Saturday, October 20, 2018

Laziest Filler Yet: Teej Tweets

A potentially semi-recurring feature, in which I just take screengrabs of my own tweets that I like and post them here.

I've already typed too much.

Friday, October 19, 2018

Homecoming Filler

Springtime 25 years ago, I, at long last, graduated from the College of Knowledge. 25 years ago this weekend, Rob and I journeyed back to campus where we pretended that we were still in school, hung out at the fraternity house, and likely passed out somewhere unpleasant. Good times.

Things were different back then. None of us were married.  A few of us had jobs (not me), but none of us had meaningful ones. We drank Milwaukee's Best. Pi Lam had a fraternity house.  Most of us went back for Homecoming every year.  And Rob and I were about to co-rent a place in Arlington, Virginia with our friend the Spoid, and that would change our lives' pathways forever.

Oh, and back then we called Rob "Squirrel."

Here's to the old days.  Enjoy your weekends. I'll be headed to Williamsburg.

Thursday, October 18, 2018

A Post, in Parts

Our newly-minted DC United fan TR mentioned this in the comments last night, just as I was beginning to formulate a post on the topic. United's Wayne Rooney struck a sublime goal against defending MLS Cup champion Toronto FC to give the home side a 1-0 win and take his team to the brink of the playoffs.

The combination of technique and power required to beat a keeper from 35 yards is otherworldly. Candidly, a Premier League (or international quality) keeper might save that. But he might not - the audacity of trying to score from that far away and the four-yard swerve on the ball might've beaten even the best.

The 2018 DC United story is remarkable. I'll be back later today to tell you more about it. Unless TR feels like picking up the baton and running with it.
Technically, this is later today.

Through 14 games in 2018, DC United sat in dead last in MLS' Eastern Conference, having won two, lost seven, and drawn five. In fact, Ben Olsen's side spent 15 consecutive weeks at the very bottom of the table.

Two things happened starting in DC's 15th game: English legend Wayne Rooney came to America to join the premier side of the league's first decade, and Russell Canouse made his 2018 debut in defensive midfield for United.

Rooney you know all about. He's scored 10 goals and assisted on seven others. He's lifted Luciano Acosta from super-talented but frequently MIA little dude to bad motherfucker. Eight of Acosta's nine goals this season and nine of his 16 assists have come since Rooney came to DC.

And Rooney did this, the signature play of the team's season and the emblem of DC United's resurrection:

Canouse is a bit more of an unknown to most. But his return to the side corresponded with a significant improvement on the defensive side of the ball. Without Canouse, DC gave up 2.1 goals per game through the season's first 14 outings. With the Lancaster, PA native in the lineup, they allow a full goal per game fewer.

And while DC's slow start was partially attributed to the fact that they only played two of their first 14 games at home, their resurrection was spurred by the opening of Audi Field in July, and a schedule that saw them play eight of their final 10 in that cozy new yard.

With two games to play, DC are four points ahead of Montreal for the final playoff spot in the East. One win, or one Montreal loss, ensures DC of the most improbable playoff berth in some time in MLS. There's an outside chance that they could host a first-round elimination match.

Vamos DC!

Tuesday, October 16, 2018

What Car Should A Gheorghie Drive -- TR Edition

TR is the Gheorghie I know best. His WCSAGD requires almost no effort.

TR and I have a lot in common. We are middle-aged guys from New Jersey. We are the sons of immigrant fathers who were raised by mothers who divorced said immigrants. We both grew up middle-middle class, but in the bottom tier of that socio-economic strata so we didn't get everything we wanted as kids and from time to time we indulge ourselves with things we feel we missed out on (looking at you, Jets PSL). We now live among upper-middle class people and we're proud of what we accomplished, essentially on our own, and feel smugly (if secretly) superior to those around us who got here with minimal effort. As a result we both revel in our outsider status and brazenly flaunt our contrarian views.

That said, TR gives even fewer fucks than I do. Way fewer. His no-fuckery is downright brash at this point.

TR and I differ in several ways, many of which I learned soon after we first met. For example, TR loves everything relating to the 1970s. The depth and breadth of his knowledge of adult film is astounding--his smut scholarship is nonpareil. And attendees of Pledge Auction 1993 recall his immodesty (no matter how hard they all try).


TR loves PT Anderson movies and he LOVES "Boogie Nights." I mean, he LOVES "Boogie Nights."

TR should drive a 1977 Corvette with a 350 cube, three and a quarter horsepower, four speed, 4:10 gears, ten coats of competition orange, hand-rubbed lacquer, with a dual-plane manifold ... full fuckin' race cams, whoo.

Unfortunately, no such car exists, at least not stock OEM. By 1977, EPA standards had strangled the 350 cubic inch engine down to 180 hp. The go-fast version of the 350 only made 210 hp. There were no other engines available that year. Further, there was no color called "Competition Orange," it was "Corvette Orange."

TR would want the bigger engine. So he gets it.

This C3 is just right for TR. It's brash but vintage. It is simultaneously a workingman's car and a collector's car. Orange is the perfect color--plastered on a C3, it essentially gives his entire neighborhood of German and Swedish black or gray seven-row SUVs the middle finger. But it's still a classic car eligible for QQ plates in NJ so it passes snooty muster. None of his neighbor's dads ever drove a Corvette in the 1970s or 1980s--they were afraid of the guys who did. TR also gets T-tops because, well, they're perfect for TR. Aluminum wheels, no luggage rack. Boom.

Every American man has at least a small part of him that wants to be the louche with the cigarette and the chest hair and the gold chains and the mustache and the sex and the drugs and the rock and roll driving an orange C3 Corvette. And some of them are that guy. It’s fast and brazen and loud and self-confident and I-don’t-give-a-fuck-eriffic. That's what TR should drive.

Monday, October 15, 2018

“Wu-Tang In Space Eating Impossible Sliders” Is A Real Thing

“The RZA, the GZA, and Ghostface Killah walk into a spaceship full of vegan sliders” sounds like the start of a joke. And I guess it is. But it’s also the premise of a new four-part video series to promote White Castle’s new vegan “Impossible Sliders.” It's real and it’s fantastic.

“It’s kinda crazy on Earf right now, so we came to space to acquire some knowledge and gain some perspective.” That’s some true and deep shit.

Sunday, October 14, 2018


The Nicks were the one of the worst basketball teams in the history of organized sport. Long live the Nicks.

For the uninitiated, the Nicks were our fraternity's novelty intramural squad, comprised of players 5'9" and under, with the exception of Whitney, who is 6'5", but plays like he's 5'7". In my senior season, we made the mistake of actually having a couple of small dudes who could play a little bit, and we won a couple of regular season games, which landed us in a first-round intramural tournament matchup against The 250s, made up of offensive linemen on the W&M football squad. That didn't go so well for us.


I thought of the Nicks today when I came across a tweet by Kendall Cross, an Olympic wrestling champion. He was at the Georgian wrestling team's camp in advance of the world championships, where he captured this video:

We've already established the Nicks' bonafides as purveyors of awful basketball. But the single worst player in the history of the Nicks was Doug Mazzoni, a W&M wrestler, whirlish dervish, Tazmanian Devil of a fellow, on and off the court. He would fit right in with these gleeful Georgian (and Gheorghian) goofballs.

Friday, October 12, 2018

What Car Should A Gheorghie Drive -- Whitney Edition

rob recently opined that Whitney should drive a Bentley. That opinion is wrong. Bentleys are for ostentatious old men, rappers, pro athletes under the age of 30, and assorted other dooshnozzlery. To wit, Ben Affleck drives a Bentley.

Whit is many things but he is neither old and ostentatious, nor a rapper, nor a pro athlete, nor under 30, nor a dooshnozzle. He should not drive a Bentley. I know exactly what he should drive. And I will tell you over the course of an overly-long post. I might even turn this into a recurring shtick.

Whit is big and American. He is a man of the people, salt of the earth. He is thirsty. He guzzles beer, which is his fuel. He can be loud, but often in a good way. Sometimes in a bad way. He sticks out wherever he goes. He is highly visible but not visually offensive. But he isn't exactly beautiful either. He loves to travel and he loves to hang out with lots of friends.

Whit should drive a 1969 Chevrolet Impala convertible in Butternut Yellow with a black top and black interior. The base 327 engine with an automatic transmission is all he needs--Whit's out for cruising in comfort, not speed.

The Impala is massive. It can easily hold six people, their luggage, and a keg of beer. It has bench seats for SOB turns. All of this obviously suits Whit's lifestyle.

Like Whitney, the 327 drinks deeply, swiftly and often. The internet says it gets 12.7 MPG with a manual transmission and that's probably too high.

It's a Chevy so it's down-to-earth. Snobs don't drive Chevrolets. You won't be upset if a bird poops on your Impala, or if someone spills ketchup on the vinyl seats. Ownership isn't stressful.

Like Whitney these cars are not strikingly beautiful but they are inoffensive to look at and you cannot miss them on the road. That said, the pastel Butternut Yellow is calming. Even when it's going fast, a Butternut Yellow Impala seems be be gliding smoothly and slowly down the road. The power steering is preposterously boosted so they can be driven with one finger. The experience is, in a word, relaxed.

And, of course, the top goes down to enjoy great weather on the way to the beach. That's what Whit should drive.