If Urkle was white, that might be more opposite than James Brown, but for now we'll have to settle for the clash.
You be the judge.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
yikes
I just took a disc out of my James Brown: Live at the Apollo case and shoved it in the drive expecting to hear " Please, Please, Please" instead Hammersmaith Palais from the Clash starting coming out of the speakers. Not the most unexpected sound but as close to the opposite of James Brown as you can get.
If Urkle was white, that might be more opposite than James Brown, but for now we'll have to settle for the clash.
You be the judge.
If Urkle was white, that might be more opposite than James Brown, but for now we'll have to settle for the clash.
You be the judge.
Monday, August 20, 2007
coining a new phrase
The new phrase I just invented is:
" Happier than an Amish girl with a weedwhacker "
For those of you not from these parts, there seem to be a couple of exceptions that the Amish make in their pursuit to stave off advancements in technology. How they come about these exceptions is beyond me, but the two that I've seen somewhat regularly are letting teenage boys use chainsaws and letting teenage girls use weedwhackers.
And over the years, as I've ridden my bike through the Amish countryside, I've found myself coming upon some of these young ladies in full Amish garb, usually with a pair of goggles on, weedwhacking away. And in each of those instances the girls were blissfully happy and completely unaware of my presence or anything to do with the world around them.
These reasons for this can, and should be, speculated upon by scholars and armchair philosophers as I think it might provide some insight into the nature of man. But for me, I'm happy to settle for a new saying.
And on an unrelated note, if you might find yourself too grown-up to dig Merlot and French impressionists, you'll not want to look at this.
Thankfully, I still find myself pleasantly unsophisticated.
" Happier than an Amish girl with a weedwhacker "
For those of you not from these parts, there seem to be a couple of exceptions that the Amish make in their pursuit to stave off advancements in technology. How they come about these exceptions is beyond me, but the two that I've seen somewhat regularly are letting teenage boys use chainsaws and letting teenage girls use weedwhackers.
And over the years, as I've ridden my bike through the Amish countryside, I've found myself coming upon some of these young ladies in full Amish garb, usually with a pair of goggles on, weedwhacking away. And in each of those instances the girls were blissfully happy and completely unaware of my presence or anything to do with the world around them.
These reasons for this can, and should be, speculated upon by scholars and armchair philosophers as I think it might provide some insight into the nature of man. But for me, I'm happy to settle for a new saying.
And on an unrelated note, if you might find yourself too grown-up to dig Merlot and French impressionists, you'll not want to look at this.
Thankfully, I still find myself pleasantly unsophisticated.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Sometimes you get the dove and...
Last night I was riding my bike down this hill at around 25-30 mph. It was a rural road with 8 foot high corn on either creating a bobsled-chute-like feel as I flew down the hill and around the curves.
About half way down I spooked a dove sitting in the high grass. In these parts, that's not unusual as there are a lot of ground nesting birds and you just get used to them going ape shit when you ride up on them.
What WAS unusal this time was no sooner had the dove popped out of the grass and started flying out in front of my bike, then this huge fucking hawk fell out of the sky...I mean completely out of no where, going 300 mph....and slotted in head-high between me and the dove.
Now with the corn as high as it was, there was really nowhere left or right for the dove to go, so the dove just started hauling ass down the middle of the road. Right behind the dove and closing was the hawk, and right behind the hawk, keeping pace, was me.
It was like being part of Mutual of Omaha's Wild friggin Kingdom.
Unbelievably and inexplicably, just as the hawk got to the dove's tailfeathers he started to run out of gas. The dove put in one more dig and opened up a little bit of daylight. Then the hawk, recognizing that he was losing ground, just broke off hard left and peeled away over the tops of the corn.
Pretty cool.
About half way down I spooked a dove sitting in the high grass. In these parts, that's not unusual as there are a lot of ground nesting birds and you just get used to them going ape shit when you ride up on them.
What WAS unusal this time was no sooner had the dove popped out of the grass and started flying out in front of my bike, then this huge fucking hawk fell out of the sky...I mean completely out of no where, going 300 mph....and slotted in head-high between me and the dove.
Now with the corn as high as it was, there was really nowhere left or right for the dove to go, so the dove just started hauling ass down the middle of the road. Right behind the dove and closing was the hawk, and right behind the hawk, keeping pace, was me.
It was like being part of Mutual of Omaha's Wild friggin Kingdom.
Unbelievably and inexplicably, just as the hawk got to the dove's tailfeathers he started to run out of gas. The dove put in one more dig and opened up a little bit of daylight. Then the hawk, recognizing that he was losing ground, just broke off hard left and peeled away over the tops of the corn.
Pretty cool.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
I have a hangover in my ass
This one is new to me. I think it must be from drinking on an empty stomach AND being on some whoop ass anti-biotics. Whatever the cause, it's horrible. But at least there's no headache.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I never post anymore. I couldn't take the pressure of coming up with shit to say and I was worried that too many people close to me were reading this thing and sooner or later it was going to bite me in that ass. I figured a good summer lay off and a couple of political youtube clips should chase off all but the most stubborn of readers.
< I'm going to interrupt this post to tell you that I just ripped the most ass-stinkiest fart ever. It smells sort of like old meat floating in pig manure. 2 seconds after I let it rip, the secretary walked in with my mail and tried telling me something. After 10 seconds of her talking and both our eyes watering, she just gave up and walked out. Whats a brother to do?>
Anyway, you'd think that after all this time I would have come up with something interesting to write but the bet two things I came up with started with " I once had sex with a girl who was so short..." and " this one time I got crabs..." neither of which is really worthy of a comeback tale.
In the meantime I'll share this picture with you. I'll preface it by saying that my kids have a skewed view on life in general, but an especially twisted perspective on baseball in particular. When I was a kid I'd go one...maybe two...Phillies games a year. We'd usually sit in like the 300 level right field at the Vet, under the decking. In that shithole of a place, that meant we were a good 200 yards away from home plate. We'd see the Phillie phanatic only a a distance with our version of mascot entertainment being provided by whichever guy in our section was the first to get falldown drunk and start wresting with Veterans Stadium Security. There were no games, no fun stuff and our chances of catching a baseball were about one in a billion.
The only time I can remember getting anything was the time that they gave everyone in the stadium a full sized baseball bottle-bat. That, predictably, was a bad idea.
< The police cheif just walked in. I told him straight up, " Dude, I just beefed so come in at your own risk". Understandbly he didn't stick around>
Anyway, despite all those hardships, anytime that we had an opportunity to go to a game we were over the moon. Our excitement was only overshadowed by our appreciation for our parents, grandparents, or whomever was taking us to the game.
Now lets fast forward to 2007. My kids get to go to the games at least a half dozen times a summer. I'd say that 50% of the times that we've gone they've gotten something. Part of it is planning on my part, but the other part of it is this sick run of luck they're on. So far we've gotten prize packages, t-shirts slung into the crowd, a free pizza, gifts walking through the door, foam baseballs, and of course the coveted foul ball.
So on tuesday night, my parents decided to take TheBoy out to a Trenton Thunder ( Yankee AAA affiliate) game. Different team, different people taking him to the game, different friggin state. You'd think that the boy would, like any other kid, just go to the game, eat some cotton candy, and watch some baseball. Well, you'd be wrong. Here's TheBoy out on the field calling the start of the game.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I never post anymore. I couldn't take the pressure of coming up with shit to say and I was worried that too many people close to me were reading this thing and sooner or later it was going to bite me in that ass. I figured a good summer lay off and a couple of political youtube clips should chase off all but the most stubborn of readers.
< I'm going to interrupt this post to tell you that I just ripped the most ass-stinkiest fart ever. It smells sort of like old meat floating in pig manure. 2 seconds after I let it rip, the secretary walked in with my mail and tried telling me something. After 10 seconds of her talking and both our eyes watering, she just gave up and walked out. Whats a brother to do?>
Anyway, you'd think that after all this time I would have come up with something interesting to write but the bet two things I came up with started with " I once had sex with a girl who was so short..." and " this one time I got crabs..." neither of which is really worthy of a comeback tale.
In the meantime I'll share this picture with you. I'll preface it by saying that my kids have a skewed view on life in general, but an especially twisted perspective on baseball in particular. When I was a kid I'd go one...maybe two...Phillies games a year. We'd usually sit in like the 300 level right field at the Vet, under the decking. In that shithole of a place, that meant we were a good 200 yards away from home plate. We'd see the Phillie phanatic only a a distance with our version of mascot entertainment being provided by whichever guy in our section was the first to get falldown drunk and start wresting with Veterans Stadium Security. There were no games, no fun stuff and our chances of catching a baseball were about one in a billion.
The only time I can remember getting anything was the time that they gave everyone in the stadium a full sized baseball bottle-bat. That, predictably, was a bad idea.
< The police cheif just walked in. I told him straight up, " Dude, I just beefed so come in at your own risk". Understandbly he didn't stick around>
Anyway, despite all those hardships, anytime that we had an opportunity to go to a game we were over the moon. Our excitement was only overshadowed by our appreciation for our parents, grandparents, or whomever was taking us to the game.
Now lets fast forward to 2007. My kids get to go to the games at least a half dozen times a summer. I'd say that 50% of the times that we've gone they've gotten something. Part of it is planning on my part, but the other part of it is this sick run of luck they're on. So far we've gotten prize packages, t-shirts slung into the crowd, a free pizza, gifts walking through the door, foam baseballs, and of course the coveted foul ball.
So on tuesday night, my parents decided to take TheBoy out to a Trenton Thunder ( Yankee AAA affiliate) game. Different team, different people taking him to the game, different friggin state. You'd think that the boy would, like any other kid, just go to the game, eat some cotton candy, and watch some baseball. Well, you'd be wrong. Here's TheBoy out on the field calling the start of the game.
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