Monday, January 29, 2007
Suddenly, we're standing in a forest and Pat tells me to plug my guitar into a large, nearby boulder because he likes the way it resonates. Then, he rubs dirt and mud all over the boulder and tells me that that'll help open up the sound.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
(Photo copyright CBS.)
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Some chick was doing a trick pool shot in the gutter of Haddon Avenue. She used the pool cue to gently push a car forward so she could get to the cue ball. The shot included one of the pool balls rolling along an overhanging tree branch about ten feet up and falling into the gutter. Eventually, two of the balls rolled about twenty feet along the curb and dropped into the sewer (although I think only one was supposed to).
The shot wasn't a complete success, but it was impressive nonetheless, and I was the first spectator to applaud.
She was pretty cute. I should've asked for her number.
Monday, January 22, 2007
(Image Copyright © 2007 Benihana Inc.)
We’ve all seen him, creepily leering at us while we sleep, or just outside our window waiting for us open the shade. I am talking, of course, about The Burger King. I would say it’s because he’s gotten a big head, but he’s always had one—a big plastic head of never-changing emotion—and that emotion is... pure evil.
It began innocently enough, with a children’s birthday party here and there, and perhaps a cardboard crown or two. It was accepted that he would never beat McDonald's and that was alright. They’d do they’re own thing. Sure, the fries weren’t as good. But the pseudo–char-broiling process was enough to keep people coming back, and that was fine. It was normal. But something happened in the early 2000s that changed everything: home invasions. While it’s understood that The King wants to get the word out about his new breakfast sandwiches, breaking into people’s houses and sitting in their beds is not the way to do it. Because of The King’s Burgerarchy, one cannot challenge him without fear of execution. Knowing this, even more heinous creations are coming from him by the day.
Take the Burger King "Quadstacker," for instance. Four burgers stacked on top of one another. FOUR. It is this extreme example of overindulgence and sheer hubris that proves The King MUST be relieved of power. I implore you good people of the world—a revolution is needed. Join me, brothers and sisters, for the first meeting next Wednesday in McDonaldland. Mayor McCheese will be M.C.
(Photo copyright Burger King/Blarg.com.)
Friday, January 19, 2007
You hear it every season. Does the NFL want certain teams to win and instruct its referees to favor the desired franchise? Troy Polamalu’s overturned interception in last season's AFC divisional playoff game. A very late false-start flag on the Eagles' Scott Young in last week’s NFC divisional playoff. The "facemask" penalty on Bronco Nagurski in the 1934 NFL Championship game, which predated the invention of the face-masked helmet by nearly twenty years.
Perhaps league preference is merely fan paranoia. But if it isn’t and the NFL really does pull the strings, then I urge Commissioner Roger Goodell to finagle a New Orleans–New England Super Bowl.
Because nothing in the history of professional sports would lend cause to party like a Saints-Pats showdown.
Should that match-up come to fruition this weekend, Goodell must postpone the big game until March 17. Sure, this would be a dangerously unpopular move and hand everyone a ridiculous six-week wait that would drain every last drop of anticipation and excitement from the event. But the payoff! A Saints-Pats Super Bowl on St. Pat’s Day. Drinking on a scale never before seen. Excessively intoxicated fans everywhere—many of them female and eager to relieve themselves of clothing. New Year’s Eve 1999 in Times Square would be a Women's Christian Temperance Union meeting held on a Sunday in Pennsylvania during Prohibition by comparison.
And when better to celebrate a Super Bowl featuring superlative Irish players named Brady and McAllister than on St. Patrick’s Day?
Commissioner Goodell would do well to take a page from Pete Rozelle, the visionary progressive who brought the National Football League to national television, negotiated the NFL-AFL merger, and ensured that O.J. Simpson would not kill anyone in the stadium by enacting a harsh loss-of-down penalty for homicide.
Let’s hope that Commissioner Goodell has the good sense and the gumption to see this through—and we’ll all share the record for the longest bomb in Super Bowl history.
Erin Go Brees!
Nearly every commercial even remotely having to do with a detergent of some kind mentioned its effects against this silent killer of shirt-collar whiteness. Slowly, the enemy receded through powerful breakthroughs in washing technology. Now, here in the 21st century, there is hardly a whisper of what was once the great plague of our times. Surely these problem-solving geniuses are now tackling AIDS and cancer with the sure-footed confidence that they once stared into the face of a monster (the monster consisting of mostly filthy children and men who never wash their necks) and won!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
the eternal runner-up. You’re not quite there, but so close it’s maddening. It was enough to drive Jack Torrance completely off his rocker (albeit his alcoholism, homely wife interrupting with annoying sandwiches, repeated cleanup of blood-gushing elevators, and, of course, the ghosts telling him to kill were all probably factors). It’s difficult to just get out of bed with the foreboding knowledge that Thursday is the last day any real work is accomplished, as the free pass to slack off on Friday dangles above you.
Even Jack knew he was going to have to crank out 30 or 40 pages of “All work and no play….” to keep from indeed becoming a dull boy a little early on Friday and get ready to party down with Grady and that guy in the bear suit. So, here’s to us…trying to make it through yet another day of purgatory without completely devolving into insanity.
(Photo copyright Warner Bros., 1980.)
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Monday, January 15, 2007
Did I just disprove Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity?
My phone rang. A coworker kindly offered me tickets to a Meat Loaf concert. My vehement refusal commenced at some point during the changing of the t sound into the L. Approximating the time elapsed from when her mouth began forming Meat to the time at which I turned down the tickets in an expletive-laden panic the instant the subject of the offer became recognizable as really, really fast, my nerve impulse made a mad dash from brain to larynx at a rate surely rivaling the speed of light.
Certainly, I don’t purport to possess even a fraction of Albert Einstein’s intelligence. However, Einstein died 22 years before Bat Out of Hell made Meat Loaf a radio favorite—thus, he knew nothing of Meat Loaf's music or the human brain’s ability to achieve unthinkable speed in sheltering itself from sickening tripe-rock.
The Jet Propulsion Laboratory cannot confirm my theory...but at least they were listening to Zeppelin when I called.
(Photo of Einstein copyright The Nobel Foundation, 1921.)
Friday, January 12, 2007
Some common Camel Spider Myths
They can, however, eat a tank whole.
1. Camel spiders can move at speeds over 30 mph, screaming while they
2. Camel spiders can be as large as a frisbee.
3. Camel spiders' venom is an anesthetic that numbs their prey.
4. Camel spiders can jump three feet high.
5. Camel spiders get their name because they eat the stomachs of
— from Camelspiders.net
(Photo copyright Camelspiders.net.)
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Redo your walls in soothing pastels, invest in a matching Chenille bedspread (preferably with floral pattern), and adorn the interior with silk window scarves to reenact the opening scene of Apocalypse Now in the comfort and coziness of your newly Victorian-styled bedroom.
Don't forget to set ceiling fan to "medium."
Syosset...I'm still only in Syosset...
(Full-length mirror, khaki Army briefs, and stereo playing "The End" not shown.)
(Photo copyright Morning Dove Inn.)
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
Monday, January 8, 2007
(Photo copyright Jeff Victor.)
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Or is it?
Am I the only person on Earth who's realized that Tony Dungy and Herm Edwards...are the same guy? I mean...look:
Quantum mechanics predicts that subatomic particles can be in two places at once. Although neither Tony Dungy nor Herm Edwards qualify under current NFL regulations as subatomic particles, scientists understand so little about this bizarre possibility that they cannot rule out Dungy and Edwards possessing the ability to act like photons.
If all of this scientific jargon is too confusing, look again at the bewildering similarity of these "two" men:
They even point the same.
I realize my assertion is hard to fathom in the wake of Dungy's Colts and Edwards' Chiefs squaring off in yesterday afternoon's AFC Wild Card game, during which each man was clearly visible on his own sideline (and can even be seen before yesterday's opening kickoff, above, possibly forming with their arms an Einstein-Rosen bridge—what we generally know as a "wormhole" in the space-time continuum—which would explain a lot). Certainly, much more work needs to be done in the field of theoretical physics if we ever hope to understand the phenomenon of a single NFL coach piloting two different teams at the same time.
Some say the NFL should keep its nose out of the atom—and maybe they're right. So if the strange potential of quantum mechanics isn't the culprit, then this Dungy-Edwards matter is being done with mirrors, and we're all victims of the greatest illusionist since Houdini.
Why have Terry, Howie, Jimmy, and J.B. not uttered a word about this during the halftime report?
(All photos copyright Associated Press.)
Thursday, January 4, 2007
But there were some lesser-known episodes interspersed throughout that had a very peculiar pattern to which my feeble brain eventually caught on. If it involves aliens or spaceships, the "twist ending" always involves Earth in some proto–Planet of The Apes way.
(Photo copyright CBS.)
Colonel Sanders brought finger-lickin’-good chicken to millions of hungry Americans. But the secret recipe wasn’t his only secret. The “Colonel” served a mere six months in the United States Army...never rising above the rank of private.
The man who founded KFC couldn’t even land a promotion to PFC.
And yet the world knows him as a colonel.
Under Article 134 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, impersonating a commissioned officer is a court-martial offense, punishable by dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and imprisonment from six months to three years.
Apparently, Colonel Sanders took the Army’s slogan “Be all you can be” a bit too literally. Luckily for him, all official files were inadvertently destroyed during a botched quarterback draw in the 1994 Army-Navy Game.
(Photo copyright corbinkentucky.us)
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
But this time I settled myself down and calmly said "Twenty after two." The lady thanked me, and I exited stage left with my coffee and my dignity.
(Images from Ticketmaster.com.)
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
The 15th-century Romanian prince, Vlad Dracula (a/k/a Vlad Tepes [meaning "the impaler"]), has been forever immortalized as a vampire, albeit in literature form, thanks to Bram Stoker. As the novel Dracula gained in popularity, so did the back story of the man from whom its inspiration came, and tales of his infamous savagery in war came to light. But recent evidence (see 15th-century woodcut at upper left) suggests it may in fact have been Vlad's love of great barbecue that gave him the nickname "Tepes" after all.
Shish kebab skewers were not yet the streamlined modern marvels they are today back in the 1400s, but they did the job—a job young Vlad Dracul came to love. Impaling succulent beef, tomatoes, onions, and potatoes became a dark obsession. Sure, being the Prince of Wallachia had its drawbacks—the especially hairy women, the Ottoman Empire constantly getting up in your face—but there was definitely some down time for a happenin' prince to cook up some great kebabs with Transylvania's finest ingredients. I hear his secret ingredient was wolfsbane. I mean, if you could have a delicious meal AND keep werewolves away, wouldn't you?
It's that kind of multitasking that made Vlad effective whether he was fighting hunger pangs or Turks. It may be quite a while for him to be fully recognized for his seminal barbecue work, but once this whole 800-year worldwide interest in vampires fad eventually fades, perhaps we can get back to reality and cook up some Transylvanian tasties!