Trifectas for the Delusional

Have you ever noticed how celebrity deaths always happen in threes . . . and twos and sevens and ones and fours. It’s almost as if they’re random events completely unrelated to each other in any logical respect except in the imaginations of the extremely impressionable. God, it’s so eerie.

Potent Quotable

To mother, on his return from a birthday party at Skateland South:

"I’m really good at skating. I just fall down a lot," V. Naumovich

Baseball: It’s Not That Bad

After the skate party we took in a Slider’s game courtesy of the ole company store. Despite promises of all the free hot dogs and drinks they could stomach, the kids were not excited about this outing. After about a half hour at the park, I didn’t think we’d make it to the ceremonial opening pitches.

Once the game started, however, something strange happened. They settled in and took a genuine rooting interest in the goings-on out diamond’s way. Maria, the most ardent pre-game descenter, was particulary interested in learning the rules and strategies of the game as the action unfolded before her. We made it all the way to the seventh inning before being frightened away by lightning.

I’m on record as not being much of a baseball fan but I’ll admit to enjoying the game as well. It helped that they scored many runs, although we missed the two homers while replenishing with food stuffs. A group of visiting high school students – in town helping with a Habitat house and bunking at Little Flower’s gym – kept things lively with their good-natured antics. The race-confused, alcohol-abusing loud mouths behind us, however, sent us seeking tranquility down the opposing baseline.

Viva Le Futbol

I’d be remiss about saying anything good about baseball without tempering them with a few words about soccer. You’re probably not aware, and clearly do not care, but the U.S. men’s national team’s victory over Spain last week was incredibly momentous. If we were baseball fans, this would have been occasion for tipping automobiles or dragging the sofa from the porch to the street and setting it ablaze. (Yes, I’m aware of the rowdy, oft-times murderous behavior of soccer fans. Indulge me my prejudices.)

Trivia Is Not Trivial

Speaking of the ugly side of competitive endeavors, like many of you Facebookies I’m quite involved with the Know It All trivia series. And perhaps like you, I’ll look and see how I’m doing in the standings against my friendly competitors. I admit that if I’m trying to improve my record against a particular player that I’ll stick to those subjects on which I’m strong. What I won’t do is retake a quiz to improve my score.

I’ve noticed on a couple of occasions that someone who I initially bested on a quiz had somehow, days later, wrestled the victory away from me. The only explanation for this I can think of is that, armed with the correct answers, they retook the quiz. I won’t name names (not you, Johann), but the purveyor of this despicable practice should know that I’m on to his monkeyshines.

Speaking of trivia, response to the latest BFS challenge has been dismal. I usually won’t post results until I get at least ten entries, but we may not reach that level of participation this time. This confirms my suspicion that nobody reads blogs anymore and are instead satisfying their trivia jones on Facebook where they are cheating.

Heard About Your Band

When touring bands stop in Springfield, they normally start their performance at or near the eight o’clock hour. A reasonable time for the concert going crowd.

Local bands start much later. An act headlining a three o’clock bar may not take the stage until well after midnight. This scheduling costs them a segment of the music-loving demographic, most notably, me. But even those with the ability to stay awake past 11:00 might be more amenable to an earlier starting time so that they can enjoy the music and then go out and do whatever it is people who aren’t sleeping do at three in the morning.

Tammy went to see a band, the Graduate, last evening and I would have liked to have heard them as well. But I’m wise enough to my ways to realize that after an entire day shuffling the kids around and then an evening at the ballpark, that slumber could not be denied. It’s sad, really.

Speaking of music, I’ll be back later this week to promote the American Music Show, year after year, the finest lineup of music that Springfield has to offer.

Speaking of Father’s Day, here’s a picture of my haul. Homemade cards and contraptions. The good part, it didn’t cost me a penny. Speaking of which, here’s a link to the column I wrote for SpringfieldMoms.

Honey, I Shrunk the Tabloid – Fans of the venerable Sunday magazine will have noticed that it’s been cut down in size. Fortunately there was still room for Walter Scott to inform us of Miley Cyrus’ future projects and it looks as if she’ll be graduating to more mature roles until her fan base outgrows her and then Walter will stop returning her publicist’s calls.

If you arrived here via Firefox (you’re not really using Explorer, are you?), download the Cooliris plugin and you too will be amazed at the way it browses through photos. Do a Google image search of your favorite celebrity to ogle and then let Cooliris do it’s magic. Captivating!

I’ve come to realize that despite all of his corruptiness, Blagojevich was just too stupid to have screwed up the state’s finances so horribly and that Madigan may be the biggest culprit in the continuing budget problem. It’s all just a power game to the state’s leaders, but as the one who plays it best, Madigan is also the most to blame.

After spending the weekend at the water park and the swimming pool I’ve come to the conclusion that no matter who you are or where you’re from, deliberately splashing water in someone’s face is a punk move on par with shooting someone in the back or slipping iocaine powder in someone’s drink without first issuing a challenge to a battle of wits. I’m trying to teach my kids that to do so is to disgrace the family.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that I got a hold of a bad batch of sunscreen. Despite frequent applications I’m fried and considering litigative action against the makers of said faulty sun block. I’m hoping that a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale will counter the painful effects of the sun’s harmful rays. Milford would be mighty disappointed in me.

I’m working on another trivia quiz. Look for it soon.

My column last week was my first ever to be syndicated. Although I’m proud of this piece, apologies must be extended to the people of Norwood, Mass, who were assaulted with this.

Were I ambitious, I would take the signature line from this column (Today, I will wear my underpants backwards!) and turn it into a self-empowerment philosophy that would spawn a series of books, a line of merchandise, and a regular spot on Oprah.

I also wrote a feature on some very talented local musicians.

Flying With Pigs

On Wednesday, it seemed conceivable that Tammy and the kids’ trip to Vermont this summer might have to be canceled. Being herded through an airport and then incubated in a plane while deadly viruses abounded seemed a tad risky, given the dire warnings. By Friday, the fear had subsided and I scoffed at the folly of my concern.

The media is partly to blame for fueling my hysteria, but I do think that much of the hubbub was just precaution in the face of the unknown. Had this flu been more plague-like, the quick quarantines and closings may have helped stave of the catastrophic. Of course had news broke last week that the Octamom was again knocked-up, most of us may have never heard of swine flu.

British Fans Would Have Stoned Me By Now

The Shamrocks fell again on Saturday. It’s only matter of time before parents start clamoring for a coaching change. If I’m going to wear the brown hat over our one-and-three record, then I’m going out on my own terms. I may pull a Buttermaker and start bringing a cooler of beer to practice.*

Mark’s game was rained out, denying him the opportunity to flop in the mud and then look around to see if any girls might be impressed by it.

And after a so-so effort during a make-up game on Thursday, Maria turned in a stellar performance on Saturday, scoring a goal and earning an assist in her team’s 3-1 victory. Nothing makes me prouder than to see the look of determination on her face when she goes on the attack.

Smarmy

When those on the left declare that R. Limbaugh is pompous, condescending and a manipulative partisan, I can not argue. But when those same people swear admiration for this smug clown, then their objectivity is clearly suspect. They are, afterall, birds of a feather.

Let’s Kill Saturday Night (after injuring it on Friday)

For you Facebookies, the lineup for the American Music Show is available here. Robbie Fulks and Dave Alvin (formerly of the Blasters and X) headline the two-day weekend affair. I was listening to some tracks by the Cynics and the Handcuffs this afternoon to get a feel for the rest of the lineup. This most definitely will be a kicker of the highest kicking order.

*Name the TV show and the movie referenced in this paragraph.

Qik-n-EZ is advertising a special for lovers of imitation, beer-like beverages. Coors Light is selling 18-packs for $10.99 with, get this, a $7 mail-in rebate offer. Not accounting for the devaluation of the dollar in the time it takes for the rebate check to arrive, that comes to $3.99 per 18-pack or 22 cents per golden bottle. Party on, Rockies fans.

Well, long story short, the drinkers of this particular low-end beer proved to be a particularly thrifty lot and they redeemed their rebates in great numbers, causing great damage to the brewer’s bottom line. But that was a long time ago, so why not try it again during an economic downturn when people are doing everything possible, short of not buying beer, to save money.

The First Church of the Prescription and Over-Prized Sundries

When the Walgreen’s on Monroe relocated across the street to a new building, I felt that their previous home was destined to remain abandoned. The building is too big for a cellular service center or a nail salon. Even most restaurants, of the casual variety, don’t require that much space, except for maybe those buffet operations. A dollar store? Perhaps, but that retail model seems to have grown stagnant.

I suppose that religion, as beer, does fare well in times of economic hardship.

I Called This One

You’ve probably all seen the video of Susan Boyle, the unassuming contestant on Britain’s Got Talent who wowed the audience with a beautiful rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miserables.

I am not an American Idol fan, in fact, I’m a detractor. I’ve seen enough of it to be disgusted with all of the caterwauling, melisma-izing, and general "look-at-me" vocalization that pervades that stage. I’ve said, on more than one occasion, that if a contestant would come out and perform a song from Les Miz – with even half of the grace, beauty and humility with which Frances Ruffelle brought to her singing in the role of Eponine – then that person would shame the competition. She probably wouldn’t win, I conceded, but she would reveal how fraudulent that show is as a showcase of talent.

I simply can’t tolerate the superficiality of it all.

Neither of these women is Susan Boyle.

I Am Un Chien Andalusia

You’re unlikely to find Charles Michael Kittridge Thompson IV (aka Black Francis, Frank Black) prostituting himself to the American Idol demographic (see: Tarantino, Quentin), but I did find him and the Pixies in the Wii store. Victor and I can now rock to Debaser and Monkey Gone to Heaven on Guitar Hero.

I Was Published in California

Nothing new to plug this week, but my recent story on homebrewers was published in the Ridgecrest, California newspaper. Finally, the people of the Mojave can read my stuff. How fortunate for them.

Four Leaves Win! Four Leaves Win!

The Shamrocks netted their first goals and posted their first victory of the season, despite being without several key players, a feat that can only be attributed to deft coaching. Tessie continues to improve and Victor was a bulldog in pursuit of the ball, especially late in the game when the Shamrocks were protecting a 3 to 2 lead. He was sweating so much that by game’s end he looked as if he’d been doused by a Gator Ade bucket.

Mark may never develop the soccer skills of David Beckham, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see Posh Spice on his arm at kindergarten graduation.

Living to Eat Another Day

After the Shamrock’s big win, a couple of the families retired to D’Arcy’s for post-game sustenance. Maria, Tessie, Victor and I joined them. Of course, you can’t go to the Pint and not order a ’shoe, but for better or worse, it’s gotten to the point where I feel guilty about it. It weighs upon my conscience almost as heavily as the calories weigh upon my gut. I ended up skipping dinner last night as penance, but know that someday, I will sin again.

My column this month is on practicing etiquette in everyday situations. The proper thing for you to do, gentle reader, after carefully considering my words, is to write a comment congratulating the newspaper for publishing such wisdom and suggest that your life has been made the better because of it and perhaps even offer some sort of monetary tribute to the author. It is, the right thing to do.

The blogs remains the same

The tax-evading Obama cabinet appointees were a big deal to Republican bloggers who probably wouldn’t have cared that much had they been McCain appointees, which, if they had been, Democrat bloggers would have had a field day with, but as it stands, under Obama, they really don’t find it worth mentioning. It’s a relief, really, that despite all of the historic change, the blogosphere remains the same.

Commercial Real Estate Mystery Theatre

Since Damon’s closed (I believe it was after the infamous tornadoes), a restaurant only a half block away has transitioned from LaSorella to the Club House and now Kiku. Yet Damon’s former structure remains vacant. Why would that be?

Is the asking price too much? If so, why?

Is there something about the building’s configuaration that makes it unsuitable for other proprietors?

Or is it, as I suspect, HAUNTED BY SOMETHING SCARY OR OTHERWISE OTHERWORLDLY!?!?!?!?!?

Seriously though, I do wonder why it hasn’t been purchased and refigured or demolished.

I told you they would rock

Since I haven’t been blogging much, I haven’t yet mentioned what a totally rocked-out performance Sarah Borges and the Broken Singles gave at the Hoogland last month. It was great to see them play to a packed room and their performance most definitely surpassed expectations. After the show, I pardoned myself from a 15-year self-exile from the Curve Inn* to hang out with the band for a bit. I can’t wait for their triumphant return after their new album comes out.

I think that’s called stage presence.

The incomparable Binky, the irresistible Tammy, and some homeless guy.

Headline comprehension 101

If you saw the headline, "Tiger Wood’s Wife Has a Son," would you be under the impression that said wife gave birth recently? Would you be under the impression that Tiger was the father?

For some reason, when I read this headline I thought the story was going to be that it was discovered that Mrs. Tiger had a son from a previous coupling. Was I wrong in interpreting this way?

Although, biologically speaking, the women do the "having" when it comes to child birth, when speaking of couples who go cooperatively into the reproduction process, however, it’s common to say that "they had a son" when announcing the blessed event. And since it is Tiger who makes the birth newsworthy, then couldn’t the headline have read: "It’s a boy for Tiger Woods." It would have made clear that Tiger is the father and I doubt anyone would be confused as to who did the actual birthing.

Clearly, it’s a matter of perception and perhaps mine is faulty in this instance. But it isn’t on this one, found on Slate:

"Would the mayor of Portland be out of office if he were’nt gay?"

My initial interpretation was that the mayor was out of office, and discrimination may have played a part in his dismissal. That was wrong.

The mayor is still in office, and the author is suggesting that if the mayor were a heterosexual, he would have been thrown out. (With out getting into a debate of the case, the mayor is accused of having had a sexual relationship with an underage male. The author makes the argument that if a heteorsexual male mayor had a relationship with an underage girl, he would have been dumped immediately.)

Obviously, the headline can be read to convey either meaning. So how could have this been written to avoid confusion?

How about: "Was Portland mayor saved by gayness?"

I think that’s clear.

Gimmee an M Gimmee an A Gimmee an R Gimmee a K

There was apparently a high school cheerleading competition in town this weekend. I know this not because I’m perverted, but because at mass at Little Flower last evening there were rows of warmup-suited girls from Catholic high schools north of I-80. We happened to sit behind one such row. This afforded Mark, our youngest, the opportunity to hit on them.

He started shyly, peaking over the pew, shyly smiling when would one would turn around and notice him. But once communion was over, and he hadn’t made sufficient headway, he became more bold: "Hey girls," he announced, "look at this." When they turned, he held back his jacket to reveal his new St. Patrick’s Day T-shirt**, that, as luck should have it, read: "I’m not lucky. I’m good."

This of course caused much laughter, but one girl must have caught his eye because Mark whispered to me that she was going to go on a date with him. After mass ended, Mark made a point of walking up to the girls’ pew and waved goodbye to his chosen one. As we made are way out of the church, he spotted her again in the vestibule. Stopping behind her, Mark tugged on her jacket and again waved when she turned around. He then proceeded on to give an exhibit of karate moves and break dance spins. I’ve seen him do this before, also when trying to showoff for an older girl. They seem to like it.

They say that the nut doesn’t fall too far from the tree, but in Mark’s case, the nut was swept away by a heavy gale and somehow landed under Matthew Mcconaughey’s tree.

Well, that’s it. I’ll write again in another month or so. Keep answering those trivia questions.

*I wasn’t banned or anything, it was mostly due to good taste.

**It could have been worse, believe me.

Here’s a feature story I wrote on bad gifts. It turned out okay and there’s a great picture accompanying it. French author and father of science fiction, Jules Verne, even left a comment, from whatever dimension he’s currently residing.

And I’ve effectively killed any chance I had of winning best columnist with the publication of this.

I despise this!

Although it shouldn’t, it really infuriated me when the governor, in his recent exercise in public delusionment, asked us all to take a deep breathe and be patient, as if we’re all a bunch of naive children worked up over nothing and he’s the voice of reason trying to offer some calm, rational perspective. For all of his corruption, mismanagement, and phony populism, I think it’s his smug condescension and fake salt-of-the-earthiness that I despise the most. I recently saw a clip of his Daily Show appearance where he pretended that he didn’t know it’s a satirical news program. That alone is grounds for impeachment.

I, wait, what?

Experts have been warning that persistent exposure to the Internet can reduce your attention span to ADD-like levels. I think they may be correct.

Although I can still immerse myself in reading, I can’t seem to devote myself to watching an entire movie in one viewing. I’ve been sitting on a Netflix movie for about three weeks and I’m still only about 45 minutes into it. And the thing is, I really like it. It’s an independent joint called Great World of Sound. I’m dying to see the rest of it, I just can’t . . hey look, a kitten.

You wawk, Mawk!

Nothing is quite as adorable as listening to a child who can’t yet pronounce his ‘R’s sing Jingle Bell Rock. If for no other reason, that’s what makes Christmas great and worth the depletion of all discretionary income.

Dances with Chilblains

Yesterday, to quote Tom Waits, was "colder than a well digger’s ass." I’m not sure what that means but it was deathly cold out there. In the time it took me to go from the Meijer store to my car, get Victor safely inside and load the groceries, my jaw had frozen into a excruciating clench. An Arctic wind bellowed across the parking lot, at one point making off with my cart until a kind-hearted passer-by retrieved it. I’m sure I was mere seconds away from a nasty case of congelatio.

Coming soon!

The trivia has proven to be more popular than this random musing crap, so I’ll return with more, but  probably not until after the holidays. I’m working on one entitled: Who’s on Skins? It doesn’t involve Washington D.C.-based football organizations or great Shirt rivalries. That’s all I’m saying for now.

Cool Christmas Song

I heard a really cool Christmas song Saturday on WQNA. It’s not a holly, jolly Christmas song, but one of those boy-do-I-have-some-regrets-being-here-in-here-in-prison-and-all-type holiday songs. It’s by Paul Kelly and titled, How to Make Gravy. You should like it. Also, check out T-Bone Burnett’s rendition of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, if you’re so inclined.

Arresting Development
The Bluths will return in motion picture. Apparently the entire cast of Arrested Development has signed on, save for one unidentified holdout, along with the show’s creators. I know the TV to big screen thing seldom bears fruit, but I just can’t imagine that the collective talent behind one of the greatest sitcoms of all time won’t be able to pull it off. I just hope they don’t take advantage of the less restrictive censorship of the R-rating to have Tobias overcome his never-nudeness.

Real F@*#ing Funny
On the Springfield comedy front, I took in the ADHD Production of Danger Adult Content II at the Hoogland a couple of Fridays past. It was a series of skits by a troupe of local talent that didn’t include Gus Gordon. As a neophyte to the local theatre scene, I didn’t know that was allowed. But they somehow managed and boy did they let the profanities fly.

Mary Young, who sometimes comments here under the fiendishly clever Web moniker “Mary”, starred, along with the inimitable Patrick “the Patrick” Russell, Nancy Cole, Gina DeCroix, Grace Hughes, Connor McNamara, Jeff Nevins, Mac Warren and FM radio’s own, Johnny Molson.

Silly Joel provided musical interludes between skits, with Nick “Mr. Cacciatore” Rogers dropping dope beats behind mad renditions of Billy Joel’s album-oriented-rock songs. The band also groveled mercilessly for donations of beer from audience members, with reported success. I don’t believe that is allowed at a Gus Gordon production.

For me, live entertainment usually means going to hear a band. I’m finally learning to appreciate live theatre and to realize that there’s more going on in Springfield than she just renditions of stage classics.

I’m Saint-Like
This weekend, Patty Redpath and her seven children moved into their Habitat for Humanity home, or as I like to call it, “the house that BFS built.” The dedication was on Sunday and it was a “moving” experience. In all modesty, it is quite satisfying to have pitched in on something that has a huge impact on other people’s lives. I should do it more often.

I Really Screwed Up This Time
They gave me 48 hours, plenty of time to take advantage of the unbelievable deal that I was presented. But I dragged my feet and now it’s too late. So my family will have to suffer all winter long here in the frigid zone and I have no one to blame but myself. Why, oh why didn’t I take the Amish up on their offer?

You may have seen the ad in last Wednesday’s SJ-R. The Amish were offering, free of charge, the popular HEAT SURGE miracle  heater. All I had to do was purchase one of their finely crafted oaken mantels. But no, I put off ordering and the next thing I knew it was Friday and the offer had been rescinded and now my family will freeze. And it’s all my fault.

If by the grace of God the Amish find it in their hearts to extend the offer and run another newspaper advertisement, I swear that I will atone and phone the operators who will be standing by to take my order.

Fun Lunch Tips from the Kitchen at BFS
If you’re like me and getting bored with that salad you have every day for lunch, try tossing some shredded broccoli slaw into the mix. It ups the nutritional count and adds a crunchy texture to the bed of greens. Enjoy!

Hold the Pickles, Hold the Lettuce, Keep the Change, It Won’t Upset Us
McDonald’s has hit upon a novel way to bolster their bottom line during the current economic downturn – shortchanging me.

Twice in recent weeks McD’s staff have taken it upon themselves to round down on the changed owed to me and stick the extra pennies in the company till. A $3.11 breakfast bagel, for which I proffered three and a quarter, netted me only a dime in return. When ordering a single item off of the dollar menu, the clerk first proceeded to tax me on the extra dollar I graciously donated, then decided that I wouldn’t be needing the two cents I had due. Not wishing to hold up the line, I drove forward without protest on both occasions.

The fast-food behemoth estimates that they serve 47 million customers each day. Let’s imagine that they’re skimming the equivalent of two cents American off each order, that’s a cool $940,000 in additional profit, doing nothing more than slightly pissing off their customers under the guise of employee incompetence. Pretty shrewd, Kroc, pretty shrewd.

The iPod Unearths a Gem
Every once in awhile, the random shuffle mode on my iPod will discover a great song that I didn’t know I owned. Last week, it offered up to me Jeff Buckley covering a Leonard Cohen classic widely-known through John Cale’s cover on the Shrek soundtrack. I speak, of course, of Hallelujah. It’s an awesome tune with dark and provocative lyrics, typical of Cohen, who parlayed his prodigious talents, and overcame his average looks, to land Rebecca De Mornay. Buckley, sadly, drowned.

Sometimes, This Blogging Thing Pays Off
Considering all of the joy that this blog spreads, the countless number of people who have been positively impacted by my musings, I’m criminally underpaid for my efforts. But it’s all worth it when a commenter gives me free beer.

Gish, master home-brewer at Red Cobblers Brewery, bestowed upon me a six-pack of sudsy savories last Friday. I’m not particularly good at describing beer by its bouquets, hints of flavor and effervescence. I can tell you that this is no bathtub brew.

My favorite style of beer is pale ale – hoppy and bitter. The problem with some pale ales is that by bottle’s end, they can be a little harsh on the stomach. I’ve always favored Sierra Nevada’s ales because they don’t have this effect. RC’s Artful Pale is similar, and I definitely could drink an entire football game’s worth. Lots of flavor without causing a disturbance.

The Watch Me Pale is similar to the Artful, only less so. Gish says that he cut back on the malt to reduce the calories and alcohol content. For the life of me I can’t figure out why you would want to that, but still, a very nice beverage.

Perhaps my favorite, or at least the most interesting, was the Nameless One. Here I will attempt some brewology and say that this ale has a wine-like acidity that surprises the palate. It’s not really fruity, but it does put me in the mind of Merlot. I really liked this one.

I haven’t tried the Ma & Pa Chapman’s Purely American Bitters yet. Perhaps tonight I’ll catch a bit of MNF and pop it open.

Thanks Gish.

Mexican Breakfast, Anyone?
Gwen Vernon brings the sexy back.

Self Promotion

My column this month is on my undying need not to be on public display. It was inspired by a Heartland story, that ran last Friday, on two people who thrive in the spotlight.

Please Get Out of My Head!

Another columnist wrote recently on one of the unsung benefits of Google and the age of ready information. It’s during those times when you’re struggling to retrieve a piece of information that’s been catalogued in your brain, but you can’t seem to bring up.  So you go to Google, type in some clues and chances are the answer will appear within the first couple of results.

But do you remember what it was like before Google?

Trying to recall a fact, however trivial, could be torturous. Despite there being no pressing need for the information – it could be completely inconsequential – your mind would not let you rest until the answer to your internal query had been found. You’d rack your brain, then rack it some more.  Any attempt to shrug it off or distract yourself would be futile; you’d be forced to slam your book shut or turn the TV off and give your undivided attention to your fruitless pursuit. If you were lucky, you’re brain would bail you out and supply the answer. If not, you were left to anguish.

I remember once, twenty years or so ago, having a single snippet of melody stuck in my head. I was able to keep it at bay for most of the day, but that night, as I awaited sleep, it returned on a continuous loop and the only way to stop it was to discover its origin. I became so desperate that I turned on the clock radio and started scanning the dial, even though I knew the song was no longer in regular rotation. It was hell.  

In case you’re wondering, it turned out to be "Secret Lovers" by …well, why don’t you tell me who sang "Secret Lovers"? No Googling, please.**

Break Me Off a Piece of That Football Cream

In honor of the previous item, please enjoy Andy Bernard in his attempt to remember a candy bar jingle:

Glen Frey. Jive Turkey?

I wasn’t really a fan of the song "Secret Lovers" (by whom?), but back in the days before iPods we spent more time listening to the radio and whatever it had to offer. Which brings me back again to my favorite radio station.

In addition to playing great music you won’t hear anywhere else, WQNA also plays songs that you haven’t heard in years, maybe decades. I’m referring to those songs that recieved airplay in the 70s and 80s, but never made the jump to classic or oldies stations after they fell off the charts. For example, you still hear Naked Eye’s "Always Something There to Remind Me" fairly often on the radio, but when was the last time you heard "When the Lights Go Out"?

As a result, these forgotten oldies remain firmly in the time and place when we first heard them. And even if you didn’t like them then and don’t like them now, they are still mighty powerful at conjuring up some nostalgia.

Just this week I heard Glen Frey’s "Sexy Girl." I was immediately transported back to my freshman year in college. I can remember sitting in my dorm room, hearing it play on the Friday Night Six-Pack, and thinking, "What? Get yo ex-Eagle ass out my radio!"***

Best Two-Word Joke

Pretencious? Moi?

Sound/Texture Ten-Times Worse than Fingernails on a Chalkboard

Sandpaper. Can’t stand the stuff.

A MacArthur Foundation "Genius Grant", Perhaps?

How is it that once again I wasn’t nominated as our city’s First Citizen? Okay, maybe I’m not "Best Blogger", given the commercialization of that award (Der verdammte Smoot!), but clearly my work here has had a profound and positive impact on our community that is immeasurable in scope. Maybe that’s the problem, there’s simply no way to quantify how many lives I’ve bettered.

Na-na na-na na-na na-na,  Na-na na-na na-na na-na

This morning, in a totally unscripted moment, all four kids were in bed with me watching YouTube clips of the circa 1960s Batman television show. I believe "campy" is a word often used to describe that show. Perhaps it’s that campiness that’s allowed it to stand the test of time. I should rent the feature film starring West and Ward for the kids.

Whenever I think of a film from my past that the kids might like, my inner Jack Valenti takes over and I immediately give it a mental review for inappropriate material. For instance, a couple of weeks ago I made reference to "Top Secret", a movie that one local blogger called "criminally underrated." As I was replaying it in my head I thought, "you know, the kids might get a kick out of this." And then I got to the scene with the cow suit. Likewise, the automatic pilot scene in "Airplane."  That Abrahams and Zucker and their mildly suggestive sexual content.

Until Next Sunday

Well, that’s it for now. Probably way too much. Thanks to the Hoods for a great party last Saturday. Should I be sorry or not that I left with the kids before Russ karaoked Jimmy Buffet?

 *Performed by the Bangles. Music and lyrics by Christopher Tracey, better known as …?** and ****

**A BFS action figure for the first caller with the correct answer.

***I was struggling for an identity back then.

****For some reason I always thought Jules Shear wrote this. It turns out he wrote "If She Knew What She Wants."

Although a Cardinal fan by nature, I took no joy in the Cubs’ spectacular flame-out. If I were a gambler, I would have bet good money that this was the year Cub fans have been waiting for.

What I look forward to now is hearing from all of those baseball pundits who picked the Cubbies to win it all to explain how the team was inherently flawed. If that were the case, then why didn’t they pick up on it before the playoffs?

I don’t belief in hexes or superstitions, but I do believe that mental pressure can have dire effects on physical outcomes. Not only did the Cubs have the pressure of being the favorite, based on their record, they also had a century’s-worth of expectations weighing on their bats. I suppose that’s what kept them down. What else could it have been?

Lincolnesque

Next Friday, be sure to catch my feature article in the Heartland. It’s on two local actors and their experience preparing for a play currently running at the ALPLM. I went to the premiere last Thursday and it was excellent. Lincolnesque is a political satire with a tender heart that skewers the culture of our nation’s capital.

With a name like Naumovich, you know we ain’t playing basketball

Victor is coming into his own on the soccer field. Last spring, he picked up the important lesson of hustling at all times. Now in the fall, he’s starting to figure out where he needs to be and where the ball is going before it gets there. He came oh-so-close to netting his first goal on Saturday. His gritty determination on the pitch reminds me of me during my college intramural days. His handsome face and spectacular green eyes remind me of guys that got girls I never could in college.

Maria is also playing great, bringing her toughness and intensity to the midfielder/defender position. Although she’s in a co-ed league, most of the competing teams have genetically engineered their rosters to ensure a Y chromosome in each player. They’re getting to the age where this does make a difference. I’ll have to teach her how to use her elbows and where a well-placed kick can be directed to render her competition useless.

Funny is funny, except when it’s our guy

Without question Joe Biden is a hundred times more qualified to be vice president – and should it come to pass, president – than Sarah Palin. It amuses me, however, that bloggers who are chomping at the bit to poke fun at every gaffe Palin makes saw nothing rib-worthy in Biden’s claim that FDR’s presidential reign and television both existed during the dawn of the Great Depression.

Get the Stray

Local Fetchin’ Bones fans (me) are rejoicing this weekend at the discovery that their Bad Pumpkin and Galaxy 500 albums are finally available for digital download. The Bones came of age during the Athens, GA years and they play a twangy/swing/rock hybrid featuring the strong vocals of Hope Nicholls. If you’d like a primer, I’d recommend "Steamwhistle", "Stray" and "Tag Along."

Might doesn’t make right

Maybe it’s always been this way, but it seems that Police Beat abounds recently with stories of people beating each other up. What gives?

I’m not sure we can solve the problems of ineffectual schools and predatory loans until we get people to realize that you can’t beat up pregnant teenagers while they’re sitting and waiting for an exam.

BFS Sunday Trivia*

Who said quizzically, rather than forlornly, when lunch arrived:  "What am I, chopped liver?"

*BFS admiration could be yours!

Even if you don’t care for my Sunday columns that appear in the SJ-R, surely you must look forward to the investigative stories that I uncover. This week, I expose some local residents who – get this – look like celebrities. I confronted them and made them explain themselves in this hard-hitting piece that is sure to set the city reeling.

Oh stewardess. I speak jive.

Even if ya’ duzn’t care fo’ mah’ Sunday columns dat appear in de SJ-R, sho’ manly ya’ gots’ta look fo’ward t’de investigative sto’ies dat ah’ uncover. Ah be baaad… Dis week, ah’ ’spose some local residents who – dig dis – look likes celebrities. ah’ confronted dem and made dem ‘esplain demselves in dis hard-hittin’ piece dat be sho’ man t’set da damn city reelin’.

The proceeding paragraph is a translation of the first paragraph after interpretation by the Dialectizer. Other cartoonish dialects include: Moron, Cockney, Pig Latin, Swedish Chef, Hacker and Elmer Fudd. It’s basically a parlor trick for the Internet age. I’m sure it will piss somebody off.

It’s me britches!

I’m proud to say that I’ve been sporting the same jean size for over ten years now. Sure, the snugness fluctuates, but I haven’t had to go up a size and I’m currently enjoying a period of relative comfort when I button the waistband. The downside to this story is, I appear to be losing height, a precarious predicament for someone who didn’t have a lot to begin with.

The 30-inch inseam used to suit me just fine. However, the last two pairs of jeans I’ve purchased extend well past heel level and have me walking on a swatch of denim. I realize that I’m suffering from changing fashion trends and not osteoporosis.

First drooping waist bands, now descending inseams, soon, style will dictate that we simply drag our trousers behind us.

Preaching to the choir

I didn’t watch the debate and thus I’m not qualified to comment on it. I am confident that the candidate you support was great and thoroughly embarrassed the other guy. It’s always that way with debates.

Goodbye, Neek**

.

Last night we bid adieu to famed A&E editor, Nick "Unpainted Huffhines" Rogers and his wife, the cellist Abby. They’re heading to Indiana.

To mark the occassion, their band, Silly Joel, played a show at the Pizza Machine. SJ is a cover band specializing in, you guessed it,  Billy Joel songs, and, opportunistically, a few by Prince. Before hearing them, I thought they were basically a joke band. They are, but they’re also highly entertaining. I liked the Prince songs better, although Moving Out was a hoot.

It was an enjoyable night out. I got to see a couple of blog gers, some folks from the SJ-R, and a local actor whom I’m in the midst of interviewing for an upcoming story.

They’re finally fighting, those Irish

So far have the Irish fallen that I no longer watch the games live. Practical and health concerns have compelled me to DVR the broadcasts and tune-in should the result be favorable. With four active kids, I just can’t block off four hours on a Saturday afternoon to watch football. And since bad Notre Dame football induces angina, I’m better off not subjecting myself to that which causes me pain.

But I’ll be damned if the boys aren’t 3-1 and coming off their most impressive performance in years. Seeing as most of their playmakers are freshmen and sophomores, perhaps better days lie ahead. For those of you that care.

The Keglers

For a belated birthday party, I took Victor and a couple of his amigos bowling. Since we let Mark tag along, he completed the foursome so I didn’t bowl. However, during a bathroom break, I did avail myself of a couple of turns. It’s worth noting that without the deflector in place, three of my four throws would have ended up in the gutter. I do have a Wii bowling average in the 170s, a much better barometer of one’s athletic ability.

*Official BFS admiration to the first person who can name the song that this title was inspired by.

**A free two-week pass to BFS-Infinity if you can name this character.