Memories.

This Is Comforting.

The Stupid Gorilla People

Because people are nuts, police may be looking to blame the kid/gorilla incident on the parents.

Unless a parent threw the kid into the cage Im not sure why they're being investigated; even if they're terrible parents I feel like it should be impossible for a 3 year-old to negotiate a zoo's security into such a situation.

I just can't wait til the kid's old enough to read that while the gorilla was dragging him around, instead of shooting it plenty of people would rather have taken the tactic of "hold on, hold on....let's see how this plays out..."

I don't think the kid's gonna be too thrilled.

Meanwhile Fatcesa gets it right re: the absolute ridiculousness of 100K+ people being furious the zoo shot the gorilla.

Happy Belated Memorial Day

My buddy Serge posted this the other day on his Facebook page and I meant to post it here for Memorial Day but forgot, so here it is now. Sorry I'm late but for fuck's sake people, if Memorial Day doesn;t make you rmemeber there's bigger problems out there then I don't know what to tell you.

It's about one of the best songs he ever wrote with his band Marah called Round Eye Blues, based on a book by William Ehrhart, who was from the same area of Pennsylvania Serge and his brother Dave grew up in. It's a great book, Serge was kind enough to lend me his copy and I was kind enough to return it in only 4 short years, so you should get a copy and read it too. I remember it being both powerful in its subject matter and refreshing in its candor re: not giving a shit about being some sort of war hero, but just wanting to get home without being blown to bits.

Take the hits boys, take the hits.

I wrote a song once about a Vietnam vet.

I had read W.D Ehrhart's riveting memoir, Vietnam-Perkasie, and it stayed with me. I couldn't shake it. I couldn't shake this idea that a young guy from a place not far from where I was from had seen things like he had seen, done things like he had had to do.

I was living with a girlfriend on Passyunk Ave in South Philly when I wrote it. I still remember the afternoon it came to me. Everything happened very quickly, like the best songs usually do. Two cups of coffee/I'm gnawing the ass end of a Bic/trying this chord with that chord/no, THIS chord with that chord/the words to the tune gushed out of my face like sweat or puke. Like blood if I had been shot in the face.

Immediately, after the hour or two I spent writing it, I did what I always did when I was excited about something I'd written but never confident enough to be sure. I took the song to my brother.

That was always a real exercise in car crash nerves for me. His approval was my God. It still is even now. If he wasn't into it, if he so much as made this certain face he makes when he's amused or kind of impressed that I made the effort but his ass isn't kicked, I immediately hated the damn song and myself for wasting time on it.

Anyway, I wandered outside in the South Philly summer sun, past the pizza joint, past the Vietnamese haircut place that sold Bánh mì, past the Golden Donut, past the Italian Market, past St. Paul's , past The Chicken Man's brother's house, down Salter Street, and into my brother's tiny trinity house where he was always... ALWAYS- no matter what time of day or night I showed up unannounced- he was always sitting there smoking a cigarette right by his ten-thousand year old coffee machine, which was always in the very middle of brewing a full pot of coffee, even when no one else was around/just Dave, seemingly waiting, mid-puff, for me to walk through the door with a new song that I had written in a desperate attempt to outdo the last one he had written (which was always the day before).

I grabbed a cup of coffee and his shitty Yamaha acoustic and lit a smoke and stuck it in the headstock and I told him to just sit down and listen.

He gave me that courtesy too. He always did. He always wanted to hear what I had.
He sat there sipping coffee, smoking, head bent down to the floor so I couldn't see his face as I fumbled through the thing once straight through.

Then I remember this very distinctly.

I was shaking. I was literally fucking shaking, my hands wobbling, my nerves shot to shit from all of it. The song, the writing, the idea, the book, the excitement, the fear of failure, the sense that I was way in over my goddamn head here trying to write through a Vietnam vets eyeballs when I had never even come close to that particular flame.

Dave got up when I was done, walked over to rinse his cup out in the sink. Then he lit a smoke from his last smoke. The air was Mars. I couldn't breathe.

I tried to act cool. But no.

Finally, he went back over to his sink, rinsed a saucer or some shit, looked up straight out the small window that looked out onto a solid concrete wall, and spoke.

"Yeah," he said. "Oh, yeah. What's it called? 'Round Eye Blues'? Shit. Yeah. Play it again."

I felt the whole city lift up beneath me then. Billy Penn, Vet Stadium, Temple, City Hall, the Khyber, my apartment, all the pizzerias, all the cops and the killers, all the teachers and the drunks, a bus sitting in traffic as the whole world was busy doing something else while nine or ten people stared out the filthy Septa windows wishing they were home already, everything/all of it at once/removed from my back like a leaf blowing down the street.

I'm so proud of this song, of the way we all played on it and the way it was recorded in a garage in South Philly, and Paul Smith's genius production, and the way Dave managed to sing it like I had dreamed he would sing it in the dream I was dreaming long before I was even born.

Back when I was a shooting star careening across some outer universe.

Back before the time of wars.

Back when Vietnam was nothing. Back when South Philly was nothing. Back when everything was nothing.

Happy Memorial Day.

Enjoy yourself. Be cool. Write a song. Drink a beer. Toast the sun. Kiss your kid. BBQ a skirt steak. Run the hose. Smoke a cigarette. Touch your lover's ass. Hit a Wiffleball. Catch a fish. Mow the lawn. Look at the stars...

...and remember what it's all about.

Yes I Was.

#WilliamsburgRats

Saturday Afternoon

My Postmates delivery guy fucked up my order and instead of bringing me my food brought an entire high school marching band outside my door. Awesome.

Thoughts. I Have Them.

I hope a President Trump will look into why after decades of serving it and with its endless resources Burger King rather curiously hasn't even tried to match McDonald's breakfast. Not good!

"CALIFORNIA TOTALLY EMBARRASSED IT DIDN'T THINK OF THIS BEFORE, PROMISES HEADS WILL ROLL."

Glory Days

Lovely Jubbley!

Only Fools and Horses t-shirt game getting stronger every day.

Life

Everybody told Earl he'd never make it in the big city, but he just wouldn't listen. #DCRats

2012 Memories.

My gang taking a frozen yogurt break between rumbles.

Pretty Amazing.

Tonight I came home, flipped on tv and under my YouTube "you should watch" thing there was a Beatles doc, one I've probably seen 1000x. The cover for A Hard Day's Night featured prominently in the title sequence and suddenly I thought of a cd version of an ep I put out in 1996. I only made a few, to give to radio stations such as the college station at Ole Miss. Honestly, I'd forgotten about it for years/decades. Watching the Beatles doc I laughed, thinking "that was a pretty funny cover." And then an hour later, a Facebook message from Ted Gainey, an Ole Miss music legend who was a DJ at the station at the time sent me this picture. 

How freaky is that time? Wtf. He was also the first (and most like only) person who ever played one of my songs on the radio; suddenly one day I turned on the radio and he was playing Washington Bullets from the record. Of course I freaked the fuck out like anyone else who's ever experienced such a thing. I super-smoothly called the station and he answered, and I coolly asked say, who is this great-sounding band? He said it was a local guy, "I think he works at the Sir Speedy."

What a great freaky surprise to my day, and a great memory :)

(Still PLENTY of vinyl copies available for sale, btw!!)

Questions. I Have Them.

Is there a modern-day version of this great Go-Go's classic called Staycation? Asking for (checks notes)(checks notes again) me.

Oh For Fuck's Sake

I'm sorry but there's no way you're going to open the container for the Big Mac and then eat the entire thing of fries before taking a bite. Why wouldn't you just leave the top on the Big Mac container closed to keep it as warm as possible until you're ready for it? Does NOTHING in this crazy world makes any gotdam sense anymore?!??!

Hmm.

Maybe Mexico will be up for paying to build a few more walls? (fingers crossed!)

Sounds Like 3 Years Ago Was Pretty Amazing

Thoughts. I Have Them.

I can honestly say I'm pretty sure I'll never feel quite so entitled enough so as to do bunny ears with the Queen of England. Well done.

Physics du Jour

Explanation of the Universe in 4 minutes mixed in with some pretty funny shit and the theme song to It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Not too shabby.

"Xmastime Likes This"

As you already know Carol Burnett is in the Xmastime Hall of Fame, so I'm thrilled that she's debuting a show on PBS next Friday to showcase her favorite sketches.

"Coaching" Soccer.

Gonna be a long summer. But we will be champions, even if it kills me. Which it will.

Thoughts. I Had Them.

Wow.

Never thought I'd ever see Johnny Deep having a worse day than me.

Happy Birthday Joey Ramone

If someone could make the leap as far as Joey did from being a born into hopelessness, a runt-of-the-litter, weird-looking freak hammered at constantly that his future was failure and, if he was lucky, a life in the loony bin, to someone whose cultural presence years after his death is rolling down the hill picking up more and more importance like snow on a snowball, then maybe you can do the same thing, no matter where you start out.

Trump!

Via HERE.

"Donald J. Trump, my really hot daughter, Hispanics, my perfectly normal-sized hands, Megyn Kelly (for 3 weeks a month, obvi), Donald J. Trump, the guy at Blimpie who knows I like extra provolone, Donald J. Trump, that black doctor guy from the debates, God (anyone who wrote the 2nd-greatest book ever deserves a shot), and Ronald Reagan."

Hmm.

Either this is an Onion headline, or we are officially out of things to report.

Love Will Tear Us Apart

People seem to be making a big deal of today being the 36th anniversary of Ian Curtis' suicide; I've never been a Joy Division guy but I must say, the older I get, the more I'm drawn to this song. It's always been there, I've always been aware of it, but with each passing year I listen to it more closely.

50 Year Ago Today

From Backstreets:

Bruce Springsteen cut his very first record 50 years ago today, on May 18, 1966, with his band The Castiles: "Baby I" b/w "That's What You Get," recorded at Mr. Music in Bricktown, NJ.

UPDATE: the B-side, which you can also hear at the link, is a much better song than the A-side. Catchy as fuck chorus.

Mike & the Mad Dog (AND Bill!)

Unleashed from the shackles of ESPN and promoting his upcoming HBO show, The Sports Guy spent yesterday afternoon on Mike Francesa's show - listen to clips HERE.

Which reminds of of a classic Sports Guy article from 10 years ago, his live-blogging of Mike & the Mad Dog:

1:17 -- Dog struggles to say the word "Phillies." He's not strong with his L's and his R's. That's part of his charm. I don't think any of us will ever forget the time he attempted to say the name "Rheal Cormier."

Of course, The Sports Guy's well-intentioned-but-feeble efforts will always pale next to my epic 2007 live-blog:

 1:27 Dog just tried to say "Colorado." After three fly-bys, finally just plowed thru it "Carararro." Sounds like a Chinese guy ordering Sammy Hagar’s tequila. Ugly.

Dammit, I miss Dog  :(

Luck.

Great bit re: why Americans refuse to see the role of luck in success. Of course this was met with apoplectic stupidity at Fox Business:

“Contrary to what many parents tell their children, talent and hard work are neither necessary nor sufficient for economic success.” The missing ingredient, he explained in an argument he would eventually expand upon in his new book Success and Luck: Good Fortune and the Myth of Meritocracy, is luck.

After introducing Frank, Varney jumped right down the scholar’s throat, “Do you know how insulting that was, when I read that?” Varney asked him. “I came to America with nothing 35 years ago. I’ve made something of myself, I think through hard work, talent, and risk-taking, and you’re going to write in the New York Times that this is luck.”

Monday, at a book event at Ideas42, a behavioral-economics-focused think tank, Frank led off with this anecdote, and it’s understandable why: Varney’s reaction captures — albeit in a somewhat hysterical, made-for-cable-news way — the reaction many people have to the idea that luck, rather than hard work or merit, plays a big role in who rises to the top, who slides to or stays at the bottom, and who gets stalled in the middle. (As Frank couldn’t resist pointing out, Varney’s idea of “coming to America with nothing” left out the fact that, at the time he did, he had a degree from the London School of Economics — his was not the story of a battered émigré riding in steerage on a creaky transatlantic steamship.)

"But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), “didn't you call this bullshit six years ago?" 

Sigh. Yes I did, faithful readers. Yes I did:

I think the need to feel like an oppressed underdog who has succeeded against all odds is as American as apple pie.  Nobody likes to admit "part of my success is due to economic and social conditions cemented long before I was even born"; we must be made to believe that Successful Person X was left to die in a dumpster, then pulled himself up by his own bootstraps and became a real rags to riches story.  Nobody's happy simply to have been given the keys to the kingdom, they also hafta portray themselves as "victims."

Bill Simmons is Coming

I can't really remember a time I didn't read the Sports Guy, back when it was a 90000-word article twice a week mixing sports with Beverly Hills 90210. I've somewhat tired of him over the years but not really, tho he does seem to have his enemies out there including this guy for busting his chops.
I will now opine on each of the statements pointed out by Deadspin:

I believe that Kanye’s a genius. It’s just that he knows it, and that’s the problem. I don't wanna be the old white guy shaking his fist at kids to get the hell off of his lawn and that all music today sucks, but all I know about Kanye is he seems to be very much in love with Kanye.  Which doesn't really make him any different from many other successful musician, really. I haven't heard a lick of his music and have no desire to, but I do enjoy it when once a month he sticks his neck out to make himself look as stupid as possible, which I'm always for, no matter who the celebrity.

I believe we should ban the DH, long putters, extra points, the NIT, and pick-off throws. Don’t really care about any of these except the DH, which fuckers just need to give up on getting rid of. I know saying you want it abolished makes you more of a baseball purist than me and therein a better person, but knock it he fuck off already. Instead, they should be fighting to make sure that in meaningless fucking inter-league games throughout the season pitchers don’t have to step into the box - I’m having memories of the Yankees’ Chen Ming-weng’s career being ruined running the bases in an inter-league game IN FUCKING JUNE. I am curious about his aversion to pickoff throws; I’ve never heard anyone say this. Would he prefer runners be able to wander 20 feet off the base? Wtf?

You really wanna know what I believe? I guess so, I'm fucking blogging about it aren't I?

I believe in the four-point line. Yes, because how long would it be before these go from desperate chucking at the end of quarters to James Harden playing a game of HORSE from midcourt and beyond? Yes, that’s what I wanna see, 45-foot heaves in the middle of games.

I believe soup is the perfect food. Soup is not the perfect food. Soup is not even food - soup is what you eat while waiting for the food to come to the table. This is fucking idiotic.

I believe in a Belichick-Popovich presidential ticket. This I’m all for. Why not, at least they’d be entertaining; Belichick’s 4-minute State of the Union addresses during which he merely stares down Congress and then calls them idiots is well worth whatever happens.

I believe every DiCaprio movie would be just a little better as a Matt Damon movie. This is beyond idiotic. I know Simmons is drinking the clam chowdah here but come the fuck on already.

I believe the 2004 ALCS was an act of God. A god who hates everything that is right in this world, maybe.

I believe that billionaires should pay for their own fucking football stadiums. Now this one I agree with 100%. Not sure how after decades and decades we keep falling for this shit. The ol’ “socialize the risk/privatize the reward.” We pay taxes that owner uses to build stadium, owner keeps 100% of profit for himself while doing everything he can to get out of paying taxes back to the city, then pitches a fit every few years about moving to another city so we throw more money at him. Yada yada yada, endless cycle. But we fall for it every time - “ooooh, it will create 60 jobs!!!” The trickle-down economics joke of sports.

I’m looking forward to watching Simmons’ show because hey, you gotta watch something and hopefully his shit will be as interesting to watch as it used to be to read back in the day.

I Guess I Just Wasn't Made For These Times

There are few albums I've loved the fuck out of more than Pet Sounds; I now sit back and wait to enjoy the shower of 50th anniversary kudos.

Watch this on The Scene.

20 Years Ago Today

Doc Gooden threw what may have been the most improbable no-hitter of them all:

Baseball seasons can be a slog at times. 162 games is a lot, and Saturday's game against the White Sox appears to be just your average spring matinee at The Stadium. But sometimes baseball's most magical moments can emerge seemingly out of nowhere, just as they did twenty years ago.

Seattle's lineup boasted stars including Ken Griffey Jr., Edgar Martinez, and a young Alex Rodriguez. Along the way to his no-hitter, Gooden threw 134 taxing pitches, walked six batters, and counted upon numerous defensive gems. Heightening the drama of the moment was Gooden pitching with the knowledge that his father Dan, who was enormously influential in Gooden's development as a pitcher, would undergo open-heart surgery the following day.

WTF du Jour

Welcome to the last person on Earth born in the 19th century. That's fucking mind-boggling.

Thoughts on the Gender Bathroom Stuff Republicans are Furious About. I Have Them.

Anyone who claims that pedophiles who had previously felt held back by door signs will now be unleashed into bathrooms because of a law can no longer claim gun regulations are useless because people will just find another way to kill large groups of people.

Only Fools and Horses du Jour

Well.

So this is what Trump's been talking bout all this time with "Make America Great!" Finally makes sense. Now I feel foolish for doubting him.

"Jesus and His Scrappy, Lovable Sidekick Baby Jesus About to Flip the F--k Out on Freedom-Hating America"

Not the Sexiest CNN Headline Ever.

"But then I got out of government for more $$$$ and tv fame."

OK It's Official: I Fucking Hate Prince

Huge.

Short article about my new office, titled "Oh Isn't Kate Watts Just WONderful?!?!?!?"   ;)

Memories

MPLS

Another write-up on the curiously amazing history of music out of Minneapolis in the 80s (including, unbelievably, Lipps Inc of Funkytown fame!). REM's Peter Buck on the genius of Bob Stinson:

As far as I could tell, Bob went his entire career with the Replacements without knowing the names of any of the songs. He didn’t know what key they were playing in when the song started and didn’t know what key they were in when the song ended, but he sure could play some great stuff in the middle.

In McCain's Defense...

...Palin's really hot.

Told You I Have Important Thoughts.

Can't say I've ever understood why Tom Petty's Breakdown was such a big hit.

Shep!

Thoughts. I Have Them.

Comedians who release standup specials on Netflix seem to have an outrageously inflated sense of how much people want an extended intro before getting to the goddam standup already.

UPDATE: Holy crap!!!!!!!!!!! Right after I posted my last post about comedians I switched over to the Patton Oswalt special and his opening bit was about how nobody wants to see the opening bit, just get to the jokes. Wtf.

Latest BBC Shows I've Been Watching This Week

Drifters
Plebs
Friday Night Dinner 

Drifters is pretty much The Inbetweeners if The Inbetweeners were  1. girls  2. not funny.  I’m sticking with it however since the main character (who also created & writes the show) is the girl to your right

So.

Plebs is The Inbetweeners if The Inbetweeners was 1. set in ancient Rome  2. more interested in being outrageously dirty than funny. It has it’s moments, but mostly I spend the entire time thinking the main guy is doing an impression of The Inbetweener’s Simon Bird…

…who is in a show called Friday night Dinner with, ta-da, the guy from Plebs who’s doing an impression of him. I like Friday Night Dinner because Simon Bird and Mrs. Xmastime Tamsin Greig (Black Books, Episodes) are in the cast, and it’s very low-key with a minimal set of characters in each episode.

Basically these shows are easy to watch but you’re better off just watching The Inbetweeners. And hey - Series 4 of Fresh Meat is finally on Hulu!!!

The Tumblr You've Been Waiting For

A few years back I mentioned old-school Doritos bags:

The other day Op mentioned to me that he'd seen some bags of Doritos with the packaging from our youth, which was way more simple and iconic than their current "let's throw a buncha fucking loud colors together that make no sense and is instantly forgettable!" bags.  Of course I rolled my eyes at the very notion that Doritos would do such a thing, to which he insisted "No, I mean it, th-" which I cut off with a "BUP-bup-bup bup!", waving an index finger in his face like a metronome needle.  He kept talking: "I'm telling-" "AAAAAAH, bup-bup-bup-bup...(now slowing down, along with my finger so as to wind his idiocy down, along with lowering my eyebrows which had started at the top of my head and were now nearing their normal position)...bup......bup.................bup...............................................bup."  And with that Op knew to shut up, that he's an idiot and I was right, so he curled up with a sleeve of Snackwells and cried like a baby.

Meanwhile, last night I was a Duane Reade and saw something rather incredible: Doritos with the packaging from our youth, which was way more simple and iconic than their current "let's throw a buncha fucking loud colors together that make no sense and is instantly forgettable!" bags!!!  Isn't that great?  Fucking a, if only so the trucks won't be so garish. I'm sure this is a temporary thing and they'll soon enough ratchet up the "wtf?" packaging to the next level, so let's enjoy this while we can.

And lo and behold, now there's a Tumblr dedicated to showing old Doritos bags in movies/tv!

 

Still True.

Pretty sure it just gives them lunch.

Would Love to Know....

...the name of the guy whose job it was to electroshock Trump last night every time he tried to go on Twitter. ‪#‎WHCD‬

Thoughts. I Have Them.

Ted Cruz on Meet the Press today was amazing; I haven't seen such a fucking crybaby since 2 weeks ago when the Burger King I was at was out of cheese.

Blackadder Goes Forth

Blackadder is not only that rare sitcom for which the last season was its best, but the final scene from the finale is one of the all-time great scenes, much less final scene (here's a short list of great finales.) Funny as usual up until the final moment, a wonderfully poignant one for a show without a lot of poignancy and the end of a season that really packed a whollup in showing the senselessness of war and the men that celebrate them.