Mushrooms, T-Ball and World Cup

Hello once again everybody. It's been quite a while since my last bit of literary nonsense. 2 months in fact. Summer and warmer weather are here and that means a couple of things: I'm busy doing other things, I'm sneezing uncontrollably, and I'm away from the computer a lot. Having said all of that, let's get right to it.
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Heard a funny thing the other day. In reference to baseball player Johnny Damon, the once-beloved long haired, light throwing outfielder who defected from Boston to hated-rival New York Yankees, the Boston fans said "He looks like Jesus, acts like Judas, and throws like Mary". That's clever and just danged funny. I liked him too...now that he's a Yankee, I must change my opinion of him.
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My buddy Joe recently ran for State Representative. If you don't know Joe, he's one of the nicest, smartest, and most genuine guys you'll ever meet. His only fault is that he's not a glad-handing, baby-kisser like other politicians and this means that, unfortunately, he wasn't able to unseat the incumbent. You could no longer say that all politicians are idiots if he got into office because I truly think he would have done what was best for this area and put in 100% toward it. One bright thing out of it, I still have his "yard sign" and it's now in my garage. One of my prized treasures.
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The big news around here is that my oldest daughter Anna recently kicked off her first T-Ball season and now (as of press time) has several games under her belt. The J-Bird News was at the first game and filed this brief report:
On a blustery early May evening Anna Jacomet and her teammates from Diamond R Farms took the field in their innaugural T-Ball contest. The crowd was buzzing as most of them were there to witness this highly touted phenom who seems destined to set the baseball world on fire. A player who will rise above the current steroid cloud that currently hangs over the game. A player that posesses such a fine swing that even Ted Williams' frozen head is envious of. This player is #5, Anna J. Batting fifth in the order, a spot normally reserved for a hitter who combines the power to protect the clean-up hitter, yet has the ability to spray hits to all fields and get on base, Anna was a bit nervous. This was witnessed by her blank stare and sweaty hands as I tried to ease her fears on the way to the ballpark. "I only signed up for practice", she had once said.
As she came to the batter's box, she focused her glare onto the pitcher (her coach). In this league they pitch four pitches and if the kid doesn't hit, they then place the ball on a Tee. The tee would be akin to letting someone shoot a foul shot from 5 feet instead of 10...it would be like having your parent run onto the field when you got hurt...like letting you have a 20 yard head start in a sprint. You don't want the tee. As the pitcher wound up to fire that horsehide sphere toward her, I was shocked to see that it was thrown underhand. Underhand! Put a nickel in this guy, because he just became a batting machine. My only concern was that she wasn't used to it coming in sissy-underhand. She's used to the overhand heat her daddy throws her. She fouls off a couple of nasty pitches (splitfinger and slider I think) ...she's just looking for something she can drive while getting his pitch count up. Then...the ball heads to the plate, she raises her left leg and slowly plants it back down, her hips turn, her hands drive through the hitting zone and the ball rips through the stonewall-defense. The thing was moving so fast, it left a vapor trail. Her first career base hit. Highway 1, next stop, Hall of Fame.
I had the video camera rolling figuring they would stop the game and present her with the ball. I think she might have waved them off while saying "There'll be plenty more of those, boys" She had three bats this evening and, needless to say, she ended her debut with a perfect 3 for 3 day against a stingy defense. Batting a thousand. I'd like her to do better, but she can't...how do you improve on perfection? By the way, she also posted a "Web Gem" as she was stationed at the pitchers mound and the batter ripped a seed back her way. She slapped the leather to the ground and made the play.

It went something like that. The bottom line is that she is having a lot of fun and really enjoying it. She looks freakin' adorable in her uniform to boot! She really was very nervous, as were my wife and I, but once she got there she enjoyed herself. Katy said that it seemed like we were just embarking on a new chapter in our lives. Our first sporting event with our kids. I remember all of the times I would think about my kids playing ball and feel that it was so so so far away.
One thing that always makes me smile is when Anna asks me if I want to hit her some ground balls. She asks me often and even though there are times when I had plans for something else, I can't say no. As we are finishing up I'll say, "10 more good ones" and she'll respond by pleading "How about 20 more!?!". Tears well up in my eyes and I hit her 20 more.
Sports were always a big thing between my wife and I. I hope that our kids find the same joy and reap all of the positive benefits that we gained from playing ball.
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In similar news, my middle daughter, Sophia had her dance recital a while back. This one, you don't have to worry about being scared or timid. In fact, my biggest fear was that she was going to take over the stage and bust out into a Streisand medley...or every song from Grease. There's really not much to describe about a dance recital. If I had a picture of her on stage I feel that would probably cover it. Then you too could witness the intense beauty of this girl and the pure joy she exudes to everyone who's lucky enough to be in her vicinity. If ever there was a kid you could look at and say "this kid should be on tv or something!", this is the girl.
P.s. I wanted to kiss the directors of the dance class. They did a wonderful job putting on a nice show combining approximately 5 different age groups. I really enjoyed the program...but what was most beautiful was that it only took about a half an hour! Me sitting in a gym...with dress pants on...and dress socks...watching dancing...well, it just doesn't make for a good time. But I truly enjoyed the show.
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Now that summer is nearly here, mushroom season seems like a long time ago. I always make a point to go out as many evenings as I can and peruse the forest floor in search of the elusive morel. This year was perfect, plenty of rain and an abundance of sunshine. This was the year when I was going to bring home the garbage sack full of them. See, every year I search and search hoping to at least find 5. I'm lucky if I do that! And it never fails, if I ask someone if they found any they always tell me "Oh yeah, we found 5 sacks full. We couldn't even carry them all. We actually let them rot in our house because we couldn't eat them all. We probably left a couple hundred more out there" Then they ask me how many I found and I look up at them with anger and jealousy in my eyes and say, "I found F'n 3! 3 tiny mushrooms!". I then turn, run away, and sob into my pillow.
Funny story though, this year I was in the mood so I took the half hour I get for lunch and decided to try this tiny little outcropping of woods in Troy. It's smack dab in the middle of a large housing/manufacturing area but I thought, what the heck. 5 minutes into my hunt, I find a couple! I was very excited but, alas, I had to return to work. I called my brother to let him know that I found some and that they were out. Told him where I found them too. Long story short...the next day he comes out with a sackful of mushrooms that he found that day. "Where'd you get them?" I asked. "Over at that place you told me about" What?!?! It's sorta' like if you were fishing and started catching some...then another guy stood right beside you and casted right into your area. I proceeded to give him some heck about stealing my spot (which I was joking...I was glad he found some)
So the next day I get off work and I have a message on my phone. I listen to it and it is my brother saying "Hi Mike...hold on....'yeah, park it there' (apparently yelling at someone)...yeah, Mike....I'm over at that place you found mushrooms. I told a bunch of people...there are cars everywhere over here, I'm trying to get them all parked" He was joking, of course. But itwas a good laugh. I probably heard about all of the mushrooms he found a hundred times.
I have to say that a wild mushroom, dipped in a little egg and fried up in a skillet is about as good as it gets. They are absolutely delicious! And you can't eat anything with them. Just by themselves, so you can enjoy the spore-filled goodness of each and every bite. I do suppose though that a mushroom may not taste that good at all, really. Perhaps it's just that they are so rare and that you have to put forth so much effort to find them, that they taste better than they are. If you had an abundant supply,maybe they would suck? I don't know.
There are a few rules or traditions that we follow. Either my dad, my brother, my sister, or I have gone out singularly or together for many years now. First rule, you must carry a stick. Dad prefers a broomstick with some elaborate hook he found in a hardware drawer. My brother has an old cedar stick that I found and cleaned up for him when I was just a little tapper. Me? I have an aluminum walking stick. It's probably a bit too fancy for the work it's doing, but I like it. Secondly, you must carry a potato sack. No solid plastic grocery bags. We feel that if you put them in a potato sack,with it's small holes, that you are propogating the species as you effortlessly spread the spores everywhere you walk. Of course, this is probably pure crap, but it makes us feel better about ourselves.
When you find a mushroom, you must give a "laugh" that sounds like"He he heee!" loud enough for your other hunting partners to hear...so they can rush over and trample onto your profitable area. Other rules: You must wonder aloud "how many have we probably walked over?" and "I wish this dumb dog could be trained to find them" (referring to my dog Zeke..who always goes too...by the way, he can't be trained to find them. We've tried). I like to always mention that "I hear good hunters spend more time looking up than looking down" (in reference to the fact that certain trees tend to give off the right nutrients to harbor mushrooms. Dead elms is one of these trees fabled to do just that. However, I wouldn't know an elm if it fell on me. Which is why I bought a pocket field guide to Ohio Trees. Naturally, you must identify trees by their leaves..and at this time of year there were no damned leaves...which makes this book as freakin' useless as a dried turd in my pocket) But if nothing else, it's always nice to rid oneself of the cabin fever that had been building up all winter and take a nice walk in the woods. I inevitably see or experience something that makes me appreciate the "nature" that is around us, whether it is an animal running through, the sounds of the birds or even just the smells of a springtime forest. It's refreshing.
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One thing that instantly makes me cringe is when the phone rings. I hate the phone..which probably explains why I hate people yapping on their cell phones so much. The caller is never calling for me and if it would happen to be for me, it's a telemarketer or someone wanting my money.
The other night the phone rings and I answer it. Apparently, I'm not very bright (as witnessed by my blog entries) but I thought the Highway Patrol spent their time...well, patrolling highways..catching bad guys, keeping people safe. You know, the whole "protect and serve" thing. I was wrong. They are now in the business of mailing me letters and calling my house wanting money for something. Either they're having their annual Policeman's Ball or giving money to some unfortunate person. Both are worthy causes. Both are worthy causes that will not get my money. It's like me calling some random neighbor and saying, "Hey, my buddies and I are going to have a big keg party and were wondering if you'd like to throw in a few bucks...and no...you can't attend"
I was feeling a little salty this evening as I did not immediately hang up. I stayed on. When the guy told me that they would send me a "sticker for me to place in my car window" I asked, "Will this get me out of tickets?". And believe it or not, this guy did NOT say "no".
Instead he said that it might help. Stunned, I said, "So you're telling me I can drive like a bat outta hell (no reference to Meatloaf) and not get a ticket"...thinking that he'd back down. Instead, he says, "It's highly likely". I about shit myself. I wish I would have recorded the conversation, gotten the sticker, and tested it out. "Sorry officer, but this tape should clear things up (play tape) OK, gotta go, thanks!" as I peel out like the Duke boys leaving Roscoe P. Coltraine in the dust.
Speaking of law enforcement (which I am all for fellas...don't come looking for me..and for god's sake, don't look in the trunk under the spare tire...it's just oregano!) but the most annoying commercial is on the radio. The gist of it is that a guy gets pulled over. It's his friend, a cop, who just wanted to warn him that he didn't use his turn signal. "Going to the game, Friday?" "You bet", said the officer. "Now what are you doing" "I'm giving you a ticket for not wearing your seatbelt...see you Friday", the officer said. Then the commercial ends. I don't know about you but this guy is no friend...he's a dickweed..and he's gonna be a dickweed with four slashed tires for writing me a ticket. I don't know, maybe I'm over-reacting..which would not be a first...but I'd be so pissed if that happened to me.
I can't imagine the amount of money the Dept of Transportation is spending on these commercials but I know heard them at least 50 times. Why are people spending so much money to tell me what I need to do? Don't smoke. Don't drive without a seatbelt. Don't slap a midget named Raul on the third tuesday in July. Where's the one telling people to get off their phones and concentrate on the road. If some guy wants to smoke his lungs out and die of cancer...go for it. Here's a match! If you want to drive without a seatbelt, go ahead toughguy! Stop telling me what I can't do. Who's paying for this?!?!?! Oh, that's right...me. Comes straight outta' my check. Well, that makes me a lot happier now.
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Something I've learned: If you're driving a Dodge Neon (or a Tercel, Civic, etc..) and it has a racing spoiler on the back...you're a jackass. I've got nothing against the cars..they're fine cars. But I don't think they'll post the speeds necessary for you to install a wind spoiler in order to keep you from going airborne. But again, I never took Physics. But I don't have to be a physicist to know you look like a giant goober
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Barry Bonds. He has broken Babe Ruth's home run record. I could go on for 50 pages about this guy and my dislike for him. He's a cheater in the worst way and all of his records should be wiped from the baseball books. If anyone tries to compare this to Pete Rose, Babe Ruth's beer/hotdogs/women, or anything else you want to dig up, I say "Apples to oranges." The only thing relatable is the McGwire /Sosa homerun race that, sadly, appears to be tainted as well. The bottom line is that this guy is a cheat and an a major jerk. Put the asterisk on everything he touches! By the way, asterisk is a funny word and everytime I type it, I think it's spelled wrong

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You may have noticed that I haven't included too many personal photos lately. Hopefully that will all change shortly as we learn about our newest camera. We go through cameras like a fat guy goes through gravy at a buffet. I don't want to mention any names, but someone in my family continues to "lose" them. We have an endless supply of money, so plopping down a couple hundred bucks every six months on a new camera is fun and makes me very happy. I especially like losing our camera when it has 200 beautiful pictures of timeless memories on it.Our first one broke while our next two seem to have been stolen. I can live with the broken camera...but to know someone swiped a couple from us makes me wanna shove it somewhere and get some nice pictures of the thief's colon.
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The Monday Night golf league is in full swing now. We just completed our eighth week and my team (my buddy Gill and I) are currently poised in first place in our division (by a half-point). Now don't get me wrong, I'm not a great golfer but they run this league very well. It involves about 30 guys and each week my partner and I compete against another two man team (that sounds weird to say..."my partner"...ewww!). Gill plays their best player while I play against the other. It is all based on handicaps and formulas to keep it fair (so schmucks like me can still compete with others who are much better than I). This is our third year and it was a big deal to initially be invited to play. It's relatively prestigious to be in this league despite the fact that it's just our local course (Miami Shores) and not some fancy country club. We are probably the youngest group out there but I think most everyone enjoys playing against us because we have a pretty good time and don't take it too seriously. The best thing about it is the fact that it demands that I play at least once a week instead of once a month as I had previously done. I love the game and could play it almost every day. The best is when my dad gets home for a while and we all meet at the course. My favorite foursome includes: dad, my brother Pat, Gill and me. We get out there and you can just sense the excitement as we approach the tee box. Now that I think about it...I've never had a bad time on the course. Even when I'm playing like a giant hunk of ass-mater, chunking shots into the bunker...hitting out of that bunker into the one directly across from me, I'm still enjoying myself.
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Memorial Day has passed and with it, the summer has officially arrived (to me). In my mind, Memorial Day is one of the most important holidays of the year. Taking time to honor those who helped build this country and make it is as great as it is, despite its problems, is something I always find time to do. The saying "All gave some...Some gave all" is powerful and says everything that needs to be said. Also, it is a great time of year because events and activities start to get rev up. Working in the garden, being outside, baseball games, golf, etc...make this time of year awesome. To me, Memorial Day always makes me remember the Indianapolis 500 and the years that I would go with my brother to the Greatest Spectacle in Racing. Not only did I enjoy my newfound discovery thatI really like those girls who needed nothing more than a sign that said "Show Your T*ts" to, in fact, show their t*ts, but I felt the excitement and emotion of 33 cars going by at 220 mph with 500,000 of my closest friends. It's worth the price of admission just to be there for the opening ceremonies. The parade, where I once saw Larry Bird (first of two times I have ever seen him in person...even though I was 200 yards away from him), the playing of TAPS with a military helicopter flyover. I even enjoy hearing Jim Nabors sing "Back Home Again in Indiana" which leads to the Anthem with the jets flying over.
Next are the "parade" laps where all 33 cars go around the track at relatively slow speeds. The engines are howling as the brilliant colors of the cars weave back and forth,warming up their tires. Then...the green flag drops and you see the cars speed up and head into Turn 1. It's completely quiet.. then...you feel the crowd, like a wave in the distance, start buzzing, and you wait a few seconds as they travel the 2.5 miles to get back to you...then you see them coming and WHOOSH...you feel the ground shake, your ears hurt, you try to focus in on this blur of speed that rushes by you. If you don't have goosebumps and/or a tear in your eye then they might as well throw a shovel full of dirt over your head because you are dead. So when I am standing in my living room watching the beginning of the race, I will again have goosebumps because I can still feel it. I can still feel the culmination where power, technology, and tradition mesh with a simple instinct of man...to be first across that finish line. **************************
My wife has been telling me that I need to write more about our girls and, more specifically, my middle daughter Sophia. I think that one of the reasons why I don't write about any of them very much is because it's just way too hard. It's difficult for me because most of the time I am with them, they have me laughing or we're doing something fun. I don't know if it's possible for me to get out of the "moment" and be able to remember it...or write it down for later because it never seems to pack the same luster as it did at that very moment. Sophia is one of those people who light up a room once they enter. For me, just the thought of her makes me smile and I'll be willing to bet that I crack up laughing at her at least 3 times a day. In fact, as I'm sitting here trying to think of what to say next, I realize I'm just sitting here smiling. I feel like Marsha Brady sitting in her room with her hands folded under her chin, wearing a dreamy look, thinking about Davey Jones...I'm smitten.
I told my wife once that if I were to chose one person in the world to be stuck on an island with, I'd chose Sophie. Sure, we'd run an through an entire range of emotions as she's ultra-sensitive at times. But most ofthe time she is either all-out-goofy or downright adorable.
While Anna was afraid of our chickens, Sophie would run at them and scream "Roooaaarrrr" with her hands in the air like two giant paws about to attack it's prey. Which reminds me of a time when she went chasing after a few that were out of the pen. She ran at one and did her roar, but this particular chicken was cornered and instead of running, turned and "flew" straight at her. She went from "Roar"to a blood-curdling "Ahhhhhh" as she turned and ran toward me with eyes wide open. Half-scared, half-thrilled. I laughed so hard I about peed my pants.
Sophie is pure energy...which is shown when she suddenly breaks into some crazy dance that she invented. I picked her up from school the other day and when one of the mothers said, "Bye Sophie", she looked up, squinted her face and said "Rock On!" as she made the official "rock on" hand gesture which is when the pointer, pinky, and thumb are out and the other two curled under. It was not rude or disrespectful, it was just Sophie being Sophie and the receiver of her rockin' good wishes stood there laughing as well. She's the only person I know who has memorized the entire Grease movie. Not that anyone would want to memorize that movie and not that I'm overly proud of the fact that Sophie talks about Frenchie and Rizzo like they were her classmates. Most kids are into Sesame Street...mine is into beatnik musicals about misbehaving high school kids from the 50's. I must stop because, if you don't know her, this might be a total bore to you (much like the rest of this blog)*****************************************
We just got two new pigs recently. They will only be staying with us for a few short months before they make that final journey to that great big barbecue in the sky. Of course, our first two were named "Chip" and "Lightbulb" so naturally, these two would have to be given a name as well. One is a girl and her name is "Aunt Becky" while the boy is named "Carl". ("Carl" must be pronounced in a nasal-new yorkish tone. Like you are combining Carol and Carl...Caaaarll)
In other farm news, the great chicken experiment has been shut down. They had ceased laying sufficient eggs and continued to eat up expensive food. So instead of treating them like the democratic party would (feed them, house them, all the while they lived a life of leisure on my, the working man's, dime), I gave them an ultimatum. I pulled up a stool in the corner of the coop and had a heart to heart chat. "Listen ladies," I said as I spoke while I cleaned the dirt from my nails with a 15 inch slingblade. "You ladies gots ta' produce and if you don't, there are a hundred coyotes out there who would be glad to have your asses for dinner some night. Now what's it going to be?", as I abruptly stuck the blade into a nearby post. Message served. But much like our fellow americans on the welfare system, they had been institutionalized and "production" was no longer in their vocabulary. Recently, some sort of animal had been getting into the coop and having a free lunch like some sort of goat-sucking Chupacabra (x-files reference) so perhaps I don't have to resort to other means to thin the herd.
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My wife's cousin (and neighbor) recently graduated from high school and a big party was thrown for her. Many of my wife's relatives from Michigan, with whom we spend the Thanksgiving holiday with up there, came down to partake in the celebratory festivities. The party was great as it included some always-fantastic chicken, cold beverages, and a great location. While the party was winding down and we had several folks staying the night at our place, we decided to move the party down to our house. Any party at our house generally revolves around the garage. The garage is rather small (as it won't fit my truck) and not perfectly suited for normal garage type activities...but it does tend to work well as a gathering place.
It's a simple set-up, which probably helps explain why we've had some good times there. Other than typical garage stuff (shovels, workbenches, pesticides, medieval weaponry) I always make it a point to have a good stereo there.
As the night grew later, I decided to lay a one-two punch on cousin Pauly who, like me (and my brother in law) enjoys a wide array of music. This was no time for the standards. "Van Morrison" I thought to myself. But not Brown Eyed Girl. No, I decided to play his greatest song "Tupelo Honey". At the first note, Pauly got the message and he was obviously pleased.
People say I do a good job playing music. I've become the house DJ for a small group of folks which is good sometimes...but also a big pain because the party then becomes a task...instead of just enjoying the time. If I were to offer one piece of advice about playing music at a party is this: It's not what you like..or what you want to hear. It's what the crowd wants, or more appropriately, what the crowd needs. You may want to play some George Jones' "If Drinkin' Don't Kill Me, Her Memory Will" but if the crowd doesn't like it, you'll be stuck for 3 minutes of uncomfortable uneasiness. Another rule: If all else fails, play Brick House. Nobody with a pulse would ever turn away from that song. Also, if you're wanting to slow it down a little throw on some "Let's Get it On" from Marvin Gaye.
But back to my recent string of music that left many stunned and in awe, with tears of joy in their eyes. I followed Tupelo Honey up with a song by Stevie Winwood and Traffic called "The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys" (did you know that Jimi Page wanted Steve Winwood to be the lead singer for his new band, Led Zeppelin? Instead, they settled with Robert Plant and the rest is history). In what is now a classic moment in cousin/family history, Pauly nearly broke into tears as I had just completed a string of songs that were so perfect...so original, that the emotions in the room were thick. I was told later that Pauly said to his sister in complete honesty, "I love that man so much that I want to hug him with my shirt off......(long pause)...and that means a lot". Like I said, it was late.
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I recently attended another concert from G. Love and the Special Sauce last week. They were finally swinging through the area after opening a ton of shows for Dave Matthews. I wanted to see them in their own show...not opening for someone. So the were to be in Cincinnati on a thursday night and I bought tickets as soon as they went on sale. My wife was out of town and my brother in law couldn't make it, so this meant that I was flying solo. That doesn't bother me as it a trait that members from my side of the family share. We often attend events by ourselves, not needing any company to tag along. Perhaps the reason for this is that nobody really likes us. That doesn't matter...if we want to see something, we'll go (in fact, I saw Davinci Code movie last week by myself).
So I make the long journey south to a new venue I had not been to. The place was the 20th Century Theater. I've attended an outdoor concert to see the band in Cleveland, been to Columbus twice (on OSU campus) and once at Bogarts in Cincy. Other than the outdoor place, those other sites are kinda' dives. I was expecting the same thing. However, I was a bit surprised when I got close because it was in the middle of a very nice small town outside of Cincy and the exterior of the theater looked pretty cool. I later found out that it was once just an big, old movie theater now converted to a concert hall/banquet center. In my typical fashion, I arrived a couple of hours early. I happened upon a little pub across the street where I found a seat at the bar and had a cold drink. Met some of the nicest folks there. In fact, a couple sat down next to me and started chatting. They too were going to the show, so we kinda' went together. This was nice for two reasons: 1) I was no longer the oldest person there (as they were quite a bit older than me and 2) I didn't have to feel like the single, creepy, stalker, pervert guy all by himself.
I've learned a few things about concerts in small places like this. One is that if a show is scheduled to start at 8:30, they won't start playing until close to 10. Don't know why, but they all do it. I had a couple of cold pilsners there while waiting knowing that once at the venue, they'd rape me for 6 dollar cups of tepid draft beer.
Much to my surprise, upon entering the hall, I see a sign advertising 24 oz. "magnum" loads of Pabst Blue Ribbon for $3! I don't care if it was horse piss (a relatively close comparison to PBR), for three bucks, that's a deal. Of course, I only had one there because I wasn't looking forward to a long, late-night drive home.
Now to the actual concert. What I'm about to say has been carefully thought out. I've had time to simmer down and have been able to re-evaluate the show as a whole. Here it goes: This was absolutely the greatest live performance ever given by human beings on the face of god's Earth. To add to that, G Love and the Sauce are the greatest band to ever perform a musical note. Listed at the top of my pantheon of "great bands", this show was part jam session, part religious experience, and part life-altering expression. It was a tour de force that pulled everyone who was fortunate enough to witness into it's grasp and never let go.
I have to think that years of touring and recording must make a band look at a small concert as more like a job than a passion. Having said that, I totally feel like this band on this night was "feeling it" and pouring everything they had into it. One thought I kept having throughout the entire show was "I wish (blank) was here to see this" I wish my wife or bro-in-law were there, I wish my kids were there, I wish people who had never heard of these guys were there. I was perfectly happy being about 15-20 rows from the stage, but my new friends insisted that I make my way to the stage as they had done. So I did.
Lists of great concerts will always (and rightfully) have Led Zeppelin at Madison Square Garden, Jimi Hendrix at Monterey, even Simon and Garfunkel in Central Park. This show on a thursday night in a quiet suburb of Cincinnati should take its place along side of them.
When the night was over and I made my way outside, I again met up with my new "buddies". We said goodnight and shook hands, sweaty and beaten, and exchanged looks to each other as if we had just seen something special. We did...and that rush kept me awake all of the way home at 2 am. Incredible.
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I challenge you to find me an uglier car than the Scion xb. It looks like a bread box on top of four tires. It's this generation's answer to the AMC Pacer. That's all I can say.
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I propose the Senate introduce legislation to curb something that is getting out of hand. I subscribe to several periodicals: Sports Illustrated, Juggs Galore, Consumer Reports, Busty Babes, and Highlights. It really bothers me that I receive these rags in the mail and I must spend 15 minutes tearing out subscription cards that are placed between every other page. Now if I was buying it off the shelf...Fine. Give me your little subscription card. But once I plunk down my hard earned money for a subscription to Knockers and Booty Illustrated, I shouldn't have to sift through 46 inserts. We need legislation
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The World Cup is over for the American team. This is the only time I feel it appropriate to root against the USA. Why? Because it is soccer. I once said that soccer is for little girls and third world countries but what's more is that soccer is the most mind-numbing sport ever played.
The World Cup is actually sorta' funny when you hear people talk about it. No kidding, I heard some guy tell another dude that "I think France will beat Togo". I stopped and stared right at these guys and gave them the "are you f*ckin' kidding me?" look. Nothing labels you as more of a weenie than if you are rattling off World Cup results.
"Iran beat Trinidad and Tobago today 1-0". Huh? That sounds like real excitement...one score in 400 minutes of play! Hell, Iran beat a team that can't make up it's mind if it wants to be called Trinidad or Tobago. It's like combining countries to make an all star team.
The great thing about the US getting beat is that they didnt' just get beat...they got clobbered. They didn't score a goal until their third game (which they lost). "But they scored a goal against Italy" Yeah, jackass...Italy knocked it in for us. That's how shitty a game it is. Also, I was flipping through the other day and saw some of it. A guy got hurt and a doctor had to come onto the field. But....the clock kept running! This game is so damned boring that they just say, "Ahh, hell, let the clock run...we'll be here all night!"
Listen, soccer was put on this earth and continues to grow in this country because there are too many moms and dads who are afraid of their little tike getting hurt. Or they are afraid of them failing. You can put the worst athlete ever on a soccer field and "hide" them. Other sports you can't. For example, if you suck at baseball, it will be very apparent whenever you come to bat or a ball is hit to you.
Soccer exists now because parents can pull up their lawn chairs, wear their little soccer shirts, and drive away in their Excursion with the soccer ball decal on the back proclaiming that little "Trevor and Dylan" play the game.
My girls may want to play it, and that is fine. It will bug me to no end to sit at the games. I could take a can of paint, open it and brush a few strokes onto a board. I could then sit there and stare at it, watching it dry. This would be like watching a soccer game.
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All right, I'm finally done. Sorry for the long time in between postings. For those of you who have been clamoring for more frequent updates, thanks a lot. That is a huge motivation to not mow my grass, let the place fall in shambles, and neglect my family to sit down to write some meaningless rantings. But I do appreciate it.
If you have any suggestions, comments, concerns...let me know.