time to pay for it. Now Rrrrnold is proposing that doctors, hospitals, and businesses pay for the expanded coverage through increased fees. Alternatively, The Terminator has suggested a ballot measure to raise the sales tax in California to cover the costs (estimated to be more than $12B).
The silver lining: if perennially liberal California can’t pass a universal healthcare measure in a predominantly HMO (managed care) state, it probably doesn’t bode well for federal legislation.
7) Classic Beauty
Caught two nights of Hitchcock recently on Turner Classic Movies. After watching Rear Window, I’m adding Grace Kelly to my list of timeless beauties. Kelly belongs alongside Audrey Hepburn and Ingrid Bergman in this category for me. Dios mio: what a trio.
6) Idear
Another prediction for this and future elections: the country will never again elect a President who says “idear” when pronouncing the word “idea.” New Englanders with big idears may have been the norm when Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr were dueling in the morning mist, but in this day and age “idear” sounds outdated and aristocratic (a belated note to John Kerry).
5) Situational Beverages
This numeral is a sibling to #12. Why do certain drinks taste better when consumed in specific locales or situations? For example, I only drink White Russians when I’m in Vegas at the Imperial Palace – for some reason the felt at the blackjack table and the atmosphere at the I.P. beg for a steady dose of White Russkies. Similarly, I down ginger ales when I fly and when I’m at my parent’s house, but rarely otherwise.
I can’t explain these localized preferences, but the enhanced satisfaction is real.
4) The Warren Zevon Quote of the Month
“I got to be Jim Morrison a lot longer than he did.”
3) Duty Free
Duty free is growing on me. I’m normally hesitant to pull the trigger when airborne, but I think I can overcome my reservations. Plus, the "new me" gets to truthfully sing along to the catchy Seinfeld jingle: “I like to stop at the duty free shop.”
2) Hairbanger’s Ball
Rediscovering an old song is like finding $20 in an old pair of jeans. Even better when the tune deserves full stereo wattage. In this realm, Def Leppard’s Animal is going alongside (earlier endorsements) Skid Row’s I Remember You and 18 & Life as the first three tracks on a monster compilation of 80s rock.
1) Cutting My Heart Out With a Spoon
The cardiac Chicago Cubs entered the final week of the baseball season with a three-game division lead and two remaining series against the Florida Marlins (66 – 90) and the Cincinnati Reds (71 – 84). Three days later, the Cubs have been swept by the Marlins, and their lead has been cut in half. B-R-U-T-A-L.
Keep the defibrillator on standby: I’m feeling short of breath.
The old school, monster jam box appears to be making a comeback. Yes, I’m talking about the one and only Spike Lee “Radio Raheem” variety (which, instructions mandate, be carried atop the shoulder). Admittedly, sightings are more likely on a local dice corner (clickety clack), but I’ve seen a couple on my neighborhood street as well.
19) Luciano Pavarotti
The famed tenor who helped vault opera into the mainstream passed away earlier this month -- over 100,000 mourners paid respects in Pavarotti’s hometown of Modena, Italy. Pavarotti often sang alongside Jose Carreras and Placido Domingo (as The Three Tenors); together they turned famous arias like Nessun Dorma into anthems recognizable by the masses. Now these renowned arias will forever by associated with Pavarotti’s larger-than-life presence and heaven-sent vibrato.
18) The “Do Not Call” Registry
Is this a myth? I’m on the registry and still get six telemarketing calls a day. It’s a blatant disregard for the law by schemers, and I should do something about it. Or, instead of doing something about it, I could answer my home phone even less. Making my new goal: not at all. That sounds about right.
17) $9.99
This will mean nothing to most of you, but others will nod your head in total agreement. The best ten dollars of my year, every year, is the ten smackaroos I spend on Stat Tracker for Fantasy Football. I can’t fathom a $10 purchase which could compare.
16) Crispy or Canadian?
Is Canadian Bacon healthier than crispy? I’m no nutritionist, but I know this: it looks healthier. And since I’m trying to eat a little healthier ("I wanna be a better man"), Canadian is about to become my bacon of choice with my White Hen breakfast sandwiches. Anecdotally, the White Hen BS is a steal-of-a-deal at $1.89. Comes on a bagel, biscuit, or English muffin.
15) Pride Is All You Have Left in the Morning
In Vegas some casinos will let you surrender (“sah-rennn-der”) in blackjack after your first two cards. When you surrender, you get half your money back. For example, if you have sixteen and the dealer has a face card, you might consider surrendering.
After watching Roger Federer dismantle the world’s best tennis players (again) in the U.S. Open, I think the ATP should offer anyone playing Federer the same deal. After Federer wins the first set (a virtual guarantee), the ATP should allow players to surrender and leave the court with half their pride. This new “rule” could save a few careers and promote the longevity of the game, helping players to avoid mental deconstruction after being bulldozed by Roger.
14) Presidential Endorsements
Evan Bayh endorsed Hillary Clinton for President earlier this week, circulating more talk that Bayh could end up as the #2 on the democratic ticket. The real question here is: “does anyone on the planet gives a rat’s ass who Even Bayh is endorsing?” He’s the junior Senator from Indiana and probably doesn’t have the clout/charisma/cajones to help any candidate carry Indiana.
If Indiana’s senior Senator, Richard Lugar -- a consummate example of class and decorum -- endorses someone, then I'll be slightly intrigued. As is, I’m sorry that CNN cut away from Day 3,897 of the O.J. police chase to carry the Bayh press conference.
In a related bit of news, I will now endorse Optimus Prime for Secretary of Defense in '08.
13) A Less-Than-Stunning Vista
The long awaited, often delayed release of Microsoft’s new version of Windows, Vista, is garnering less than stellar reviews from its first wave of customers. The myriad of new buttons and pull-down menus are being cited as “difficult” and “cumbersome” by users accustomed to easy navigation. Apparently there are also adaptability issues with older hardware components.
Throw in the European Commission’s decision last week to uphold a $500E anti-trust suit against Microsoft for bundling and interoperability, and I’m left with this thought: somewhere Steve Jobs is smiling.
12) Explain This One to Me
I own the Thomas Crown Affair on DVD. I don’t ever watch it. Nonetheless, whenever I’m flipping through the dial and see Pierce Brosnan thiefing a Monet from the Met, I immediately tune in for the duration (ultra pleased that it happened to be on the tube). Accordingly, my question is: what obscure part of our membrane causes us to appreciate a movie exponentially more when on TV with commercials.
11) Bring out the Mooncake
September 26th is the 15th day of the 8th lunar month of the Asian Calendar, also known as the Mid-Autumn Festival. The date also marks the brightest, fullest moon of the year. The traditional pastry of the Mid-Autumn Festival is the mooncake, a thick filling usually made from lotus paste and surrounded by a thin crust (sometimes containing yolks from salted duck eggs).
A friend recently treated me to a sample of this delectable pastry. If anyone is bound for Chinatown anytime soon, holler this way: I needs to get me some more.
10) Ocho Cinco
Most NFL receivers have stratospheric egos. Still, in a category entirely unto himself, resides the Lambeau-leaping River Dancer for the Cincinnati Bengals, Chad Johnson (who refers to himself as “ocho cinco” because he wears #85). But somehow Johnson’s theatrics don’t appear to undermine his teammates.
After his first touchdown of the season, Johnson unveiled a “Future Hall-of-Famer” cape which used black tape for lettering. The next week, after his second TD against the Browns, Johnson leapt directly into Cleveland’s Dog Pound (backing up his prediction from earlier in the week).
For the record: LOVE. THIS. GUY.
9) The Odd Couple
Talk about an unlikely duo, how about Libya's de facto leader, Col. Moammar el-Qaddafi, and U.N. Secretary General, Ban Ki-Moon. In all probability the leaders will never dine together at Long John Silver’s (aaargh matey), but they are working together with hopes of creating a peace accord to stop the genocide in Darfur. Sudanese officials are now scheduled to meet on October 26th under a jointly led effort by the African Union and the United Nations. Qaddafi will host the peace talks in Libya.
8) California’s Universal Healthcare Plan Delayed
California’s ambitious effort to expand healthcare coverage to all state residents has stalled. Apparently everyone was for the plan, until it came time to pay for it. Now Rrrrnold is proposing that doctors, hospitals, and businesses pay for the expanded coverage through increased fees. Alternatively, The Terminator has suggested a ballot measure to raise the sales tax in California to cover the costs (estimated to be more than $12B).
The silver lining: if perennially liberal California can’t pass a universal healthcare measure in a predominantly HMO (managed care) state, it probably doesn’t bode well for federal legislation.
7) Classic Beauty
Caught two nights of Hitchcock recently on Turner Classic Movies. After watching Rear Window, I’m adding Grace Kelly to my list of timeless beauties. Kelly belongs alongside Audrey Hepburn and Ingrid Bergman in this category for me. Dios mio: what a trio.
6) Idear
Another prediction for this and future elections: the country will never again elect a President who says “idear” when pronouncing the word “idea.” New Englanders with big idears may have been the norm when Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr were dueling in the morning mist, but in this day and age “idear” sounds outdated and aristocratic (a belated note to John Kerry).
5) Situational Beverages
This numeral is a sibling to #12. Why do certain drinks taste better when consumed in specific locales or situations? For example, I only drink White Russians when I’m in Vegas at the Imperial Palace – for some reason the felt at the blackjack table and the atmosphere at the I.P. beg for a steady dose of White Russkies. Similarly, I down ginger ales when I fly and when I’m at my parent’s house, but rarely otherwise.
I can’t explain these localized preferences, but the enhanced satisfaction is real.
4) The Warren Zevon Quote of the Month
“I got to be Jim Morrison a lot longer than he did.”
3) Duty Free
Duty free is growing on me. I’m normally hesitant to pull the trigger when airborne, but I think I can overcome my reservations. Plus, the "new me" gets to truthfully sing along to the catchy Seinfeld jingle: “I like to stop at the duty free shop.”
2) Hairbanger’s Ball
Rediscovering an old song is like finding $20 in an old pair of jeans. Even better when the tune deserves full stereo wattage. In this realm, Def Leppard’s Animal is going alongside (earlier endorsements) Skid Row’s I Remember You and 18 & Life as the first three tracks on a monster compilation of 80s rock.
1) Cutting My Heart Out With a Spoon
The cardiac Chicago Cubs entered the final week of the baseball season with a three-game division lead and two remaining series against the Florida Marlins (66 – 90) and the Cincinnati Reds (71 – 84). Three days later, the Cubs have been swept by the Marlins, and their lead has been cut in half. B-R-U-T-A-L.
Keep the defibrillator on standby: I’m feeling short of breath.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
A Fuegoed Cart Donkey Pounds Bud Heavies
Writing for an audience is a funny thing. Lots of thoughts and/or observations seem worthy of shared contemplation to me. But it’s still a shot-in-the dark as to whether my fleeting observations will strike a chord with you, the masses (dozens). Sometimes the old noggin thinks it’s onto something, but readers don’t think it’s funny....or it doesn’t make any sense...or you’re too fed up with my existence to even read another line.
On the other hand, once in a blue moon, something obviously resonates. A nugget of commonality is shared. An irreverent tone is appreciated. A pointless distinction is brought into a new (equally shabby) light.
And when that happens, by God there is but once sensible thing to do: beat it to death. Use that puppy for all it’s worth. Throw the ball to Jordan again, and again, and again.
Accordingly, I now bring you an iteration of an earlier entry: “Thou Art a Nimrod (or Laser Brain).” Thou Art focused on ten endangered words (sayings) that needed our help in order to be revived in conversational usage. This time around the focus is on ten words or phrases not yet endorsed by the masses: minor leaguers in need of a little nurturing before heading to the Bigs.
No need to overplay our hand or overuse these phrases. If the everyday tongue isn’t ready for these doozies, we don’t want to force a premature birth. Quoting the immortal Butterly McQueen, “I don’t know nothin’ about birthin’ no babies.”
True dat sister.
That being said, let’s play the part of a good shepherd: using these terms at our leisure and naturally guiding them into society’s glossary.
And with that said, vamanos:
10) Assenmacher
Assenmacher, as in Paul: former MLB pitcher for the Atlanta Braves and Chicago Cubs whose fastball rarely topped 85 mph. Assenmacher is the antithesis of Rick Vaughn, the flame-throwing closer for the Cleveland Indians in the movie Major League.
When your life is at its apex and everyday is a blue sky sans hiccup, you can throw a fastball at any two-legged female on the planet -- all the while knowing that by night’s end you’re going to playing Peter Pan to her Wendy -- you are Rick Vaughn.
When your life reaches its nadir and you're wanted in connection with a violent crime while simultaneously working as a janitor for a diner in hell -- meanwhile, there’s not a woman within a 400-mile radius that wants any part of your charred-toast existence -- you are Assenmacher.
9) Cart Donkey
Originally a reference to golf course employees working in the cart barn. Responsibilities for said employee include: washing golf carts, drying golf carts, and making sure the batteries in golf carts are charged. In other words, duties that any two-legged, teenage donkey could handle.
But it would be a disservice to only use this humdinger when referring to pubescent summer jobs, especially as many of us have already cast aside delusions of career grandeur. In other words, if you’re currently a fax technician, shoestring inventory manager, underwater treadmill specialist, importer/exporter, or if you work for Cosmo Oil: in all likelihood, you are a cart donkey.
8) Marmalade (also: marmalading)
Marmalade, metaphorically speaking, is a hopeful, 70-degree day. The sun feels warm on your back. The air has a crispness which a day before might not have been noticeable. And your toast, which you normally take extra charred, is golden brown and worthy of an extra helping of marmalade.
Conversely, sometimes a friend will reach for the marmalade jar feigning happiness (as if the day is all puppy dogs and ice cream), but you know it’s a heist. In actuality, your friend is a sexless, unemployed cart donkey who mentally resides in a gutter (see Merriam Webster, a Siberian Winter in the gulags).
Your mission should you choose to accept it: bust your friend for marmalading.
7) Where You Stay?
Home buying (real estate) is to present-day what the stock market was ten years ago: the en vogue means to quickly double your net worth. Simultaneously, there’s a pressure to own as much square footage as quickly as possible.
But not everyone owns a home. Ask anyone currently vacating a property in the wake of the sup-prime lending debacle. Moreover, for other Americans, there are certain advantages (a la fugitive) to having multiple bedposts to call home.
In this realm, wouldn’t it be easier if we negated the pressurized “where do you live” or “did you rent or buy.” Instead, we could opt for the inner-city staple: “where you stay?”
6) Bacon Ball
In golf, when someone hits a shot so far off-line, Lassie wouldn’t be able to find the ball if it were wrapped in bacon. Whit, that duck-slice you hit on #5 at George Dunne: definitive bacon ball.
5) Couching Distance
The distance one can comfortably reach without leaving the couch or sofa. Varies from person to person, but everyone should have their couching distance measured regularly. Once this measurement is understood, reaching “back and over” the couch for the remote (without taking your eyes off the TV) is a maneuver that can be handled predictably and without injury.
Specific inquiries about maximum couching distance, and/or its circumference, should be directed to B. Chipwood Esq. by way of El Oso HQ, Nap City, NJ 04587.
4) Bud Heavies
This one has made the Chowder’s pages before, but its hour of radiance is only now upon us. And again, I have to give credit where credit is due: the boys in Indy got me hooked on this one. Now I can’t go anywhere without begging the bartender to scratch my initial order for a Bud Light: “bring me a Bud Heavy instead.”
3) The Awkward Turtle
During your next overtly awkward moment, place your hands on top of each other and spin your thumbs forward: thus creating the creature known as the awkward turtle. This is the official mascot for speechless moments of distress (especially when you’re blatantly at fault).
Ex: your girlfriend catches you staring at your friendly, busty waitress for the eighth time of the evening. Her all-too-familiar stone-wall stare lets you know that a ninth wandering eye could result in castration. In such a moment, words can not save you. There’s only one available option: the awkward turtle.
2) Hurt Locker
Think about how small your locker was in high school. Now contemplate your adult frame being compressed into that tiny, rectangular cell.
Example #1: you wake up hungover, ill, or generally hating the nose-dive trajectory your life has assumed. Four Advil and three glasses of water later, you’re still doing head butts with a Mac truck. You are a resident in the hurt locker.
Example #2: Amidst a grueling competition, someone has you dominated. You’re out for a long bike ride, and your buddy is cycling ahead of you, mashing a monstrous gear while whistling ballads from Les Miserables. Meanwhile you’re sucking for air like a resident of Planet Spaceball. Worse, you’re 30 miles from home and riding at the current pace, you’re going to bonk within the next 5 miles. You’d trade every penny you own for an OnStar button in order to call road side assistance.
Your buddy has thrown you, head first, into the hurt locker.
1) Fuegoed
As in: you got fired from a job, or an old girlfriend/boyfriend dumped you. Only, you weren’t escorted to the door in an amicable manner. You were removed in a projectile-like fashion.
Example: You arrive at your girlfriend’s house and find an unknown, neon-orange Honda Civic with an eight-inch spoiler in the driveway. When you knock on the door you’re greeted by Enrique Sveltarillo, your girlfriend’s secret amor. Before you can say “tatonka” Enrique is launching you and your Chia Pet (a Bday present from your soon-to-be ex-girlfriend) head first to the curb.
Later, as you aimlessly meander the streets pondering this baffling turn of events, you realize that she’s been two-timing you all along and that her twice-weekly jaunts to Bed, Bath, and Beyond were really covert excursions to Enrique’s cama. A brutal reality that doesn’t change the facts.
You weren’t merely fired. You were fuegoed.
On the other hand, once in a blue moon, something obviously resonates. A nugget of commonality is shared. An irreverent tone is appreciated. A pointless distinction is brought into a new (equally shabby) light.
And when that happens, by God there is but once sensible thing to do: beat it to death. Use that puppy for all it’s worth. Throw the ball to Jordan again, and again, and again.
Accordingly, I now bring you an iteration of an earlier entry: “Thou Art a Nimrod (or Laser Brain).” Thou Art focused on ten endangered words (sayings) that needed our help in order to be revived in conversational usage. This time around the focus is on ten words or phrases not yet endorsed by the masses: minor leaguers in need of a little nurturing before heading to the Bigs.
No need to overplay our hand or overuse these phrases. If the everyday tongue isn’t ready for these doozies, we don’t want to force a premature birth. Quoting the immortal Butterly McQueen, “I don’t know nothin’ about birthin’ no babies.”
True dat sister.
That being said, let’s play the part of a good shepherd: using these terms at our leisure and naturally guiding them into society’s glossary.
And with that said, vamanos:
10) Assenmacher
Assenmacher, as in Paul: former MLB pitcher for the Atlanta Braves and Chicago Cubs whose fastball rarely topped 85 mph. Assenmacher is the antithesis of Rick Vaughn, the flame-throwing closer for the Cleveland Indians in the movie Major League.
When your life is at its apex and everyday is a blue sky sans hiccup, you can throw a fastball at any two-legged female on the planet -- all the while knowing that by night’s end you’re going to playing Peter Pan to her Wendy -- you are Rick Vaughn.
When your life reaches its nadir and you're wanted in connection with a violent crime while simultaneously working as a janitor for a diner in hell -- meanwhile, there’s not a woman within a 400-mile radius that wants any part of your charred-toast existence -- you are Assenmacher.
9) Cart Donkey
Originally a reference to golf course employees working in the cart barn. Responsibilities for said employee include: washing golf carts, drying golf carts, and making sure the batteries in golf carts are charged. In other words, duties that any two-legged, teenage donkey could handle.
But it would be a disservice to only use this humdinger when referring to pubescent summer jobs, especially as many of us have already cast aside delusions of career grandeur. In other words, if you’re currently a fax technician, shoestring inventory manager, underwater treadmill specialist, importer/exporter, or if you work for Cosmo Oil: in all likelihood, you are a cart donkey.
8) Marmalade (also: marmalading)
Marmalade, metaphorically speaking, is a hopeful, 70-degree day. The sun feels warm on your back. The air has a crispness which a day before might not have been noticeable. And your toast, which you normally take extra charred, is golden brown and worthy of an extra helping of marmalade.
Conversely, sometimes a friend will reach for the marmalade jar feigning happiness (as if the day is all puppy dogs and ice cream), but you know it’s a heist. In actuality, your friend is a sexless, unemployed cart donkey who mentally resides in a gutter (see Merriam Webster, a Siberian Winter in the gulags).
Your mission should you choose to accept it: bust your friend for marmalading.
7) Where You Stay?
Home buying (real estate) is to present-day what the stock market was ten years ago: the en vogue means to quickly double your net worth. Simultaneously, there’s a pressure to own as much square footage as quickly as possible.
But not everyone owns a home. Ask anyone currently vacating a property in the wake of the sup-prime lending debacle. Moreover, for other Americans, there are certain advantages (a la fugitive) to having multiple bedposts to call home.
In this realm, wouldn’t it be easier if we negated the pressurized “where do you live” or “did you rent or buy.” Instead, we could opt for the inner-city staple: “where you stay?”
6) Bacon Ball
In golf, when someone hits a shot so far off-line, Lassie wouldn’t be able to find the ball if it were wrapped in bacon. Whit, that duck-slice you hit on #5 at George Dunne: definitive bacon ball.
5) Couching Distance
The distance one can comfortably reach without leaving the couch or sofa. Varies from person to person, but everyone should have their couching distance measured regularly. Once this measurement is understood, reaching “back and over” the couch for the remote (without taking your eyes off the TV) is a maneuver that can be handled predictably and without injury.
Specific inquiries about maximum couching distance, and/or its circumference, should be directed to B. Chipwood Esq. by way of El Oso HQ, Nap City, NJ 04587.
4) Bud Heavies
This one has made the Chowder’s pages before, but its hour of radiance is only now upon us. And again, I have to give credit where credit is due: the boys in Indy got me hooked on this one. Now I can’t go anywhere without begging the bartender to scratch my initial order for a Bud Light: “bring me a Bud Heavy instead.”
3) The Awkward Turtle
During your next overtly awkward moment, place your hands on top of each other and spin your thumbs forward: thus creating the creature known as the awkward turtle. This is the official mascot for speechless moments of distress (especially when you’re blatantly at fault).
Ex: your girlfriend catches you staring at your friendly, busty waitress for the eighth time of the evening. Her all-too-familiar stone-wall stare lets you know that a ninth wandering eye could result in castration. In such a moment, words can not save you. There’s only one available option: the awkward turtle.
2) Hurt Locker
Think about how small your locker was in high school. Now contemplate your adult frame being compressed into that tiny, rectangular cell.
Example #1: you wake up hungover, ill, or generally hating the nose-dive trajectory your life has assumed. Four Advil and three glasses of water later, you’re still doing head butts with a Mac truck. You are a resident in the hurt locker.
Example #2: Amidst a grueling competition, someone has you dominated. You’re out for a long bike ride, and your buddy is cycling ahead of you, mashing a monstrous gear while whistling ballads from Les Miserables. Meanwhile you’re sucking for air like a resident of Planet Spaceball. Worse, you’re 30 miles from home and riding at the current pace, you’re going to bonk within the next 5 miles. You’d trade every penny you own for an OnStar button in order to call road side assistance.
Your buddy has thrown you, head first, into the hurt locker.
1) Fuegoed
As in: you got fired from a job, or an old girlfriend/boyfriend dumped you. Only, you weren’t escorted to the door in an amicable manner. You were removed in a projectile-like fashion.
Example: You arrive at your girlfriend’s house and find an unknown, neon-orange Honda Civic with an eight-inch spoiler in the driveway. When you knock on the door you’re greeted by Enrique Sveltarillo, your girlfriend’s secret amor. Before you can say “tatonka” Enrique is launching you and your Chia Pet (a Bday present from your soon-to-be ex-girlfriend) head first to the curb.
Later, as you aimlessly meander the streets pondering this baffling turn of events, you realize that she’s been two-timing you all along and that her twice-weekly jaunts to Bed, Bath, and Beyond were really covert excursions to Enrique’s cama. A brutal reality that doesn’t change the facts.
You weren’t merely fired. You were fuegoed.
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