tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-154753542024-03-07T01:37:00.110-05:00Flick LivesUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger871125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-77773599937602355312019-10-31T10:50:00.000-04:002019-10-31T10:50:00.943-04:00As I came into the office I passed an attractive older woman in the parking lot who stopped and asked my name. Recognizing her, I replied " I'm Flick, and are you Mrs. Jenkins ?" and she was. I asked how the Reverend Jenkins was and she informed me that he had passed three weeks ago.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Reverend Jenkins, who was indeed a man of God, but never let that get in the way of a good hustle, was one of the first people I met when I took this job. He showed up in my office congratulating me on the hire then informed me that he " was here for his no-show job, to be compensated for being my liaison to the black folk". Then he added, " ....kidding...but maybe not, if you know what I mean."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He'd visit me a couple times a year over the last dozen years, usually to bust my chops our lack of diversity as a pretext to telling me about his life, moving here from South Carolina, about being the first black salesman for GM, about friends, about family, about being an entrepreneur and a gentleman. He was truly one of the better parts of this job.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In his honor I happily share this story. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Rev. Jenkins came in one day after being gone for a while and I said " I"m glad you're here, you're always saying that we never hire minority candidates and so I'd like to introduce you to our newest employee ".</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I said "Reverend Jenkins, I'd like to introduce you to our newest hire Patrick Murphy."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Rev. Jenkins looked Murphy up and down and turned to me " Why in God's name are you showing me this white boy ?!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To which Murphy responded, " WHITE BOY ?!?! I'm IRISH !!!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
RIP</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-9121601256508228132013-03-25T12:43:00.001-04:002013-03-25T12:43:05.616-04:00enunciate<div class="_38 direction_ltr">
So I ran into Starbucks and was making small talk with the girls there, as I do...and
I asked the girl how her weekend was...<br />
<br />
she said, "Fine."<br />
<br />
Then I asked, " No black eyes ?" <br />
<br />
And she looked at me really funny so I followed
with, " That's great, I like to set the bar really low."<br />
<br />
Then she
looked at me even funnier and I left.<br />
<br />
</div>
<div class="_3hi">
<div class="_1yr">
<span class="_2oy"></span><span></span></div>
<div class="_38 direction_ltr">
I'm back at my desk and realize that she thought I asked " No Black Guys ?"<br />
<br />
I wonder how the coffee at Dunkin Donuts is ? </div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-51521867527122046422013-03-07T09:23:00.001-05:002013-03-07T09:23:49.867-05:00Pretty funny<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/TeCMCJc5-jg" width="560"></iframe><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-42785040163010098162013-01-31T10:00:00.001-05:002013-01-31T11:09:17.449-05:00Just your typical Wed.Wednesday night Mike H. and I were scheduled to meet with the executive
board of the fire company. This was the first big meeting where we were
to discuss the Township increasing our involvement in the
administration of the department and the entire exchange was going to
require diplomacy and a deft hand.<br />
<br />
Thing started off well. I
made introductions and provided oversight, then I handed things off to
Mike who started asking for input. That's when the chief said, "that's
great, but didn't share any of this with any of these guys, so they have
no idea what you're talking about." So while we were there to get
information from them to begin our strategic plan, we ended up looking
at a table full of blank faces taken totally by surprise.<br />
<br />
Then
the sirens went off and radio dispatch came through the loudspeakers, "
active structure fire Decartes Rd, possible high occupancy residence".<br />
<br />
Literally
1 minute later I'm in a vehicle with sirens blaring and flying down to
the southern end. 7 minutes later I'm standing in an apartment with a
half dozen firemen opening up windows and taking pictures of a burnt
stove top.<br />
<br />
Eventually we got out of there and started back to the
station..then..." station 66 - class 2 vehicle accident Millersville
Pike and Schoolhouse Road. All units on standby, respond". And so it
goes.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, meeting cancelled.<br />
<br />
After all of the
hullabaloo I still hadn't eaten and needed a drink so I took Mike over
to the hotel bar Loxleys. I go to Loxleys for mainly because two of
their three bartenders are the best in the county. One is a good
looking, smart-ass chick who makes the best Hendrix martinis, the other
is right out of central casting, Scott the bartender/philosopher.
Unfortunately we got bartender #3 - Goofy McDopicus.<br />
<br />
Mike went to
use the bathroom and I sat down and ordered. " I'll take a Hendrix,
rocks, olives and I'll take a McCallans rocks for my partner".<br />
<br />
My
partner. OK, not the weirdest thing to say, but the only other people
at the bar were these two guys a few stools down and they kinda looked
at me funny when I said it. <br />
<br />
So Mike came out of the bathroom
and the next five things he said, though benign, sounded to my paranoid
ears like RuPaul having drinks with Liberace, " Hey Billy Boy...wanna
split something ? Hey McCallans, a man after my own heart ! God I love
this young kid from Ole Miss...a real good looking young player "<br />
<br />
So
of course I ( holding my martini glass in the manliest of ways) tried
to butch it up with a bunch of comments about the hoops game sounding
like Bob Costas in a hostage situation, " Yeah, they're gonna fuck those
dude's up man !.....Slam motherfuckin Dunk !" Apparently I think
"fuck" to gay people is like holy water to vampires.<br />
<br />
Finally one of the two guys at the bar smiled at me and said, " yeah, you're right...that was an NBA three".<br />
<br />
Oh cool. We're cool. Everything is cool.<br />
<br />
10
minutes later one of the two guys got up and left, but the other guy
stuck around for one more drink. At some point I turned toward Mike
(whose back was to Mr. NBA 3) to answer a question and the guy stood up,
looked over at me, smiled, tipped his drink, and winked.<br />
<br />
Winked ! <br />
<br />
No not something in his eye winked. Like, " hey why don't you ditch the old queen you're with and meet me outside" wink. <br />
<br />
(
Or that's what I suppose it was because, of course, I don't know what
gay guys actually say to each other....not that there's anything wrong
with that )<br />
<br />
My jaw hit the bar and in shock I just started shaking my head in the negative.<br />
<br />
Mike
looked at me puzzled, but then continued talking. And with that my new
friend went to sit down, missed his bar stool completely and fell flat
on his back onto the bar room floor.<br />
<br />
BOOM !<br />
<br />
The retarded
bartender didn't notice and Mike has his back turned. The dude then
jumped up, looked at me, grabbed his shit off the bar, and
ran....stumbling and crashing into the hallway walls the whole way out
of sight.<br />
<br />
Now, WTF am I supposed to do ? The dude was obviously
hammered. And he was heading out the parking lot. So I can't let the
guy drive - but if I run out into the parking lot after him, I don't
need him pulling his pants down.<br />
<br />
I gave a big sigh and
interrupted Mike, " hey, that guy at the bar is hammered. He's heading
out to get in a car. Can you get the manager, I'm going after him ?"<br />
<br />
I found the guy in front of the bar trying to light a cigarette. " Hey man.", I got his attention.<br />
<br />
" Heeeeeyyyyy", he responded with a smile.<br />
<br />
" Oh God....listen...are you driving home ?", I groaned.<br />
<br />
"
Nooooo", another smile, " I have a room here at the hotel." Oh god it
pains me to write that he purred when he said it....purred.<br />
<br />
Finally, thankfully, the manager came walking out the door. It was the third life saving rescue I'd witness that night.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-24305064981669745432013-01-18T08:46:00.002-05:002013-01-18T08:53:51.085-05:00sorceryMy daughter plays on a high level volleyball team for girls 15 and under. Their coach is a college coach who's previous experience was as an instructor in the Marines. What he was "instructing" in the Marines was not made clear.<br />
<br />
Before the season started Coach B told us a few things straight away..." I'm going to mess with your daughters heads. We're going to push them when they need to be pushed and we're going to back off when they need room, but we're going to challenge them to get the most out of them."<br />
<br />
That was borne out after the third practice when my daughter got in the car and said, " I get the feeling that this guy is messing with my head....but I think I like it".<br />
<br />
He warned to, " not talk your daughters about how they played or practiced for at least one hour after they're done." This was advice I ignored twice, and never again. I don't know if its good advice in general, or if its simply he doesn't want me tinkering around while he has her head open ( more likely). Now, when she come out of practice all adrenaline up, I spend the ride home doing nothing other than mentioning positive things about her play and progression and either forcing the conversation to silence or distracting it to non sporting issues.<br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, he told us , " Boys you can yell at. Boys can hate each other, but when they step on a court or field of battle they'll give everything for the combined cause, and they're fine going back to hating each other when the game is over. But girls......girls first need to bond...and it only after they've bonded with each other that they can fight. And a tight group of girls is a force to be reckoned with." ( fact that I suppose any of us should have learned in a college bar)<br />
<br />
So I've been careful to watch the subtle things that the coach and his staff are doing to bring these girls together. This is not an easy situation. These are all super competitive type A girls who are all the best ones on their school teams. They've almost exclusively played against each other in practice as their first tournament is this upcoming weekend. And they're all fighting each other for starting spots. Oh and they're all 14 and 15 year-old girls. The situation is potentially as volatile as it gets, and hardly the stuff of sleepovers and pedicures ( I apologize for my obvious lack of understanding of how girls bond).<br />
<br />
So what I've seen them be able to do is both frightening and impressive. I'll give one small example. At the end of each practice he has the girls go through a post workout stretching routine/ritual. They were lead through it one time the first day. After that they're just sent off to the side, in a tight area, to do it themselves while the coaches tend to some other items. The area that they're sent to in totally contrived....its near their bags ( more on that in a second)...its away from all parents and coaches, and its in a tight space so they have to all get on the floor to stretch, but they're almost on top of each other ( hmmmm sort of like a sleepover). The "stuff" that the coaches are doing is contrived, mostly they're doing nothing....but this has forced the girls to come up their own system of who leads the stretches, etc etc.<br />
<br />
All of that is obvious. Its obvious to me anyway, and it seems obvious to the girls...but as I was told, " I know he's messing with me, but I think I like it". What it does is it provides a safe excuse and a structured format for the girls to interact in a cooperative way all while relaxing physically and emotionally.<br />
<br />
But the think that I find most impressive is that the stretching time, and likely its obviousness, is nothing other then a decoy for what he's really doing. On day one, the coach moved the girls around a couple of times under other auspices, that forced them to carry all of their stuff with them. When they began practice, instead of each of the girls leaving their clothes and bags and coats with their parents, all that stuff was put together in a corner. People being creatures of habit, the girls put their stuff there every time now.<br />
<br />
The girls stretch right next to their stuff. So he has them in practice mode, drives them hard, brings them down stretching, isolates them, then tells them that practice is over.....hardly. With all their stuff right there, and them already sitting down, the girls spend 15 minutes changing, talking, laughing...and that's how every practice ends....bonding.<br />
<br />
I think we should all be grateful that Coach B left the Marines for volleyball and not not to start a religious cult....or time share sales.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-77027237700158467082013-01-17T18:38:00.002-05:002013-01-17T18:39:50.572-05:00Slip of the tongueMy son just used the word "poontang" inaccurratly and in the most unfortunate of settings.<br />
<br />
Between this and the <a href="http://flicklives.blogspot.com/2012/12/my-christmas-theme.html?m=1">turkey incident</a>, I can't image Grandma is going to want to stick around much longer.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-29995175898401377652013-01-16T14:26:00.001-05:002013-01-16T14:26:19.772-05:00pretty freakin funny<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Zce-QT7MGSE" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
via Andy ScarpandyUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-45472310067859323472013-01-14T14:11:00.000-05:002013-01-14T14:11:07.361-05:00This coldI have one of the three cold/flu that everyone else seems to have right now. I've got the version with the slight fever, fatigue, and small cough. It's bad enough to make me feel lousy, but not so bad that I'm willing to pack it in under the covers.<br />
<br />
Basically home bound I was able to get a couple of things done this weekend that I found fun. The first was that I cleaned out my garage. The second was that I was able to watch the national cyclo-cross championships. These two items are not as dissimilar as they might seem.<br />
<br />
When cleaning out the garage I came across all the paperwork from when I created the Pennsylvania Cycling Association www.pacycling.org. In those files I found old results, emails, and photos from around 1996 and up. In those days, pre internet, the cycling calendar was disjointed at best. Basically, you heard about races when attending other races, or when you got VeloNews in newspaper form and were lucky enough that the race hadn't already happened. I found myself at the center of a perfect storm of cycling popularity and technology, and I was lucky enough to have a lifestyle situation and good people around me, to form the PCA and have it really take off.<br />
<br />
In short order we went from no calendar and poor quality races, to a full calendar of excellently run events with good attendance and strong prize lists. While I provided the framework, it was people like George Theil, Andrew Albright, Mike Kuhn, Mike Hebe, Mike Miller and a half dozen other people name Mike that stepped up to the challenge and the cycling scene here flourished on the road and in cross.<br />
<br />
But as with most things in life you get an ebb and a flow. And while the remnants of the PCA continues to provide a service to the cyclists in the region, and I believe the overall quality of the cyclist scene is better than it had been prePCA, we're far from our high water mark.<br />
<br />
I think that ties into what we've witnessed nationally as well. Cyclo-Cross nationals went well this weekend in Madison. Cross here is more professional, better organized, and has a higher quality of competition than it did 25 years ago. But like the PCA, its a far cry from its hey-day with the SuperCup.<br />
<br />
I had the good fortune to manage Kopps Cycles in Princeton NJ for a while. Its the oldest shop in the country, and the Kuhn family has been at the forefront of cycling in this country since the 50s. I used to be stunned by their nonchalance.<br />
<br />
" Hey this is a picture of you and Eddy Merckx !!!!", I'd exclaim. <br />
" Oh ? Yeah, I think his wife made stew that day...it was awful". " <br />
<br />
" Is that a picture of Greg Lemond in the shop ?"<br />
" Yeah, nice kid."<br />
<br />
But after participating in this sport for the last 25 years, I'm starting to get a better understanding of where they were coming from. <br />
<br />
Cycling in beautiful. Cycling is shit. But most of all cycling is eternal. And though I lack the ability to accurately capture the sentiment, there's clearly something poetic about its cyclical nature.<br />
<br />
Later this week Lance is going to go on TV and talk. Its not going to matter. And I don't say that because his interview is going to be wordsmithed by lawyers and public relations consultants....that is surely true....but its not going to matter because no matter how much it may have seemed to be the contrary at times....cycling transcends everything.....even Lance. <br />
<br />
So take it from a guy who started out as a fan of the Stedina's, Phinney's, Zabel's and Roche's of the world - and is still here to see them come around the second time. Its all good, it always has been and always will be.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-86785605181541388922013-01-11T10:13:00.001-05:002013-01-11T10:13:17.042-05:00The universe is testing me todayI'm going to spend the better part of the day trying not to put my fist through something.<br />
<br />
So in the meantime, I'm sending over the<a href="http://flicklives.tumblr.com/"> to tumblr page.</a><br />
<br />
To my closest friends...keep your cell phones close and your bail money closer.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-71493265156313298882013-01-09T13:21:00.003-05:002013-01-10T07:07:22.153-05:00Just driving to lunch<br />
<br />
X: I'm not saying anything at all about freedom or women's lib or any of that shit. All I'm saying is that women today seem to be losing their fucking minds. They're all depressed and anxious and upset and freaking out about everything.<br />
<br />
Y: You don't think that's the way its always been ?<br />
<br />
X: Fuck no ! If a woman wants to work, great. But this nonsense about a woman who doesn't work somehow being denied her fulfillment of selfhood is bullshit. What I'm saying is most women would be perfect content to stay at home, darn some sock, cook some food and take care of the kids.<br />
<br />
Y: I'm sure that would work out for you.<br />
<br />
X: Yeah, well I'm not even talking about me. Forget me for a second. I'm saying THEY would be happier. You'd have less chicks running around on Prozac driving their kids into a lake and crazy white people shit like that. I'm saying in the olden days...<br />
<br />
Y: ...the olden days ?!?!<br />
<br />
X: Yeah, fuck you, the olden days, I think most women were perfectly fucking happy with the arrangement. What's not to like. Work sucks. I mean what the fuck. You don't have to work, you get to hang out with your kids...which is what they want to be doing anyway...and making the house look nice...which is all they're trying to do when they're not at work.<br />
<br />
What's the downside ??? So every once in a while you have to shut the fuck up when you don't want to and sometimes you have to have sex when you don't feel like it. Big deal.<br />
<br />
Y: That's easy for you to say.<br />
<br />
X: Damn straight it is. I could do that shit standing on my head. If you told me tomorrow that I'd never have to go to work again for the rest of my life, all I'd have to do is shut the fuck up and have sex a couple times a week, the only thing I'd ask is, " where do I sign". Fuck, that's such a good deal I'd sign up for that even if it were a dude.<br />
<br />
Y: I.................ah.................................<br />
<br />
X: We probably want to keep that last part confined to this car only.<br />
<br />
Y: That's probably best. Listen man I think you might be a little bit manic.<br />
<br />
X: Yeah ? I think I might be a lot bit awesome.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(olden days advert) <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtkpHsNFZ31yGaSwx5jNklO_813sVNAQsylW0mZvi5KpAKrSkkSB6kcrD6C9ecaHx73pniNGNRbcitcN_ag7YEBgMpSluZ8v-dhOFlQtr15UyGeTAHVEd9cy95-EZsurVzsV5G/s1600/timeshavechanged.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtkpHsNFZ31yGaSwx5jNklO_813sVNAQsylW0mZvi5KpAKrSkkSB6kcrD6C9ecaHx73pniNGNRbcitcN_ag7YEBgMpSluZ8v-dhOFlQtr15UyGeTAHVEd9cy95-EZsurVzsV5G/s1600/timeshavechanged.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-40494363939023955732013-01-09T10:48:00.000-05:002013-01-09T13:27:17.920-05:00Bird on a cage, bird on a wireThe last 48 hours have seemed particularly strange. It seems to me that people, en masse, are losing their shit.<br />
<br />
I'm starting to come to the conclusion that this sort of thing happens, collectively, with some sort of ebb and flow.<br />
<br />
This phenomena reminds me of Uncle Walt's bird. After a night of poker I stayed in my Uncle Walt's guest room. The room usually serves as a place for the birdcage for a parrot that they keep. When we walked into the room there was a sheet over the bird cage.<br />
<br />
Walt showed me the room and said, " Don't worry about the bird, he's cool....and smart too, he totally recognizes my voice." <br />
<br />
When Walt spoke (slurred?) the cage started rattling around. " See.", he said.<br />
<br />
Then he walked over to the sheet ." HEY YOU FUCKING BIRD, I'M GONNA EAT YOU !!!!", Walt started screaming and shaking the cage, " THANKSGIVING'S COMING, YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED!!!!"<br />
<br />
" So he recognizes your voice, eh ?", I asked, " you don't say."<br />
<br />
I'm not really sure if that story is supposed to have society as Uncle Walt or any of us as a rattled bird in a rattled cage, or if the whole thing was a weak premise to tell a funny story..... If you're looking for that sort of insight, you've likely coming to the wrong blog. But I can tell you that both Uncle Walt and the bird are both still alive and both mostly bald.<br />
<br />
And now your clip for the day.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/H_vLzsG2TCU" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-49640379962603016492013-01-07T08:43:00.002-05:002013-01-07T11:48:13.464-05:00Driving in this morning I saw a girl leaning over the side of a car saying good bye to a boy outside a diner. <br />
<br />
It made me really wish I knew how make a movie<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="315px" src="http://www.nowness.com/media/embedvideo?itemid=2643&issueid=2243" width="500px"></iframe><a href="http://www.nowness.com/day/2012/12/6/2643/sleepwalking-in-the-rift">Sleepwalking in the Rift</a> on <a href="http://www.nowness.com/">Nowness.com</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
or write a song.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/aZGn4LncY0g" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-52512852671040074152013-01-03T11:44:00.004-05:002013-01-03T11:48:43.246-05:00The Ric Ocasek effectI've often though that the one super power that exists in the real world is "chick hotness".<br />
<br />
This is a power that<b> <i>man</i></b>kind has gone to great lengths to hide and suppress, but our dirty little secret is with varying degrees, women of every size, shape and age have the ability to make men do...well just about anything...with or against their will. Ask Mike Tyson.<br />
<br />
But a trip to the bar last weekend made me realize that we are not completely powerless in the battle of the sexes. Men in fact have their own ace in the hole.<br />
<br />
The bar was packed to see a local band, so we got the last available table top which was positioned with our backs to the stage. This provided us with a similar perspective as the band. While we couldn't see the musicians, we had a great view of the crowd. And because we were off to the side and in an assigned seat, we could watch the patrons without them really noticing. For a people watcher like myself, it was the best seat in the house.<br />
<br />
The band itself was comprised of four of five guys in their late 20's to early 30's. Guys with regular jobs, for whom rocking out is a weekend hobby, but who are really talented and cool enough to get away with facial hair and thumb rings that would otherwise make me look like an old queen.<br />
<br />
But what made these guys really different was that they were fronted by a 17 year old nerd. One of the folks I was with was the kids high school teacher, and the he stopped by the table before hand to say hello. He was a nice enough kid, fairly smooth and intelligent, but he was about 5'8", 125 lbs, and looked like Peter Parker without a camera.<br />
<br />
A few minutes past nine and after a ripping sound check* they started with the distinct guitar riff to the Black Crowes, "Twice as Hard" and I thought to myself, " maybe the have Peter Parker on tambourine for the first couple of songs to work the nerves out". By the time they got through<i>, "Clean as a whistle</i>,
<i>Smellin' like a rose...." </i>I had to look around the corner to see who was belting out this booming voice. Sure enough it was Spiderman.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/vgeMwl8IiI4" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
For the next hour I listed to this kid completely turn the room out with everything from the Beatles, to the Who, through Kiss and Zeplin, and the whole time the I watched women from 18 - 48 completely transfixed. It was amazing....in any other setting this kid wouldn't get a second look, but here I sat and watched young girls blush and grown women with less than innocent ( if not criminal) intent.<br />
<br />
He was like a wizard. Like some sort of Harry Potter with a boner.<br />
<br />
In any case, that's it. That's what we got boys. Get yourself a guitar, a drum set or a washboard, and start memorizing the lyrics to " Your Body is a Wonderland". Its our only hope. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkjMxequqJSfFjQa8R7H8nEtb5c-DIZXBm0Oip1dcFnuvGeeejwylZZ1cw6dD8UMqoBkd94ZxOb9L-WYyAz-DoV7Yx7vfeWBAIEf1CoO-Lj5DKCYx0s2RYX9rOlfo7B3gJ_bi/s1600/Greyson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkjMxequqJSfFjQa8R7H8nEtb5c-DIZXBm0Oip1dcFnuvGeeejwylZZ1cw6dD8UMqoBkd94ZxOb9L-WYyAz-DoV7Yx7vfeWBAIEf1CoO-Lj5DKCYx0s2RYX9rOlfo7B3gJ_bi/s1600/Greyson.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
* I'm a huge fan of sound checks. I prefer the old, " mic check mic check 1-2" over popping sounds, but I'll take what I can in a pinch. Of course the legendary Pearl Jam - Unplugged ( Alive) soundcheck remains the measure of all others.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-29691253479537214532013-01-02T09:04:00.000-05:002013-01-02T09:04:07.055-05:00Grocery shoppingMe: Sophie will you come with me to the grocery store, I don't want to go alone ?<br />
<br />
Soph: No.<br />
<br />
<br />
Me: Come on ?<br />
<br />
Soph: No.<br />
<br />
Me: Commmmmme oooonnnn ? Just go with me ?<br />
<br />
Soph: NO ! I'm NOT GOING !<br />
<br />
Me: OK. This is exactly the sort of thing that I'll remember when you're 17 and want to borrow the car.<br />
<br />
Soph: I wont need to borrow a car from you. If I need a car I'll steal one.<br />
<br />
Me: OK, fair enough. What are you going to do for bail money ?<br />
<br />
<br />
She didn't talk to me or look at me the whole way over to the grocery store.<br />
<br />
Eventually she loosened up.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-37042498913185134512013-01-01T09:03:00.002-05:002013-01-01T09:03:37.387-05:00Editorial CommentBesides the blunt force trauma of endless fart jokes, there's a subtle ironic humor that I try to achieve in my writing. For those of you who don't know me in person ( I have a curiously huge following in Afghani nationals) that twist might be lost on you.<br />
<br />
For all my ranting and complaining about whatever situation I've gotten myself into there are a couple of undeniable truths.<br />
<br />
1. I'm really happy. I have a great wife, incredible kids, and a job that I really enjoy. I'm exactly where I want to be metaphysically. Physically I'd rather be in Costa Rica, but that's somewhat besides this point. I write crazy shit like stealing Schwartz's life, but for me that IS the joke....I wouldn't trade place with anyone* <br />
<br />
2. I completely realize that the conflict and endless commotion around me comes from one primary source.....ME. I'm quite self-aware. I'm a maniac. And either by design, attraction, or infection the world around me is affected. Stick me in another job and the people where I'm at quietly go back to shuffling papers, move me to another town and my poker and golf friends probably never end up drunk parking a stolen front end loader on their front lawn, and move me into Schwatz's house for two week and his kids will begin starting dumpster fires and my kids will take up the cello. I get it. Schwartz's wife smiles because she knows I'm going home. I smile because of who I'm going home to.<br />
<br />
Hopefully that puts some of the writing in context and that pulling back the curtain a little adds to the story. <br />
<br />
I wish all the readers and their families a safe and Happy New Year, my Afghani friends a premature Happy Nawruz, and here's a a crazy and exciting 2013.<br />
<br />
Flick<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
* I would think the Brad Pitt rule still universally applies. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-60207440420950496682012-12-31T09:55:00.002-05:002012-12-31T09:55:28.239-05:00Part 2My hopes of tranquility were shattered, almost literally when I arrived home, went to get a glass of water, and the ceiling started shaking. I ran upstairs to find three boys playing nerf basketball and beating the crap out of each other ( but not necessarily in that order). I chased them into the basement where they continued to beat the crap out of each other, this time while playing pool, but at least I didn't have plaster in my drink.<br />
<br />
Along the way I passed the girls in standard formation....braiding each others hair, listening to base laden music on a devise with no base, and compulsively pouring over facebook making duckfaces.<br />
<br />
I headed back downstairs and cooked myself up a California kitchen frozen
pizza. It's the spiciest, toppings laden, cardboard crust frozen pizza,
completely devoid of all nutritional value but heavy with carcinogens.
It's delicious.<br />
<br />
<br />
My wife and her mother sat in from of the TV which was turned up to ear shattering levels, projecting the insights and emotions of one home makeover show or another. The programming was periodically interrupted by commercials for other home makeover shows, estrogen replacement therapy products, and some god awful Seth Rogan/Barbara Streisand movie. These ads are all implausibly louder than the program, but since the women only talk to each other during the breaks, they're forced to scream at each other at the top of their lungs.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I moved onto eating little tiny cheese cakes with cherry topping that I hid
way back in the fridge so no one else would eat them. Then I
found where someone else had hidden some whipped topping and stole just
enough that they might not notice that any was taken.<br /><br />
I yelled at the women to turn the T.V. down during the commercials and get yelled at back for being unreasonable.<br />
<br />
Then I ate the rest of the whipped topping and buried the evidence deep in the trash.<br />
<br />
At some point during all of this my third daughter facetimed ( if that's even a verb) in from my parent's house. The girls came down and the boys came up
and a fight broke out over the iPad as everyone tried to talk to Sophie, who was
thoroughly excited to be the center of chaos and attention. When it was finally my turn she makes it a point to tell me that I still l look like
I'm losing my hair and I have a unibrow "even on the Internet". I faked outrage and she laughed
uncontrollably then told me she loved me before she was snatched away by the girls who took over the iPad as the boys wandered off to
the kitchen.<br /><br />
I became concerned that someone would start looking for the whipped toppling.<br />
<br />
<br />
That's when total pandemonium hit, " A mouse, a mouse, we're all going to get the plague.....ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. " Kids started screaming and running in place and a little mouse scampered across the kitchen floor and up under the cupboard. <br /><br />
Four goddamn cats....I'm halfway to being a shut in, with all these stupid cats... and we have a mouse.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />I chased everyone off and went out to the garage to find a mouse trap. After 20 minutes I found 3 hidden keys I'd forgotten, an almost empty bottle of sambuka from 2004, and a Polaroid from a friend's bachelor party that might have gotten him divorced if he wasn't divorced already.
<br /><br />
By the time I admitted defeat and came in, the ladies had shuffled off to bed and I laid on the coach alone. I watched one of the cats repeatedly try to climb the Christmas tree only to come cartwheeling back down in a rain of ornaments and fall into the tree stand moat.<br />
<br />
As I sipped my vintage sambuka and drifted off to sleep, I mumbled to myself, "They're never going to get respect from the mice at this rate."<br />
<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-80940502577878457682012-12-27T09:14:00.000-05:002012-12-31T19:02:26.164-05:00Just a typical Thursday ( part 1)<br />
I was greeted home last night by a house full of teenagers.<br />
<br />
Downstairs in the kitchen were a gaggle of 14 year old girls who were drinking hot chocolate after coming in from the snow. After, " Hello Mr. Flick" I pretty much lost the plot. They talked non stop and despite me knowing it was English, I couldn't understand a thing in a sea of acronyms, high pitched babbling and snorting laughter.<br />
<br />
Then the three boys rolled in from sledding. Somehow the figured out a way to get a days sledding out of one inch of snow, but failed at any time during a the day off to shovel the driveway or put the trash out. They flew through the door in an explosion of hats and gloves and headed right for the refrigerator smashing into everything on their way across the house.<br />
<br />
It was 4:15. I'd never make it the whole night.<br />
<br />
After setting the boys upstairs with a video game, and the girls downstairs with a couple of bags of popcorn and a teen movie ( Pitch Perfect, and apparently its <i>not </i>about a baseball pitcher....omg Dad you're soooo weird !) , I got the hell out of dodge.<br />
<br />
I headed directly to Schwartz's house. Schwartz's house is the set of Leave it to Beaver as painted by Norman Rockwell. The boys are well mannered and calm, his wife, looks like she just stepped out of a Lands End catalog and is always smiling..... smiling !, and Schwartz is a pipe away from being Ward Cleaver in slippers and a sweater doling out sage advice in earnest tones.<br />
<br />
Upon diagnosing my condition, Dr. Schwartz took me out to the garage for a game of washers. Washers is both an amazing horseshoe style game of dexterity and finesses, and a very good excuse to go into the garage to get drunk. We played a lot of washers. And if that wasn't enough to fix what was ailing me, on cue Mrs. Schwartz then called us in for a bowl of ice cream.<br />
<br />
"Chocolate syrup ?", she asked rhetorically.<br />
<br />
I stood in the Schwartz's kitchen and I knew how Eddie Haskell must have felt. Wally and the Beav sat at the counter politely enjoying their ice cream , Schwartz ate basking in the glow of his recent washers victory, and Mom doted over all of them in soft lighting and the quite hum of holiday music in the background. At any moment I expected us to fade to commercial for Tide.<br />
<br />
I contemplated the possibilities of conking Schwartz over the head and moving myself in caveman style, but dismissed the idea as I always do, out of a deep seeded love for Schwartz and the fact that I can't seem to figure out how to get away with it. But, eventually, and after staying my standard 10 minutes too long, I had to depart my island of tranquility and head back home.<br />
<br />
Driving home, I hope that a few hours would have things settled down, and at that the washers and ice cream would leave me better prepared. <br />
<br />
<br />
( part 2 to come)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-60006044918192698802012-12-26T14:45:00.000-05:002012-12-26T14:45:07.604-05:00My Christmas ThemeOn Christmas morning my mother in law just asked me to help her take the <span class="il">turkey</span> out of the oven.<br />
<br />
I picked it up and <span class="il">turkey</span> grease poured out of the side, onto my left ass cheek and down the left leg of my pajamas.<br />
<br />
I threw the <span class="il">turkey</span> down and in a panic ripped
off my pajamas. I then ran a full lap of the kitchen naked, howling in
pain, trying to swat the grease off with my left hand and cupping my
package as best I could in modesty with the right.<br /> <br />
As I ran up the stairs, I heard my son wander into the scene and ask my daughter, " what happened to Dad, did he burn his dick ?"<br />
<br />
That's a far cry from, " god bless us everyone "<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-64764621278237249702012-10-02T13:15:00.000-04:002012-10-02T13:15:31.774-04:00enoyable old race footage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/6GAXatGf6eA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-40366995816726446242012-09-27T09:57:00.000-04:002012-09-27T09:57:17.502-04:00phoning it inI have a retired part time secretary who comes into the office twice a week to help out with some filing and correspondence. On days she comes in, whichever of the two of us gets to the coffee shop first buys coffee for both of us. The last couple of times we've crossed paths and ended up with 4 cups of coffee.<br />
<br />
With that in mind I sent her a text on the way in this morning COFFEE SITUATION ?<br />
<br />
A minute later I got a phone call from her number. "Good morning," I answered in a cheerful voice.<br />
<br />
" mmmm, good morning," she responded pleasant but somewhat groggily.<br />
<br />
" Do you want me to being you a coffee ?" I asked.<br />
<br />
" mmmm, that would be nice....especially if you're going to deliver it." she purred.<br />
<br />
" Deliver it ? Where are you?"<br />
<br />
" I'm still in bed silly...where are you ?", she asked.<br />
<br />
" I'm on Marietta Ave. Are you coming into work or not ?"<br />
<br />
" Wait....ummm.....Robert ?"<br />
<br />
" No.", I answered. " Suzanne ?"<br />
<br />
" Oh my god, you have the wrong number"<br />
<br />
" So you're not going to want that coffee ?" <br />
<br />
click.<br />
<br />
Apparently, someone was assigned Suzanne old cell phone number.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-56136058320414676342012-07-03T08:28:00.001-04:002012-07-03T08:28:26.630-04:00So farcical<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I just saw this...l<br /><br />
<img alt="" class="image" height="500" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6kegrXnFe1r95zo1o1_500.jpg" width="500" /><br />
<br />
<br />
..and it seemed to me to be the epitome of false choices.<br />
<br />
To frame the issue as " who should pay for education" totally ( and purposely) ignores the larger issues which face students and parents each day.<br />
<br />
1. Quality of education. It sucks. From top to bottom, the fallacy of universal education is the promise to feed everyone steak, then serve them steak-ums. At the high school level guys like Bush and Romney were going to places like Phillips or the Hill School and learning through the Harkness method or some other system that taught them the process of learning and rhetoric and all the other skills to be successful...while you were making posters and dioramas.<br />
<br />
2. Effectiveness of education. Places such as Stevens Tech in Lancaster find a post graduation market for their students. They only offer courses aimed at those end markets and then place 95% of their students in jobs with an average starting salary of $50,000 a year. Meanwhile, down the street, Franklin and Marshall graduates 50 English majors a year with a budding future as cashiers at Kohls paying off $200,000 in debt.<br />
<br />
3. Which brings us to the final point of the cost of education in the first place. These two shills atop this post are talking about who/how to pay for education, but never talk about the ridiculous cost in the first place. Posts secondary education is hyper-inflated because its supplemented by grants and loans. Its not as if without those subsidies to quality of <b>knowledge </b>isn't going to diminish. But perhaps a reduction in the torrent of debt raining down on the heads of 20 year olds might be bad for the banks, and credit card companies. And of course there's always the risk that debt free students might spend some post college time contemplating the system instead of assimilating into it, and that's never good for anyone....especially the Ivy League alum above.<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-41923224957467954002012-05-01T14:24:00.001-04:002012-05-01T14:24:34.745-04:00John PrineIn Spite of Ourselves
She don't like her eggs all runny
She thinks crossin' her legs is funny
She looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter Bunny
She's my baby I'm her honey
I'm never gonna let her go
He ain't got laid in a month of Sundays
I caught him once and he was sniffin' my undies
He ain't too sharp but he gets things done
Drinks his beer like it's oxygen
He's my baby
And I'm his honey
Never gonna let him go
In spite of ourselves
We'll end up a'sittin' on a rainbow
Against all odds
Honey, we're the big door prize
We're gonna spite our noses
Right off of our faces
There won't be nothin' but big old hearts
Dancin' in our eyes.
She thinks all my jokes are corny
Convict movies make her horny
She likes ketchup on her scrambled eggs
Swears like a sailor when shaves her legs
She takes a lickin'
And keeps on tickin'
I'm never gonna let her go.
He's got more balls than a big brass monkey
He's a wacked out werido and a lovebug junkie
Sly as a fox and crazy as a loon
Payday comes and he's howlin' at the moon
He's my baby I don't mean maybe
Never gonna let him go
In spite of ourselves
We'll end up a'sittin' on a rainbow
Against all odds
Honey, we're the big door prize
We're gonna spite our noses
Right off of our faces
There won't be nothin' but big old hearts
Dancin' in our eyes.
There won't be nothin' but big old hearts
Dancin' in our eyes.
(spoken) In spite of ourselvesUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-83185846853958041912012-03-26T11:10:00.000-04:002012-03-26T11:11:09.584-04:00my feets is hurtinThis morning I couldn't figure out why my feet hurt and I have blisters all over my toes.<br /><br />Then Wayne reminded my that we played 4 kids a game of basketball in our bare feet.<br /><br />When you forget shit like that, its the sign of a good weekend.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-53018448806927559102012-03-22T14:41:00.000-04:002012-03-22T14:42:38.847-04:00can i be really honest with you ?<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/35938209?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="400" height="225" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/35938209">Upstairs</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/shawnwines">Shawn Wines</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15475354.post-1531480340123516682012-03-06T11:47:00.001-05:002012-03-06T11:48:48.493-05:00prettyThis is a cat 3 race. The kid who won it started racing in 2010. He won his first Pro 1/2 race last weekend. You'll see why.<br /><br /><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/6Oj6yrv1cMI?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0