A few days ago I saw where the 2 goalies for the Carolina Hurricanes went down with injuries while the Canes were on the road in Toronto for a game with the Maple Leafs. Seeing as Carolina had no goalies available, the NHL rules stipulate that the home team (the Leafs) has to supply the opposing team with an “emergency” goalie, apparently meaning “anybody you can come up with”. (Kinda reminds me of the movie “Slapshot” with Paul Newman.) Anyhoo, the guy that the Leafs came up with was their f@&*ing zamboni driver (I’m dead-on serious here). The guy’s name is David Ayres and he will live in history along with Miracle on Ice team as one of the most insane and improbable developments in hockey history. The beauty part is that he actually recorded a win, stopping 8 out of 10 shots with a defense that musta been goin’ beserk trying to limit shot opportunities. The zamboni driver. Yeah man. Sign me up every time.
With all due respect to Bill Murray in “Caddyshack” (“the crowd goes silent as they await the new Masters champion”), you my friend are a full-on liar if you never fantasized about saving the day in a crucial sports situation. (“My God, Carl Yastrzemski has broken his ankle on a 3 and 2 count in extra innings and there’s nobody left to replace him! But wait! Here’s Jimmy coming down from the stands to stand in! Can you believe it folks!!??Here’s the pitch!! Holy Mackerel!! It’s over the wall for a Red Sox win!!!)
Next up, I enjoy watching the show “Ghost Hunters” whereby the hunters go into various places at night, flip the lights off to the point where their suddenly tripping over stuff in order to find evidence of spiritual activity with fascinating results. Ask yourself this question, “what amount of paranormal events would it take to freak me the hell out to the point where I become a God-Fearin’, full on believer in the afterlife”? I believe I know the answer to this inasmuch as I’d probably draw the line at a screaming, disembodied head floating across my bedroom.
Last, I saw a replay of the Rolling Stones concert in Havana, Cuba on AXS TV last night that I thought might not be so great inasmuch as the Stones were pretty much fossils and couldn’t execute in the way they did during their prime. Wrong!! That show was so spectacular that I think it’ll stick w/me forever even tho I wasn’t actually there. The highlight here was backup vocalist Sasha Allen who took a legendary rock and roll song and managed to ramp it up beyond what it already was. (Listen to how sloppy this performance was at the opening and then pay attention to how strong and tight they sounded after she sauntered up to the front of the stage and HOWLED out her vocals. Not content w/that she then brings the best anti-war song ever to it’s conclusion with her smooth, haunting style over a suddenly strong rhythm section that brings back the effect of an urgent ticking clock.)
Sometimes it does take a woman’s touch to straighten out the guys. Here’s the video and don’t be afraid to say Hiya Fathead!
I really enjoy seeing snippets from the morning news broadcasts displaying people enjoying the beach, lickin’ sno-cones, smacking golf balls into unfindable territory and sailboats giving a sense of scope to an otherwise endless blue horizon.
Speaking of the latter, my Dad owned a small (10 feet at best) Sunfish sailboat during the 1970’s leading to my teenage siblings and my sub-teenage self to think it’d be a swell idea to take the Sunfish out to various local lakes and sail away the day. Conceptually, this struck the unsuspecting eight year old me as a great adventure and just the thing to do.
Having unsafely strapped the hull of our noble vessel to the top of my Dad’s station wagon and storing the various other needed accoutrements (mast, sail, rudder, etc…) in the rear of the vehicle, we set off. Arriving at the lake with all equipment intact and incurring no injuries to the general public thus far we felt emboldened to put ourselves and our assumedly seaworthy ship in the water. (I like how my Dad figured this expedition dangerous to the point where he was willing to let me go out there but only under the condition that I wore a life vest.) Being too young to understand that the vest shoulda set off warning flags in my head we headed off onto the lake in a sailboat that The Three Stooges would’ve considered overloaded.
At first everything was progressing famously what with the slight breeze, open water and Admiral Tom competently manning the sail ropes while steering us to a triumphant trip upon an unimpeachably pleasant cruise. That’s when the weather came up.
When the first high winds of the oncoming thunderstorm hit the sail of the Sunfish, we capsized with what I would call “authority”. A mighty struggle ensued involving the crew flipping our now upside-down (and only means of transportation) back to it’s original state minus the mast and sail. (They’re probably still sitting at the bottom of the lake.)
Alertly sensing danger, Mom and Dad vehemently encouraged us to hang on to a vessel I now refer to as the “Andrea Doria” then swim back to shore in spite of sudden and strong lightning strikes. Therefore, I made a few decisions about one or two aspects of my future life…
- Being violently thrown overboard from a vessel of any size has a high uncoolness factor.
- I gained a sudden preference for motor-driven vessels when it comes to water-involved means of transportation.
- Never trust any member of my family again when they say stuff like “It’ll be fine” or “What could possibly go wrong?”
Anyway, I stumbled upon a few videos from the blues/country categories strangely based on themes for a TV show. If that’s what it takes to keep The Blues going then count me in…
Here’s a tremendous band called the Forest Rangers doing a number called “John the Revelator” followed by an equally impressive number dubbed “Forever Young” each featuring a different lead vocalist.
See u on down the road…
OK. Back again after my yearly bout with anemia and willing, even eager to write about the usual goofy stuff I usually, umm, goofily write about. Let’s start with the usual s#%t with the morning news wherein we’re kept up to date as to the weather, the current political atmosphere, who got murdered or otherwise mauled last night and personal interest stories about celebrities getting outta control and fake doctors who somehow manage to put themselves in a postion to conduct “inappropriate breast exams”.
The fake doctor thing got me thinking. What, exactly, do you need to do to pass yourself off as a physician without having any qualifications whatsover? Television commercials are helpful here as they seem to imply that all you need is a white lab coat, a stethoscope and a concerned demeanor. Additionally, you’ll be needing a sterile office environment complete with an unwitting administative assistant, bogus diplomas and posters displaying the more subtle points of the human anatomy (intimidating patients with an actual skeleton hanging from a metal rack’ll will really sell the effect here. It sure works on me.)
All in all, I never appreciated what it takes to be a molesting doctor before. These guys have really put in the effort here. Good luck in prison block B!
Next, will the next rock n’ roll icon please start developing a drug habit? Seriously, outside of Ted Nugent, Angus Young and Gene Simmons I couldn’t name ya any rock stars from the 70’s that were sober. I always considered that era the time of innovation, progress, setting higher standards and getting as f^&$ed up as possible. Currently, this era seems hell bent on staying as milquetoast, unpioneering and uninteresting as can be, valuing a technically proficient hand superior to an inspired one.
I’ll take the Ramones blasting the hell outta their garage any day of the week.
I saw a story this morning about a wounded dolphin that was rescued and nursed back to health under high scrutiny by his/her handlers. This is what humanity likes about itself insomuch as one dolphin can be saved while 5,000 are caught and die in fishing nets each year seeing as they’re suddenly denied the privilege of surfacing for air. What’s the term for that again? I think it’s called “collateral damage” where the dolphins are considered expendable for the sake of our seafood dining.
But I digress. The wounded dolphin was immediately dubbed “Flipper”. I for one think this reflects poorly on our species in as much as we can’t improve on the badly overused, stereotypical moniker already employed by the old TV show and the Miami Dolphins mascot. I wonder what the actual wild, free-roaming porpoises think about this every time one is caught. (BTW-Are dolphins the same thing as porpoises?) Imagine this conversation:
Amy the Friendly Dolphin (halting her frolicking for a moment): “Omigod, This is a disaster! Gus just caught by the humans! What’re we gonna do?”
Stan the Dolphin: “Damn straight it’s a disaster. He owes me fifty bucks. Well, I guess he’s ‘Flipper’ from now on.”
I’m writing this while semi-watching the Golden Globe awards wherein it seems that suddenly famous people who built their careers based on taking chances are so averse to doing so now. Just a thought, but Bill Murray, Dave Chapelle and Daniel Tosh r still out there folks. Whoa! Hold the proverbial phone here but not only one yet two award recipients (the second being Christian Bale) just got bleeped (was the first Ben Stiller?) in an unexpected development. I was mostly expecting preachy, self-serving speeches (one so far) about various issues that I coulda made fun of but won’t cuz I’m admittedly starting to change my tune so as to fall in with our brainwashed Hollywood elite. (Being seen not applauding during a celebrity’s self-righteous, indignant speech can really bring trouble to the uncooperative actor.) Not falling for that trap, my friends!
Turning to another point, I’m getting a little sick of my local news channel suddenly interrupting your “regular programming” with “breaking news” that ultimately winds up being a big pile of nuthin’. I don’t mind waiting ’til five o’clock to hear this stuff, man.
If you haven’t already noticed this is a placeholder column until (proud to say our third writer) Kate’s music column is up and ready to go. On this site, anything goes. (Anybody a cartoonist? I’d love to have one man, even if other people think u stink.)
Hey, hey and Ho, Ho Dear readers! Lotsa stuff to get to today so let’s dispense with the niceities and proceed right to the usual buffoonery…
I saw in the news recently where there was a lady who had the power go out in her house and sensibly fumbled her way into the cellar to find and subsequently light a candle in order to gain some light thus enabling her to see where she was going and generally provide light to her now very small world. Sound thinking, right? Well, these apparently simple tasks sometimes come with an unforeseen downside as we all know and this case is especially noteworthy as the “candle” she was trying to light was in reality a stick of dynamite.
Don’t get me wrong here, as a fellow citizen who also tucks my candles into the same type of drawers and in the same normally sensible proximity to dynamite I see this is as a triumph of the American Will. I ask you my fellow Americans, in what other country is it OK to accidently risk blowing your block to kingdom come while inciting references to Bugs Bunny and The Three Stooges? No country that I wanna live in and that’s for damn sure. (To our friends at the NSA who’re obviously reading this now that I used the word “dynamite”, I’m just goofin’ around here man)
Speaking of The Three Stooges, I normally refrain from commenting on people’s personal appearance because I’m a fine one to talk but I recently came across a guy who’s toupee reminded me of Moe Howard’s hairdo (“Hey Moe! It’s a tarantula!!)
Next up, why do people who had a sufficient amount of dozing say that they “slept like a baby”? What’re u trying to tell me, that you woke up screaming every three hours?
Having seen the two previous posts, my daughter is trying to straighten me out on the state of modern music in apparent hopes that I’ll embrace some of the newer bands. If u consider her as Lisa Simpson and me as Homer you’ll get the idea that she’s usually right about alotta stuff and this time I want in on the ground floor. In this, the first case she confronted me with will be a band called “Cage the Elephant”. Having listened to their “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked”, they appear to me to be a cross between Run DMC and Paul Revere and the Raiders but form your own impressions with the video supplied below…
Given the ridiculously fiery temperatures here in Philly lately, I thought I’d cool us all off with a little humor ala Rodney Dangerfield and Henny Youngman…
It’s so hot I demanded to have my tonsils re-inserted just for the ice cream.
It’s so hot that the local wildlife formed a committee demanding access to my air conditioning. (To their credit, they made a strong, well thought-out concession by begrudgingly yet willingly use the toilet while simultaneously promising not to pee in my barbecue grill for the next 3 months. In return, I receive a year’s supply of acorns but I hadda agree to flush the aforementioned toilet insomuch as the little varmints can’t reach the flapper. Man did I get the better end of that deal!)
Speaking of wildlife, the owl outside my window went from saying “who” to saying “what the f#&k?”.
A local chef told me that the lobsters are now voluntarily jumping into the pot.
It’s so hot that even South America is making fun of us. (Hey, at least we’ve never had to resort to eating our shoelaces, man.) Actually and having said it, I think I’ll book a flight to Africa just to cool off for a week.
It’s so hot that I suddenly got the hallucination that Donald Trump is president.
Now should the power suddenly cut out, here’s a few vital steps that will need to be taken…
- Open the windows as to let as much fresh air as possible in.
- Fill your bathtub with fresh water before you lose that option too.
- Go looting. There’s a reason why we’re the greatest country in the world and we didn’t earn that distinction by sitting around being pansy-asses. (Anybody up for two hundred rolls of paper towels?)
As if things weren’t bad enough, I think that I finally figured the connection from David Bowie back down to Iggy Pop and the Stooges thru The Velvet Underground. They don’t sing. These bands vocalize their lyrics thru the spoken word or at least a sing-song version of it. To prove my point I’ll ask you to listen to Iggy Pop’s “Nightclubbing”, Velvet Underground’s “Pale Blue Eyes” and Bowie’s “The Jean Genie” which I, being a benevolent host, have conveniently supplied below…
I think the cool thing is that only took me 50 years to catch up with this concept.
I recently received a jury summons whereby I gotta report to the local county to serve as a juror. Luckily I also gotta document from my neurologist stating that I’m “unfit” for such duty and therefore must be exempted for such a task. The note from my doctor was put in such nice, polite terms that I started feeling like some kinda wuss.
I’dda much preferred a more intense, raplike version of the note whereby sayin’ “MY PATIENT AIN’T DOIN’ NO S#&T LIKE DAT!!! HE BE A SUFFERIN’ MOTHERF@%&ER AND DON’T NEED TO BE F*%^IN’ AROUND WIT NO MOTHERF&**ERS LIKE YOU!! THE NEXT TIME YOU FIGURE ON SENDIN’ SOME JURY SUMMONS TO MY PATIENT JUST WRITE IT, EAT IT AND THEN SHOOT IT OUTTA YO ASS!!
Moving right along, Chuck stopped over for a visit on Sunday so’s we’d indulge in a buncha food that’s bad for ya, watch the golf tournament and root for our favorite players. A few beers later, it occurred to us that we’d wanna keep an eye on player Jon Rahm and cheer for him to snap a club in half (which he almost did), cast the now divided club into the gallery and subsequently be brought up on assault and battery charges. Didn’t happen, but hey, the season is still young.
I dunno why but we’re regularly gettin’ hits from China. If their spyin’ on us to gain more knowledge of the American intellect then they’re wasting their time. Otherwise, I say “Welcome!”, it’s beyond cool to have friends from the other side of the world.
Short post today but keep readin’ and thanks for doin’ it. Ya never know what we’ll say next.