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.

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.

SHG head coach Ken Leonard congratulates his team after they defeated Lemont during the IHSA 6A football championship game Saturday, Nov. 29, 2008 in Champaign. Ted Schurter/The State Journal-Register.

Congratulations to the Cyclones. Three titles in the last four years.  I had to watch on TV this time because Tammy went to a wedding so I was home with the kids. I have no hand. No hand!

SHG’s Blake Pranger smashes into Providence’s Tim Hanrahan Saturday, Nov. 22, 2008 during the 6A semifinal football game in New Lenox. Ted Schurter/The State Journal-Register

First of all, this is just a great picture by the SJ-R’s Ted Schurter. You can almost feel and hear the collision. In an age where everyone can snap high-quality pictures with their digital cameras, this illustrates that professional photography is a craft that most of us won’t master.

Second, if you love football, you have to love the effort. A perfect form tackle with so much force that the defender is parallel to the ball carrier as he drives him to the turf.

And finally, it exemplifies Cyclone football: effort, desire and discipline.

Since, after a brief illusion of reprise, the Irish are back to sucking again and in need of a total rehaul, this is the only football-related joy left in my life. Unfortunately, Tammy has a wedding to attend next weekend and I may not be able to get to Champaign for the championship.

If you’d like to babysit four* wonderful, well-behaved and easily tranquilled children next weekend, please send me a line. All offers, serious or otherwise, will be considered.

*Maybe just three. Victor will probably want to go with me.

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.

The archeologist in me was fascinated by this find during a weekend birthday party at one of the lake parks.

For you younger readers, that is what was known as a ‘pull tab’ (the Latin name escapes me.) They were used on canned beverages, a marvel of ingenuity at the time as it eliminated the need for a church key, also known as the pointy side of a bottle opener.

By my recollection, pull taps gave way to today’s pop-tops in the late 80s (I was busy studying in college at the time so I may be off a bit on this.) The design alteration was prompted by the popular trend of putting the recently pulled tab back into the full can of beer, and the less popular trend of then swallowing said tab, much to the dismay of the esophagus.

All that said, almost all drinkable beer comes in a bottle or on tap so there’s little need to concern yourself with opening a beverage can unless a soda would hit the spot.

Back to my discovery, I realize that the aluminum pull tabs aren’t readily degradable, yet I was surprised that so many of them could still be found lying around the park. I suppose I thought they would have either washed away or ended up as buried relics.

There’s a story behind each of the tabs that litter the park, most of which involve underage drinking. Perhaps one of those tabs belonged to you.

E.L.F ♥ Wal-Mart

The geographics of my existence find me driving past the new Wal-Mart quite often. While doing so, I’ve noticed something out of the ordinary trolling the grounds – an old fire department pumper.

Through my day job and my freelance work, I’ve learned a thing or two about green construction and sustainable design. I’ve also read about how the demon Wal-Mart is in many ways an innovator when it comes to incorporating green principles into their stores. So while I don’t know for certain the pumper’s purpose, I can offer an educated guess.

Behind the new store is a retention pond where rainwater that runs off the impervious pavement is captured. The pumper draws water from the pond into its internal apparatus. The truck is then driven around the grounds and the water dispersed to irrigate the grass and plant life. This, in lieu of a traditional sprinkler system which would draw treated water from the water mains at a much higher cost in terms of energy expended.

Now I know that Wal-Mart has its faults, but shouldn’t the green among us be applauding such efforts and encouraging other businesses to follow suit.

Nothing Personal, But Your Candidate Doesn’t Care Much for You

I don’t hate either candidate running for president. I can see some good in both of them and wouldn’t mind sharing a beer with either. But maybe if I knew them better, I’d think differently.

A columnist I read regularly and respect almost as often, wrote recently that most candidates who reach the pinnacle of office seeking aren’t nice people. This wasn’t a partisan assessment. Said columnist leans to the left, but saw no need to modify his statement with ideological qualifiers. And since he’s a history-minded sort and of rather high intellect, I tend to give his summation credence.

Afterall, you have to have an awfully big ego to think that you’re up for the most important job in the world. Nothing wrong with that, per se, but the egotistical tend to have a skewed view of reality and their place in it. And your place in it.

And while politicians have to do a lot of kissing up, they also have to be willing to piss people off. You can not let ambition be derailed by kindness or sincerity. Those with the most ambition probably have the fewest qualms about stepping on some heads on their way up the ladder.

Go On and Kick It, Kickboy

The home team lines up for a last second field goal to win the big game against their arch rivals, the Visitors. The Visitors have, in their possession, a time out, perfect for "icing" the Kicker. By now, everyone in the stadium knows that the tension and excitement created as the teams initially line up in field goal formation will be broken when the side judge rushes in to whistle time out. Everyone, including the Kicker.

That’s why I say, forget the time out and make him kick. The Kicker probably doesn’t even bother to fully mentally prepare himself until the time out has been exhausted, so you might catch him in a moment of lassitude.

That I’m a football-minded genius despite having never really played the game is apparent.

Slackjawed and Jigsaws

Last night, Victor and I tackled an exotic bird puzzle. We’ve been listening to "Fear and Loathing in Springfield" on WQNA on past occasions, but it wasn’t airing for some reason. So I dug deep into the CD archive and pulled out one I hadn’t played in years.

The Connells are one of those bands whose loyal following swears they are the best band in the world. They’ve never reached that status with me, but they are some mighty strong purveyors of semi-powerful pop.

We listened to their entire ‘Ring" album, Material Issue’s "International Pop Overthrow" and were well into "World of Monsters" by the Drovers by the time we finished the 300-piece puzzle. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday evening.

Lithuania, our homeland,
Land of heroes!
Let your sons draw their strength
From our past experience

Let your children always follow
Only roads of virtue,
May your own, mankind’s well-being
Be the goals they work for

May the sun above our land
Banish darkening clouds around
Light and truth all along
Guide our steps forever

May the love of Lithuania
Brightly burn in our hearts.
For the sake this land
Let unity blossom

Once again, in the mother tongue:

Lietuva, Tėvyne mūsų,
Tu didvyrių žeme,
Iš praeities Tavo sūnūs
Te stiprybę semia.

Tegul Tavo vaikai eina
Vien takais dorybės,
Tegul dirba Tavo naudai
Ir žmonių gėrybei.

Tegul saulė Lietuvoj
Tamsumas prašalina,
Ir šviesa, ir tiesa
Mūs žingsnius telydi.

Tegul meilė Lietuvos
Dega mūsų širdyse,
Vardan tos Lietuvos
Vienybė težydi!

I got to sit and talk with Nick, Johann (thanks for the beer) and Shoo for a couple of innings before my children – suffering from fatigue after a day at the water park, coupled with intense boredom – risked getting us all removed from the premises. Still it was fun while it lasted.

Uber-commentors Nancy and Rock were there with their family, but they choose to separate themselves from the common blogger and sit in the elite seats behind home plate.

I don’t know why the turnout of bloggers was so low; the weather was beautiful. I’m sure if Springfield had a professional soccer team, we would have gotten a much better response.

I read an article a month or so ago about a novel attempt to improve the quality of play on England’s national volleyball team and rowing crew. Rather than limit competitors to people who already participate in these sports, an open call was made to athletic types who were over a certain height. The purpose of the tryout was initially kept a secret.

The reasoning of the sporting commission was that there were probably a lot of people with a natural ability to excel at these sports who, for various reasons, have never competed at them. They figured that it would be easier to find superior athletes and teach them the sports, than to take current volleyballers and rowers and try to get them to be more athletic. The article indicated that the plan was successful.

This got me to thinking about the U.S.’s failure to climb to the top of world soccer competition. The reason for this, I’m convinced, is that while most countries’ best athletes make their way to the soccer pitch, in America, our best athletes play football, basketball and baseball.

Among all of the incredibly gifted football, basketball and baseball players in this country who nevertheless fail to make it to their preferred sports’ professional ranks, there has to be some world-class soccer talent.

Here’s my proposal, slightly stolen, for improving the fortunes of our national soccer team.

Establish soccer academies/charter schools in the inner cities of our major metropolises. Starting at fifth grade, students tryout for a spot in the academy. The youngsters are graded on athleticism and discipline, with a nod given to previous academic achievement.

Those accepted receive a free, high-quality education through high school. During that time, they also train and compete on the soccer field. After they complete their years at the academy, those that no longer wish to pursue soccer, either in college or in the professional ranks, receive a scholarship to a four-year college or technical school.

By tapping into this new demographic for talent, the level of play of our national team will rise considerably as these new soccer-bred players make their way up.

You know, I believe that will all have undeveloped talents and unrecognized gifts. Who knows, if your parents didn’t push you into figure skating, maybe you could have been a highly-decorated archer. And you over there, you might have excelled at the pole vault, if you didn’t spend all of that on the Nintendo.

The reason I mention this topic right now is because this weekend I discovered a hidden talent of my own.

I was at a cookout Saturday evening to celebrate the birth of our nation. There were many activities to accompany the food and drink: swimming, karaoke, basketball and the tossing of the pigskin. A few of the guests even broke out into a game of bocce ball, and eventually asked me to join.

I didn’t enter the game until a few rounds in, after the other players had a chance to rack up points. No matter; I quickly established myself as a master, and, after a tight match, came out victorious. My superior play was as much a surprise to me as it was to the more experienced also-rans.

Two things to note here:

First, this was my first attempt at bocce ball. The primitive Roman game was never a part of our Lithuanian holiday rituals.

Second, one of my fallen competitors was of Italian descent, and therefore, a ringer by nature. As I understand it, in his old country a bocce ball player who loses to a non-native player is exiled from their village and forced to live out their days transiently in shame. I’m sure this fellow won’t be damned to a similar fate, but he is probably sufficiently chagrined after being shown up on his own turf.

Anyway, I enjoyed bocce ball and look forward to playing again. It’s probably too late to make a career of it, but I can continue to dominate the cookout circuit.

So my advice to you is to step outside of your current comforts and interests and try something new. Who knows, maybe you’ll be able to humiliate one of your friends as well. It’s a wonderful feeling.