All Day Suckers

In case you needed evidence, here are two examples of the "We Report -- You Decide" credo as practiced by the good folks at Fox News.

The dustup over network loudmouth Bill O'Reilly's utterly moronic, if not mean-spirited comments are apparantly the fault of left-wing website Media Matters for reporting it with complete context. Not, apparantly the waterhead, paranoid demogogue who made the comments to begin with. God bless America.

Black People For Dummies

Many people wonder about my fascination with Bill O'Reilly. He's a demogogue and hypocrite of the highest order -- a vile and dangerous rabble-rouser completely divorced from facts, tolerance and reality. He's also a lot of fun to watch, mostly while screaming at the TV screen.

But all those screams are worth it when, quite regularly, he reveals his inner buffoon. Such as in this bit from his radio show the other day when talking with NPR's Juan Williams (excerpted at length to provide fair context):

O'REILLY: Now, how do we get to this point? Black people in this country understand that they've had a very, very tough go of it, and some of them can get past that, and some of them cannot. I don't think there's a black American who hasn't had a personal insult that they've had to deal with because of the color of their skin. I don't think there's one in the country. So you've got to accept that as being the truth. People deal with that stuff in a variety of ways. Some get bitter. Some say, [unintelligible] "You call me that, I'm gonna be more successful." OK, it depends on the personality.

So it's there. It's there, and I think it's getting better. I think black Americans are starting to think more and more for themselves. They're getting away from the Sharptons and the Jacksons and the people trying to lead them into a race-based culture. They're just trying to figure it out: "Look, I can make it. If I work hard and get educated, I can make it."

You know, I was up in Harlem a few weeks ago, and I actually had dinner with Al Sharpton, who is a very, very interesting guy. And he comes on The Factor a lot, and then I treated him to dinner, because he's made himself available to us, and I felt that I wanted to take him up there. And we went to Sylvia's, a very famous restaurant in Harlem. I had a great time, and all the people up there are tremendously respectful. They all watch The Factor. You know, when Sharpton and I walked in, it was like a big commotion and everything, but everybody was very nice.

And I couldn't get over the fact that there was no difference between Sylvia's restaurant and any other restaurant in New York City. I mean, it was exactly the same, even though it's run by blacks, primarily black patronship. It was the same, and that's really what this society's all about now here in the U.S.A. There's no difference. There's no difference. There may be a cultural entertainment -- people may gravitate toward different cultural entertainment, but you go down to Little Italy, and you're gonna have that. It has nothing to do with the color of anybody's skin.

[...]

O'REILLY: No, no, I mean, I like that soul food. I had the meatloaf special. I had coconut shrimp. I had the iced tea. It was great.

WILLIAMS: Well, let me just tell you, the one thing I would say is this. And we're talking about the kids who still like this gangsta rap, this vile poison that I think is absolutely, you know, literally a corruption of culture. I think that what you've got to take into account that it's still a majority white audience -- young, white people who think they're into rebelling against their parents who buy this stuff and think it's just a kick. You know, it's just a way of expressing their anti-authoritarianism.

O'REILLY: But it's a different -- it's a different dynamic, though.

WILLIAMS: Exactly right --

O'REILLY: Because the young, white kids don't have to struggle out of the ghetto.

WILLIAMS: Right, and also, I think they can have that as one phase of their lives.

O'REILLY: Yeah.

WILLIAMS: I think too many of the black kids take it as, "Oh, that's what it means to be authentically black. That's how you make money. That's how you become rich and famous and get on TV and get music videos." And you either get the boys or the girls. The girls think they have to, you know, be half-naked and spinning around like they're on meth in order to get any attention. It really corrupts people, and I think it adds, Bill, to some serious sociological problems, like the high out-of-wedlock birth rate because of this hypersexual imagery that then the kids adapt to some kind of reality. I mean, it's inauthentic. It's not in keeping with great black traditions of struggle and excellence, from Willie Mays to Aretha Franklin, but even in terms of academics, you know, going back to people like Charles Drew or Ben Carson here, the neurosurgeon at [Johns] Hopkins [University]. That stuff, all of a sudden, is pushed aside. That's treated as, "You're a nerd, you're acting white," if you try to be excellent and black.

O'REILLY: You know, and I went to the concert by Anita Baker at Radio City Music Hall, and the crowd was 50/50, black/white, and the blacks were well-dressed. And she came out -- Anita Baker came out on the stage and said, "Look, this is a show for the family. We're not gonna have any profanity here. We're not gonna do any rapping here." The band was excellent, but they were dressed in tuxedoes, and this is what white America doesn't know, particularly people who don't have a lot of interaction with black Americans. They think that the culture is dominated by Twista, Ludacris, and Snoop Dogg.

WILLIAMS: Oh, and it's just so awful. It's just so awful because, I mean, it's literally the sewer come to the surface, and now people take it that the sewer is the whole story --

O'REILLY: That's right. That's right. There wasn't one person in Sylvia's who was screaming, "M-Fer, I want more iced tea."

WILLIAMS: Please --

O'REILLY: You know, I mean, everybody was -- it was like going into an Italian restaurant in an all-white suburb in the sense of people were sitting there, and they were ordering and having fun. And there wasn't any kind of craziness at all.

Now, I agree that it's not worthy of coverage by the national news media. But really: What is these days?

It's not the kind of thing that deserve protests and recriminations and calls for his ouster. But this is hilarious. He lashed out at CNN last night for piling on -- blaming the messenger for his message. He accuses CNN, MSNBC and Media Matters of taking him out of context when they provide the complete context and links to recordings or transcripts of his actual words.

O'Reilly lives in New York City and works in media. It's amazing that he would explain to his audience that he "couldn't get over" the fact there was no difference between a black-owned restaurant and, you know, a normal restaurant. Even if he was striking an ignorant pose to relate to his audience, he's guilty of creating that ignorance in his audience by feeding them endless clips and sanctimonious derision of Ludacris and Nas and other black people he feels are dragging down the culture. His audience doesn't know any better, he figures. He's just trying to help defuse racism. But he should know better than to say something so obviously ignorant and demeaning about a black restaurant in Harlem.

Hey, Bill! I was on the Upper West Side of Manhattan yesterday at a Kosher diner. And you, know, the people there were kind, well-behaved and charged a reasonable fee. They dressed fashionably, but conservatively, covered their heads (I suppose to disguise their horns) and weren't scrambling on the floor for loose change or anything!

Perhaps his intentions were noble, but his statement reveals something particularly clueless and out-of-touch about this self-described man of the people. I mean, what was he expecting to see there?

As far as my fascination for Bill-O, I suppose Andrew Sullivan once said it best, using a term a friend of his had coined.

Hathos is the attraction to something you really can't stand; it's the compulsion of revulsion. I feel that way about Bill O'Reilly. Hannity is just evil. Grace is unwatchable past two minutes. O'Reilly, however, is compelling in some mysterious way. I need a fix every now and again - and not just of the turkey wobble neck. You find yourself watching him the way you sometimes smell your own farts: it's disgusting, but you can't help yourself.

Top Five Favorite Lists of Lists

Actually, I've got nothing. Except Monday's column, which will look familiar to all you hardcore Rolling Bones readers out there. I'm talking to you, Fruitless Web-Porn Surfer from Bangalore!

And then there are these often-hilarious nuggets from McSweeney's.

Such as "Who Said It: Vice President Dick Cheney or Phil Leotardo From The Sopranos?"

Or Titles of Songs From Pet Sounds, Translated In and Out of Japanese by GoogleTranslate.

Or:

No. 82: Movie Spoofs—Sample Dialogue (Nonporn Category)

From Comedy by the Numbers by Eric Hoffman and Gary Rudoren
- - - -
"The first rule of Polite Club: Don't talk about Polite Club. Please."
"I'm bald as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore!"
"You talkin' to pee?"
"Forget it, Jake—it's Funkytown."
"Ron Livingston, I presume."
"I'm out of quarters? You're out of quarters! This entire courtroom is out of quarters!"
"Gattaca! Gattaca! Gattaca!"
"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a fuck."

Or, my favorite:

Titles From Dr. Seuss's Brief Foray Into Realism
BY JONATHAN BAUDE AND J. ALEX BOYD
- - - -
One Fish, Two Fish, Catfish, Grouper
Scrambled Eggs and Ham
Hop on a Trampoline While Pop Watches
There's Some Spare Change in My Pocket!
Oh, the Places You'll Wish You'd Gone When You're Old and Dying!
The Cat in the Litter Box

Shouldn't OJ Stay at the Tropicana?

I know I'm a week late on this story, but damn if this didn't feel like Christmas came early this year. My disdain for The Juice is well documented, but I just couldn't resist the opportunity to do a little happy dance in the hopes of his imprisonment.

Of course, there is no way to empanel a jury in this case. And so much can go so wrong before justice is served -- though not for Ron and Nicole. So I'm just enjoying the circus. I mean, Greta Van Susteren was interviewing Kato Kaelin the other night for chrissakes. Now that he's out on bail, I'm anxiously awaiting to see what car he and Al Cowling will use to flee to Mexico. The trial will surely be a hoot. Bring on the ghost of Johnnie Cochran! If you've got the collectibles, conviction is inevitable!

This Post Brought To You By The Letter J

By Arielle

I've been a Jets fan long enough to know that even a trip to Sesame Street could be a nerve-wracking proposition for the Jets. Would Chad slip on Slimy the Worm and tear another rotator cuff? Would Mr. Snuffelupagus accidentally give Laveranues Coles another non-concussion concussion? Would Oscar the Grouch don a hoodie and illegally tape the Jets doing their alphabets?

Well, things turned ok this time. All three Jets and the coach survived, and Elmo played a lot like Justin McCareins.

Meet The Team

By Arielle

Meet the newest Jet.

Abram Elam played safety for the Cowboys last year. Before that, he was convicted of sexual battery and kicked out of Notre Dame after being accused of taking part in the gang rape of a fellow student.

The jury acquitted Elam of conspiracy to commit rape and criminal deviate conduct. A judge sentenced him to two years probation and community service for the felony sexual battery charge. At the trial, three of Elam's teammates testified that they heard the girl say "no" or "don't."

Fortunately, Elam never tried any funny business with dogs. Otherwise we might have a protest on our hands.

Six Years On

Six years ago today, I drove through the Lincoln Tunnel on a bright blue morning listening to The Black Crowes and oblivious to the airplane that just struck the World Trade Center. Like so many Americans, I was equally oblivious to the dangers that had been circling us around the world.

Five days later, I sent an email to everyone in my address book expressing my confusion, fear, resolve and doubt. I'm particularly struck by my inclusion of Iraq into a potential list of possibilities. How the hell did that stupid idea get into my head? Why were people talking about Sadam Hussein then? Fucking Dick Cheney.

Anyway, here's what I wrote. I know a lot more today then I did then. I'm not sure how much safer we are. I'm not sure how much we've learned. I'm not sure how many more years we'll only have this one day to remember these 3,000 people killed six years ago.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


My To Do List 9/10/01:

--Fix Sink
--2 Wedding gifts
--Buy new Dylan CD
--Register for New School writing course
--Buy pasta bowl
--Plan Vacation for fall

My To Do List 9/16/01:

--Survive

I don't want to be overly dramatic. But life doesn't get much more dramatic than airplanes slamming into skyscrapers. And I don't know what to expect next. And that's scary.

I'm not necessarily a man of action. I anticipate that the role of most Americans in the coming months and years won't be much more than working in our various, perhaps frivolous industries for nothing more than the expressed purpose of maintaining our economy and tangentially fueling our industrial and military strength through donations and taxes. No. I, like many of you, won't likely be taking any direct action in this newfangled war. And so my way of coping is simply to understand. To empower myself with knowledge of what sacrifices it will take and what life will be like in order to defeat global terrorism. Perhaps much more will be required of me. Since Tuesday, I have joked and smiled and laughed with friends and family--acts of both defiance and necessity. We must not lead morose lives cowed by madmen. Yet, through occasional teary-eyed bouts of helplessness and marvelous pride in this city's character, I ask questions.

Is our sometimes incompetent and often sluggish government capable of ensuring security for thousands of daily domestic commercial flights? If necessary, are we prepared to invade and occupy Afghanistan and Iraq? To squelch any potential revolution and secure the nuclear arsenal in Pakistan as a potential result of their intentions to assist us in apprehending bin Laden? Do we have the capacity to defend our airspace and cities while spreading our military all over Asia? Will our actions polarize the moderate Muslim world against us in the holy war bin Laden clearly wants? How do you measure victory in such a war? Can we anticipate 5 more terrorist attacks in the next year? 50 more? All across the country?

I don't have a clue, and yet I am preparing for the worst. Six days ago, I barely knew a thing about the twisted motivations of Muslim extremists or the precarious nature of geopolitics. But I'm learning. And I'm attaching a few worthwhile articles and editorials that might help you out, if you haven't found them already. They are more difficult to read and digest than some of the fist-pumping jingoistic monologues making their way around through email. As always, we need to pick and choose in order to get any sense of the truth out of the media. I hope these choices serve you well.

Some of you, I may not have spoken to in ages. I can only hope these words find you and your families intact in the midst of this tragedy. And for those that have losses, I can only wish for you to find whatever it is you might seek in your time of grief. For now, I am still here. I feel as though I have so little of real importance to do. I want nothing more than an end to this madness.

This summer, I was concerned with weekend plans or whether the Writers' Guild strike could delay the premier of "The West Wing," whether I'd be able to ever keep a tee shot from launching into the woods, and lamented a hockey team's inability to bring dynastic glory to (of all places) New Jersey. Today, I live in a city of carnage, rubble and heartbreak while I shamelessly nurse an undying nostalgia for our lost frivolity.

Gedanken

Here's a reality-check thought experiment for pro-lifers that helps explain their disconnect in a way that hadn't occured to me. There is plenty of room for compromise on the pro-choice side, but you can hardly argue with this fundamental difficulty of the absolutist pro-life position.

Edited for clarification. This only applies to pro-lifers who won't budge under any condition.

New Logo, New Life

Are you ready for some football? And by that, I mean: Are you ready for something other than unwatchable preseason games and endless talk about dog fighting? Now's the time for the real dog fight ... and unwatchable regular season games.

I'm about as optimistic as a true Jet fan can ever be. Which means, not so much. Thomas Jones' calf, Chad Pennington's arm, a pathetic offensive line, little-to-no pass rush, a training camp-hold-out rookie starting cornerback ... these are not signs of hope.

But if you don't have hope when everyone is 0-0, then this sport isn't for you. Or you're from Arizona.

So tonight, I root for a tight shootout between Indy and New Orleans. It's always fun to root for a Manning and a Bush. Makes up for all the mockery I direct at Eli and George W.

To get all you folks in the mood for your team's debut this weekend, I recommend this series of articles by Aaron Schatz of Football Outsiders, a crew looking to redefine statistical analysis in the NFL.

Then there's Gregg Easterbrook's Tuesday Morning Quarterback, which never ceases to be provocative, exhaustive and funny, without all the masturbatory meanderings of Bill Simmons and his poker buddies.

And somehow no one ever told me that Pro Football Talk is the single best place to go for NFL scoops -- though it might be more valuable in the offseason than now that the bullets are ready to fly.

But enough talk. Let's get to playing. And I'll see you all in February when Tom Brady wins the Super Bowl again and impregnates a pit bull who then breaks up with him and names the puppy Laveranues.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

When summer ends, I feel 9 years old.

I feel like I've just said goodbye to my best friends at camp for 10 months. I feel empty. And full.

And though my camping days are long behind me and I've been out of school for more than a decade, the end of summer still stings with nostalgia.

September meant days at desks, homework and a different set of friends. For some reason, I was more popular in the summer. I rallied the troops, kept the peace and made a fool of myself without fear of embarrassment. At home, I wandered in the neurotic void between the cool kids, the kids who studied too much, and the kids who didn't feel the need to study or act cool.

But not in summer.

In the summer, we played softball, flag football, floor hockey, basketball, tennis and capture the flag. We swam, water-skied, filled water balloons and learned just how far you could bend the rules. Our greatest concern was how to suck every last drip of fun from our privileged, obscenely expensive eight-week vacation from home.

September meant 180 days of least common denominators and "Great Expectations" and Hawley-Smoot Tariff Acts. It meant sweat shirts and Sunday school and piano lessons and swim practice and badly played soccer on Saturdays.

September also meant football season: the thrill of barbecue in the crisp air, mingling with mud, sweat, leather and blood. Though for a Jets fan, while the atmosphere might be ripe, the team only occasionally offered actual joy.

But in summer, there was hope.

In the summer, I could bounce on my bed and off the walls for hours after Danielle Upbin kissed me goodnight. I have since had far more rewarding relationships — some that even lasted more than a week or two. But it's difficult to match the giddiness of a peck on the lips when you're 13 years old. The promise of fleeting meetings, casual touches, scrawled notes delivered with giggles.

September in college wasn't so bad. The freedom made it feel a lot like sleepaway camp — only with lectures and midterms and alcohol.

I suppose we had as much fun in college as should be permitted while ostensibly educating ourselves at our privileged, obscenely expensive four-year vacation from the real world. But deadlines loomed around every ivy-covered corner. It took five years after graduation before I stopped dreaming about some assignment I had forgotten or a test for which I had neglected to study.

Now, summer is just another season. The weather changes. Football kicks off. The job — rewarding as it can be — stays the same.

So as students return to school this week, I pity them some. But mostly I envy them.

Though they are trapped in stuffy rooms with stuffy students and occasionally droning instructors cramming information into them lest they be a child left behind. Though their parents likely schedule every last minute of their lives and dress them with itchy, unfashionable fabrics. Though summer is as far away today as it will ever be . . .

At some point, fall and winter and spring will end. And it will be summer again.

The Decider

Worth checking out the excerpts from Robert Draper's new Bush book at Slate. I was struck by this passage below, which for me, typifies our president's meager intellect.

It's part of a rambling monologue in which Bush attempts to explain his thinking process when deciding policy. In the process, he reveals the black-and-white simplicity of his worldview and even more galling -- his inability to assimilate new facts into his pre-ordained conclusions. All the while, he explains the simplest things he's learned as though they are deep insights. And he does so in a tone of voice that mistakes us all for naive children. Is it 2009 yet?

Oh. And the man is a sloppy eater.

"The job of the president," he continued, through an ample wad of bread and sausage, "is to think strategically so that you can accomplish big objectives. As opposed to playing mini-ball. You can't play mini-ball with the influence we have and expect there to be peace. You've gotta think, think BIG. The Iranian issue," he said as bread crumbs tumbled out of his mouth and onto his chin, "is the strategic threat right now facing a generation of Americans, because Iran is promoting an extreme form of religion that is competing with another extreme form of religion. Iran's a destabilizing force. And instability in that part of the world has deeply adverse consequences, like energy falling in the hands of extremist people that would use it to blackmail the West. And to couple all of that with a nuclear weapon, then you've got a dangerous situation. ... That's what I mean by strategic thought. I don't know how you learn that. I don't think there's a moment where that happened to me. I really don't. I know you're searching for it. I know it's difficult. I do know—y'know, how do you decide, how do you learn to decide things? When you make up your mind, and you stick by it—I don't know that there's a moment, Robert. I really—You either know how to do it or you don't. I think part of this is it: I ran for reasons. Principled reasons. There were principles by which I will stand on. And when I leave this office I'll stand on them. And therefore you can't get driven by polls. Polls aren't driven by principles. They're driven by the moment. By the nanosecond."

I'm Smaaht!

Sleep with the fishes, Alberto "Fredo" Gonzales.

It's hard to imagine an attorney general doing more to damage the Constitution, separation of powers and rule of law in our country. Here's a man who never really left his job as White House counsel, preferring to gut the Justice Department than say no to Karl Rove or George Bush. A man who signed a memo authorizing torture that he didn't even write. A man who either authorized or happily turned the other way when eight or nine U.S. attorneys were fired prior to an election because they chose to uphold their oaths of office instead of following Republican marching orders.
A man who lied to Congress and whose only defense was basically "I'm completely incompetent, so I can't be blamed for wrongdoing."

See ya, later Gonzo. I'm sure George will be happy to find you another cushy job that hopefully won't destroy too many of our nation's institutions and values.

Couldn't Agree With You More

By TPerl



Oh. My. God.

Kermit the Forg

Because it's just not easy being green. And I'm still waiting for my Bones the Blogger T-shirt to come in.

Dearly Beloved

They say a wedding is not a marriage. And by the way some of us get married, that's probably a good thing.

Now, I'm still officially single, though happily girlfriended. Most of my friends are married with kids and dogs and mortgages and arguments about poker night. My girl is seven years younger than me, which helps alleviate any immediate pressure to run and hire a cocktail hour flutist or begin matching flatware with doilies.

But two weeks ago, we attended the wedding of two of her college friends in Vancouver, overlooking Coal Harbor and snow-capped mountains. And -- inexperienced with these affairs as she had been -- she began to look with fresh eyes at the strange ritual of wedding ceremonies.

It probably had something to do with the strange wedding officiant. She was perfectly pleasant -- smiling and serene. Then she started in with the shtick.

As a Jewish man, I'm quite familiar with the folksy wit and wisdom of a mugging rabbi with a captive audience. It's no coincidence that so many comedians come from the same tribe. But it's one thing to watch Jon Stewart yuck it up with Joe Biden on TV and another thing to have your wedding presided over by a secular Shecky Greene.

She cracked jokes about how they met and where they went on their first date (Wendy's, ha-ha). She tossed shout-outs to distinguished members of the crowd and coached us for some climactic audience participation. She was the center of attention, and all that was missing was a brick wall and a two-drink minimum.

But she didn't spoil the moment, as no one really could when all that really matters is the public declaration of love and commitment between two people.

My girlfriend's mother got married in May to her long-time, often-long-distance Brazilian boyfriend in a utilitarian civil ceremony at the Lake County courthouse in Illinois. They went by themselves, signed some papers and were handed brochures on safe sex.

A friend of mine got married in a Pennsylvania arboretum, incorporating a poetic statement of oneness by ""Babylon 5'' writer J. Michael Straczynski, a song written by Nigerian-born musician Sade Adu, and an Apache blessing into a ceremony that only mentioned God once in passing.

A Jewish friend of mine got married to his Irish-Catholic wife by a rabbi and a priest. And though I'm still not sure how these religions are compatible (Jesus being the particular divine fly in the holy ointment), there was something touching and inclusive about the irrationality of it all.

I had a similar revelation a year or so later at the wedding between an Irish friend and his Italian wife, where many of his Jewish friends instigated a completely random Klezmer hora, dancing in circles to "Hava Nagila" and lifting the bride and groom high above the befuddled faces of grandparents.

When I was in Thailand, dozens of scuba-diving couples -- mostly Westerners -- married on Valentine's Day, submerged beneath the Andaman Sea.

And a friend's wife's cousins just got married in spacesuits by a man wearing a Dracula cape and Elvis goggles whom they met while waiting on line to buy the new Harry Potter book.

I'm not sure what lesson to draw from all of this. I've known people who have spent upwards of $100,000 on the pomp surrounding the first six hours of their marriage. I guess it's obvious to say people should enjoy the moment, but focus more on the shared remainder of their lifetime.

And date 25-year-olds who are happy to wait a little while.

Worst. Addiction. Ever.

By TPerl

I guess this happens when you have no life outside of work and kids. I've been into collecting since I was a kid, mostly with baseball cards. But I never really went overboard with having the "ultimate collection".

But now it seems as if I'm more easily conned into being the guy who, as the ads always command, "collects them all!". Two cases in point:

1) Burger King Simpsons Figures - My wife and I have been buying nothing but kids meals now whenever we go to BK, which now has become a twice-a-week event since these toys came out. We have all but four of them, as shown in the chart below. Of course, being the collector-geek that I am, all of them are still in the protective plastic - the kids only get one if it's a double of one we already have. Notice that we were lucky enough to have gotten the "Limited Edition Golden Homer" - Woohoo!


It looks like they've now stopped the promotion. So if anyone is also collecting these, I have extras (also in the original plastic) that I can trade for the ones I need. Let me know.

2) Pixar's Cars Movie diecast cars:
The movie was released over a year ago, and yet they're still releasing new toys from the movie. The most popular are the diecast Matchbox Car-like recreations of the characters in the movie. What started out as getting a couple for my son's upcoming birthday turned into a quest to have every damn one of these things, including the 8 (!!!) different variations of the main character, Lightning McQueen -see below.



They even have cars for all the scenes that ran during the credits, which were recreations of scenes from past Pixar movies with all the characters "Cars-ized". So yes, I have the Woody, Buzz, and Hamm cars from Toy Story as well as Mike and Sully cars from Monsters, Inc. (and the abominable snowman just came out and seems to be a tough one to find, dammit!).

And now I have to get a replacement for Sarge due to the lead paint recall.

Is it time for an intervention yet?

He's out! No wait - Safe!

By TPerl

RIP Phil Rizzuto, who died today at age 89. I definitely took for granted how great it was listening to Scooter in the broadcast booth - reading all those birthdays, talking about cannolis, and never shy about how anxious he was to leave early so he can beat the traffic over the GWB.

There was a great series of clips that WPIX ran as a tribute during Scooter's last year in the booth - I wish I could find it. But the best I could find was 3 different links here - click on each of the 3 "Rizzuto's Memorable Broadcasts..." links - great stuff.

Are We In Calgary Yet?

I missed the blogportunity to celebrate Jerry Garcia's birthday last week while caught up in preparations for my trip to Vancouver and Seattle. He would have reached the happy retirement age of 65 on Aug. 1, if only he didn't spend most of his life as an obese heroin addict.

And yet Karl Rove lives on, slinking away from Washington secure in his role as one of the most destructive forces in the country, guaranteed to earn millions on the lecture circuit and certain from the sidelines to toss turd blossoms all over the 2008 election. Sigh.

But because I feel no joy in his departure (for the damage is done, and done well), and because I so love and miss Rick Danko as well -- here's a clip tribute to good times, good friends, free-flowing alcohol and train rides through Canada in 1970.

Ain't no more cane on the Brazos. It's all been ground down to molasses.

Ebert Victorious

So read the Onion's headline after the death of Gene Siskel in 1999. And now you can revisit over 5,000 reviews from "At the Movies" at a new online archive. Sadly, although the show began in 1975, the show's producers only started saving video of the episodes when Buena Vista took over in 1985. But that still leaves many classic encounters between "the fat guy" and "the bald guy" to satisfy my nostalgia.

Almost as entertaining as this insight into their relationship during the taping of this promo.

The Commuter Rants

By TPerl

Rant #1:
So I'm sitting on the NJ Transit train going home from work yesterday. It's 90+ degrees, hot and humid, and I'm in my usual suit and tie. I have my iPod on and I'm holding my monthly train pass out for whenever the conductor comes by while I read my Blackberry. I also need to point out that my train pass says "ORANGE" since that's the name of my station stop. I'm hot, sweaty, and just trying to listen to some music before I get home and have to switch into Daddy mode and help with the kids. So then the conductor passes by and I finally realize that he is trying to say something to me - so I take my headphones off...

"You going to Orange?"

[Now if you were paying any attention to all the exposition above, the response I should have given is:]

"Yeah, fucknuts, I'm going to Orange! That's why my fucking train pass says 'ORANGE' asshole. Couldn't figure that one out on your own, huh? Or are you worried I'm trying to slip one by you, cause I'm really going all the way to Dover and I was gonna cheat the Port Authority out of an extra 5 bucks? Well, way to go, Columbo - you fucking nailed me. Bravo. How you ended up a fucking conductor for New Jersey Transit, and not director of Homeland Security is beyond me. Osama better look over both shoulders now that Conductor Joe is here to save the world from deadbeats like me."

[Instead I just said:]

(in timid, child-like whisper) "Yeah. The train does stop there, right?" (Please don't hurt me, Mr. Conductor)


Rant #2:
Sticking with the train, this week my train home has started making the following announcement as people are boarding:

"This train does NOT make the following stops..."

And then proceeds to rattle off about a dozen stops. Now anyone boarding the train midway through this little announcement is going to be confused as shit. And you'd think they'd annouce which stops they DO make right after this idiotic speech? But no. I think they just like to fuck with us.


Rant #3:
To all tourists visiting New York: Welcome to our great city, and have a wonderful stay. But if you're walking through Midtown during rush hour, DO NOT FUCKING STOP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SIDEWALK! Or worse, suddenly decide you need to turn completely around and go in the opposite direction without warning. The next one of you who does this in front of me while I'm speed-walking to catch my train will get a forearm to your nose, right through your fucking sinuses. You've been forewarned. That is all.


Rant #4:
There are the homeless people I pass on my way to work that everyone obviously avoids, and I don't blame them. But there's one woman who sits on the same corner every morning with her little cardboard sign, her little dog, and her pity cup, and she constantly has people stopping to chat with her . And not just a quick "Hello" or anything, it's like they're fucking long lost buddies or something. If she's that fucking charming, why don't you give her a fucking job! Then you can talk to her all day and she won't need to beg anymore - kill two birds! I'm not trying to be insensitive here, I just don't get it is all.


But I'll finish up here on a positive note - you still can't beat the people-watching experience that is Midtown on a hot summer day. If you don't know what I'm talking about, then you're obviously not a guy. Or you're gay.